Page 25 of Going Overboard

I can’t believe I’m a gym girlie now.

Well, I’m not technically, am I? Because I only come here to hang out with my fake boyfriend.

Brody is lifting weights – although that makes it sound far less impressive than it is, because to a layman like me, it looks more like he’s lifting the machine than the weights.

It’s hard not to stare at his muscles – it’s almost hypnotic, the way they contract, flex, twitch, ripple.

It’s like they have a mind of their own.

In fact, I could swear his abs were flirting with me.

I’m almost exercising today, technically, because I’m using an exercise ball as a chair, lightly bouncing up and down on it.

Brody comes over to me, wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his arm.

‘I don’t think you’re allowed to do that in here,’ he jokes, nodding towards the bar of chocolate I’m eating, the one I swiped from the minibar before we left our suite.

‘We all have our morning routines,’ I remind him, popping another square of chocolate into my mouth.

He just laughs as he lies down on the mat next to me. I thought he was going to relax for a second then but, no, he’s doing crunches.

‘You never stop,’ I tell him.

‘You never start,’ he claps back.

I keep bouncing, letting the momentum do most of the work.

‘So what does a typical day in the life of a professional cricketer look like?’ I ask curiously.

Brody stops for a second, rolling onto his side to look at me while we chat.

‘Wake up, protein, gym, training most days – depends when we have a match,’ he tells me.

‘When even are cricket matches?’ I ask, realising I have no idea when it’s on TV, because I actively avoid sport.

‘It depends,’ he replies. ‘I don’t want to bore you, but sometimes they’re in the day, through the week, sometimes they’re on a Friday night – it varies.’

‘Boring as it might be to watch, it’s interesting to talk about,’ I say with a smile. ‘What does a free evening look like?’

‘I live with one of my teammates, we share an apartment,’ he explains.

‘Something Nikki said was pathetic for a man in his early thirties, but we have a laugh. I go out to eat often, to bars with the lads, or we’ll watch movies and play video games.

What about you? What does your typical day look like? ’

I swear, my brain has stopped working. What does a typical day for me look like? The more I think about it, the more I realise that it’s not my mind that is blank, it’s my day. Beyond work there’s not much going on.

‘It’s not so much a routine, it’s more like being on that treadmill,’ I say.

‘Would you know what that was even like?’ he jokes.

‘Har-har,’ I reply. ‘I guess I get up, get ready, rush off to various appointments, different houses, different clients. Sometimes I’m shopping for furniture or smelling 500 candles until I find the exact right one for a particular en suite.

I’ve started dressing holiday rentals, and I’m about to do some stuff with a boutique hotel.

They want their guests to have the best time and you would be amazed how the right colours, the right pillows, the right accessories can make a difference. ’

‘Sounds more exhausting than my job,’ he replies.

That almost sounds like a compliment.

‘I’m not sure about that,’ I say with a laugh. ‘I love it though. I love that no two days are the same. It keeps things interesting. And it’s not always plain sailing, sometimes people need convincing that they need to take down all of their family photos.’

‘Why do you do that?’ he asks curiously. ‘Surely it’s nice, to see it as a family home?’

‘Well, that’s the thing, not everyone wants to see it as a family home,’ I reply.

‘If people think it’s a family home, not a swanky bachelor pad, it can put them off.

Even the people who do want a family home, they want to imagine their own family in it, not someone else’s.

You want people feeling like it’s their house from the second they walk through the door. ’

‘Okay, I’ll admit it, I thought your job sounded kind of silly the first time you told me about it but, now that you’ve explained it, I get it, it makes sense,’ he says. ‘So, what about after work? How do you relax?’

How do I relax? Do I even relax?

‘It’s interesting, since Todd…’ My voice trails off.

‘You don’t have to talk about it,’ Brody insists.

‘No, it’s okay,’ I reply. ‘Since we split, the days kind of… drop off after work. We used to go out with our friends together sometimes, but most nights we would just hang out together. Watch Netflix, get a takeaway, cuddle on the sofa. So I don’t do that any more, obviously, I do a version of it on my own, I guess.

I’m ho ping that once wedding season calms down, I’ll get my friends back, figure out a new version of normal. One that doesn’t include him.’

Brody watches me quietly for a second, not teasing me or laughing at me.

‘Were you really happy with Todd?’ he asks curiously. ‘And, again, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.’

‘No, I’m happy to talk about it,’ I tell him. ‘And, yeah, I was happy. Really happy.’

‘You just… talk about your life like it was a bit… boring with him?’

I pick at the empty wrapper in my hand.

‘Do I?’ I reply. ‘No. It wasn’t boring… I don’t think. It was… comfortable. The kind of love where you’re best friends first, you know? That’s what makes it last. Friendship. That’s the foundation of a long-lasting relationship. Would you say you and Nikki were friends?’

‘No, no way,’ Brody replies. ‘She was my girlfriend. My friends were my friends.’

And that’s exactly why I could never entertain anything happening between me and Brody – not that he’s entertaining it either.

Because there’s no world in which he and I would ever be friends.

I’m attracted to him physically, sure, I think anyone who is attracted to men would be.

And his charm, when it’s not pointed at me like a loaded gun full of jokes and sarcasm.

But his personality? No, thanks. He drives me absolutely mad.

Constantly. Consistently. Unrelentingly.

‘Maybe that’s one of those things lads and lasses see differently,’ he replies, ‘or maybe I just don’t know Todd that well but… he seems boring. It’s hard to imagine him being anyone’s type.’

It sounds to me like Brody can’t quite get his head around why on earth Nikki would leave someone like him for someone like Todd.

I hate to say it, but I’ve asked myself the same question.

‘Unlike Nikki, who’s everyone’s type?’ I reply.

Brody laughs again.

‘She was all right at first,’ he replies.

‘Beautiful, sharp, intense in a kind of exciting way. But then she started pushing me about work, trying to get me to do things I didn’t want to do.

She wanted to turn me into an influencer, have brand deals.

She even talked about me going on Celebrity Welcome to Singledom once.

I told her that even if I did fancy a TV dating show – which I don’t – I’m hardly a celebrity.

She said I needed a brand, something to fall back on when I retire.

I know, it’s closer than I think, but that’s not what I want to do.

I want to step out of the light, not have it shining on me even brighter.

I just wanted to play the sport, not have the Daily Scoop print my face on beer mats and send them to almost every pub in the country the week before the Ashes. ’

Okay, that does sound awful. I don’t suppose, when he was a kid growing up, starting to get excited about sport, that he thought about getting papped when he grew up.

‘So what do you want to do?’ I ask, genuinely curious.

‘Coaching, maybe,’ he replies. ‘Not pros though. I think I’d rather work with kids. Help them fall in love with the game, the way I did.’

That… is surprisingly sweet. And unexpectedly normal.

‘Plus, I get to be the cool guy they can look up to, they won’t know about the bad press or anything like that,’ he adds. ‘I’ll just be, like, this rock star.’

‘Well, as long are you’re impressing kids,’ I tease him.

Right on cue, a man in a sweaty tank top walks over and claps Brody hard on the back.

‘Mate. Legend. Seriously. That five-for you took against India last year? Man, me and my mates drank all night after that,’ he tells him. ‘That last delivery – pure filth. Top of off. Beautiful.’

At least I think that’s what he said. Is he even speaking English right now? What does any of that mean? It’s like they’re speaking in code.

Brody grins, looking almost bashful even.

‘Cheers, mate,’ Brody replies.

They chat for a second, cricket-language flying over my head like, well, a cricket ball. I have nothing to contribute, beyond puns, like this guy seems pretty bowled over by Brody. He’s knocked him for six. Even I know those ones – not that I think they would be appreciated right now.

‘See what I mean – most people think I’m great,’ he tells me when we’re alone again.

‘And so modest,’ I reply.

I know, he’s playing it cocky with me, but I could see how much that meant to him, to be acknowledged for how great he is at what he does. That guy didn’t care how much he allegedly drinks, or if he was the Daily Scoop ’s ‘top shagger’ two years in a row.

‘Well, you deserve it,’ I tell him. ‘No one ever congratulates me on… a really well placed chair.’

Brody laughs.

‘I suppose what you do isn’t supposed to be obvious, it’s supposed to feel natural,’ he replies. ‘When people start noticing that you’re putting chairs there to get a sale, maybe that’s when it stops working.’

‘You know what, that’s a really good point,’ I say with a laugh. He’s right, but it’s still kind of funny.

‘However, that bra you left on the floor in our suite, for Todd and Nikki to see – next level,’ he says, getting up to pat me on the back. ‘Expertly done. They had no idea it was a plant. ’

‘Aww, you’re just trying to be nice,’ I reply.

‘Nope, honestly, best bra placement I’ve ever seen,’ he insists. ‘I’ve always said the best place for a bra is the floor…’

I get off my ball and kick it at him. He just chuckles.

Sometimes I think I’m seeing a slightly different side to him, sometimes he’s exactly as I expect him to be. I’m not sure how much I hate it any more though.