Page 4 of Only ever you-Ana & Byron (Blindsided #2)

"Explain it again," Byron said, frowning at the algebraic expression like it had personally offended him.

Ana leaned back in her chair and covered her eyes "It's literally basic factorisation, Byron."

"Basic for you, maybe," he muttered, pencil tapping uselessly against his textbook. "I'm better at movement. Not numbers. Or biology...striated muscles...smooth muscles...its bollocks."

"You took PE as a GCSE subject. And you knew you needed to do a bit of biology for that," Ana pointed out.

"Yeah, well, I didn't think PE would have so much damn theory. I thought I just had to play."

She arched an eyebrow. "Everything has a theoretical aspect. Even your biceps."

Byron grinned and flexed them. "You noticed? "

"Hard not to," she muttered under her breath, eyes flicking back to the equation before he could see her blush.

"Wanna touch them?"

"No thanks, I’m good."

What had started as a one-off favour to help him prep for a maths quiz had somehow evolved into an almost biweekly ritual.

Ana told herself it was because she was too responsible to let him fail and tried to keep him at an arm's distance.

But still...somehow, he kept turning up like a bad penny.

Even as he slowly drifted toward Cathy Liston and her clique of razor-tongued girls and cocky Manc lads who chewed gum and smoked stolen cigarettes behind the PE supply shed.

They were loud, glossy, and always laughing just a little too hard at Byron's jokes.

And yet... he still found time to text her.

Still sat with them-Gray, Cadi, and Ana-at lunch.

Still showed up at her house, smelling like spearmint and cheap cologne, pretending he hated algebra but always bringing his books.

And every so often, he would say something that made her heart skip and her head scream, no, no, don't be stupid.

She wasn't stupid.

But she was starting to wonder if Byron Robertson was more than just a headache in human form.

Another time, he'd slouched over her kitchen table, pinched the last biscuit from the tin, and said, "Right. Enough maths. You, me, burger. Now."

Ana raised an eyebrow. "You sound like a caveman. Me Tarzan, you Jane", she mimicked in a squeaky voice. “I’m not your girlfriend, Byron."

"Not yet," he said, grinning with that maddening confidence, "Not yet your girlfriend. Use the correct grammar and tense and shite... "

She snorted, but for reasons unknown, she found herself reaching for her coat.

They walked down to the dodgy corner shop that doubled as a grill joint.

When you passed that way on the way to school, there was always the smell of fried onions and old oil, but somehow, they still made the best burgers in a ten-mile radius.

The sky the colour of the lip of a seashell with early evening creeping in and they were both flushed from laughing at how Byron had mistaken the new teacher in chemistry for a hot babe.

They took their burgers in paper wrappers-greasy, slightly steaming, and with the cheese oozing out the sides and sat on the curb outside, shoulder to shoulder, thighs brushing now and again.

Ana took a bite, and let out a satisfied, "Mmm."

Byron turned to look at her, grinning. "That good?"

"It's criminal how good this is," she said, licking ketchup off her thumb. "Like, I would steal a library book for this burger."

Byron laughed and took a huge bite of his own. "I like girls who like their food."

Ana paused mid-chew, side-eyeing him. "Was that a compliment or are you calling me fat?"

Byron blinked, nearly choking. "What? No! Not fat. Never. Just... y'know. You've got curves. Real ones. Shape...ly." He said the word like he was testing it out loud in case she went psycho on him like his sis did when she was on her period.

Ana raised an eyebrow, chewing slowly.

Byron scratched the back of his neck. "What I mean is... You look good. Better than good. I'm just sayin'... It's nice. Girls who eat. And ain't like, rabbit-salad miserable about it."

Ana looked at him for a long moment. "You mean girls who don't pretend to be dainty just to impress you. "

"Exactly," he said, pointing his half-eaten burger at her. "You're like a lad. That's... attractive."

He realized what he just said and went red in the face, his blush climbing up to his ears.

She kept that bitch face before losing it and guffawing, the soda spurting out of her nose.

"Why, Byron, didn't know you were into lads."

"If you ever tell anyone I said that..."

She just kept laughing and then, without any warning, he swooped in for a kiss. It was just a quick smashing together of their lips, over before they both realized it happened.

She looked away, suddenly very interested in the corner of her wrapper. "You're full of it."

"Maybe," he said with a shrug. "But I'm honest about it. And don't you dare wipe that kiss off."

There was a small silence as they both ate, the silence feeling charged, unlike before.

"Why do you act like everything's a massive joke?" Ana said, her voice quieter now.

Byron looked out at the street, chewing slowly. "'Cause if I stopped, I'd have to think about... everything."

Ana studied him for a moment. That wasn't a joke. The words hung in the air like heavy fog.

There was a slump to his shoulders now that he usually hid beneath cocky grins and rolled-up sleeves. His hazel eyes, usually bright and teasing, were distant now, staring through the lamplight at nothing.

She knew what he was talking about. Everyone knew.

His mum had walked out the year before and left her family for a bloke who lived three streets over.

Byron's dad had never really recovered. Most days, the man was either on the couch with a bottle or at one of Byron's games.

The Robertson house looked smaller now, like it had sagged under the weight of what was missing. Home didn't feel like home.

Byron had never talked about it.

Ana's fingers crumpled her burger wrapper and threw it into the bin.

"Yeah," she said softly. "That makes sense."

Byron glanced at her. He didn't smile, but the small line between his eyebrows seemed to ease.

They didn't say anything else for a while, just sat there, side by side on the pavement as the last light of evening soaked into the concrete around them.

And when they stood up to leave, she didn't say anything when he bumped her shoulder lightly as they stood to walk back.

And when his hand brushed hers, she didn't pull away.

***

Gray and Cadi had already declared their med school intentions to their closest friends, revising together with the kind of absurd discipline that made Ana feel guilty. Gray still played rugby, but he wasn't like Byron. Rugby was Byron's life.

There was something magical about the way he moved, like he was born knowing where to be, how to drive forward through contact, how to turn the chaos on the field into victory. Whether it was a blistering line break or a low, brutal tackle, Byron made it look natural.

Ana brought snacks and screamed sarcastic commentary from the stands.

"Nice knock-on, Robertson. All you need is a four-leaf clover."

"If you'd memorise your plays like you memorise excuses, maybe we'd be winning."

"That tackle was dramatic. Are you sure you're not auditioning for 'Guys and Dolls'?"

"If you were any further offside, you'd be in the car park. "

Byron, to his credit, always laughed. Sometimes, with a shake of his head, sometimes with a wink sent up to where she sat.

And after every game, win or lose, he’d find her in the stands. Then, he would eat what was left of her snacks.

Grinning. Sweaty. Flushed from the pitch. Looking right at her, like the noise of the crowd, the mud, the bruises-none of it mattered half as much as the girl with crisps and a sarcastic mouth. The one who was there for every game.

Cathy Liston hadn't come up in conversation for weeks. But Byron now sat beside her at lunch with the rest of her following. That stolen kiss over hamburgers seemed all but forgotten.

But sometimes, just sometimes, he looked at her like he had no idea why he'd ever looked anywhere else.