Page 14 of Storm in a Teacup (Love in Edinburgh #3)

She sits at the desk under a mirror, gathering a brush and hair ties with her.

I watch as she splits her hair down the middle, then proceeds to plait one side, then the other.

Her glasses are back off as she does this, so clearly she doesn’t need to see to form these perfect plaits, her hands and muscle memory providing enough sight.

As she touches up her hair, pulling down strands to frame her face and the like, she says, “You can head back to Edinburgh after the stag thing. You don’t have to wait around for me.”

I sit up. “That’s the second time you’ve told me to go home. Would you like me to leave? I know I’m a lot.”

She faces me, putting her glasses back on as she does so. “You’re the perfect amount. No. I just don’t want you to think you have to stay.”

“I don’t think that. I think I’m going to go play football with some lads, then I’ll wait for you here while you’re at your da’s. In the morning, we’ll take the train back to Edinburgh together. That’s my plan. I’m hoping it aligns with yours.”

Linny’s mouth twitches. “You can come to my dad’s house if you’d like, so you’re not spending the evening alone.”

“I’d love to.”

She lets that smile grow full. “Thanks for being here.”

I wave her away. “Stop thanking me. Not doing this out of the kindness of my heart, you know. ”

Her eyebrows lift playfully. “You’re not, are you? Then how come?”

“I want something in return.”

“I can flash you my tits,” she offers.

“While I would love that, I was thinking something a little less physical. A favor. Nothing specific yet, but when I need a favor, I have you to call on.”

“That can be arranged.” She sticks her hand out for me to shake. I crawl down the bed and extend my hand to meet hers, soft and delicate in my grip. We shake, and she says, “Deal.”

“Deal.”

…

I meet Paul at the tube station that will take us to Stratford.

I’m wearing a T-shirt and joggers with trainers that I’ll replace with boots on the pitch.

Paul’s lending me an extra pair. He grins when he sees me, and man, is he handsome.

However, one look in his blue eyes reminds me of another pair I like a lot more.

The temptation is hanging in front of me like a carrot on a string, though, because if anything were to happen with Paul, it wouldn’t mean anything.

That’s the difference. With Linny, taking it anywhere would mean something .

I can feel that fact deep in my bones. But I can’t give her everything she deserves yet—and she doesn’t want it. Paul on the other hand…

No, no. I can control myself.

“You and Linny have a good night after we all left?” he asks as we wait for the tube.

“Aye,” I say. “Just went back to the hotel, had a shower, and went to bed.”

“That all?” he asks.

Oh, shite. If we were dating, the sexual energy I felt last night could have been directed toward Linny. We certainly could have done more. I cock a smile and lie, “Well, neither of us showered alone.”

He gives a single nod. “Right. Nice.”

That probably wasn’t exactly what he was asking, was it? I quickly nudge the subject away from me. “How about you? You were talking to that one bloke at the club for a while.”

“Yeah, nothing happened. Got his number.”

The train comes and we step on, taking two free seats.

I will say, I think the London Underground is pretty clean compared to other cities I’ve visited, but I have never understood why the seats have to be carpeted.

That’s not the case in New York City, say, and I can see how it provides for a much easier cleanup.

I mean, can you imagine the amount of piss in these seats? Or simply just absorbed sweat?

We get off the train once we reach Stratford, and I let Paul guide the way.

I have never been to this part of London before—not as if I’m a West Ham fan.

Paul takes a turn, so we walk through a collection of shops and restaurants.

As we reach a long stretch of road, Paul pauses, looking at his phone and then up at what’s in the distance before him.

London Stadium. Where West Ham United plays.

He mumbles at his phone, “No bleeding way.”

“What?” I ask, trying to see what he’s googling.

He sighs, then starts typing a furious text. When his phone buzzes, he sighs again and then pockets the phone.

“Sodding bastard. He only gave the address, I guess to make it more of a surprise? Or pretend to be humble, I’d wager. I figured we were headed to a pitch by West Ham.”

“Are we not?”

“No. The bastard booked our match at London Stadium. ”

Paul starts walking with determination toward the stadium. I follow after him, feeling incredibly confused. Who the hell has the money to do this? “Who? Julien?”

“No. Atti.” I cringe at the name. “His father is a very well-compensated sport agent, and is from a distantly noble family, so he has a lot of connections. Apparently, this is one of them. I cannot imagine how much he paid for this.” Paul shakes his head.

“Atti’s fine and all.” I doubt he means that.

“But he tends to wave his money around like a shield. Or a prize, if you’re lucky enough to be chosen. It’s exhausting.”

“I can see that,” I agree. Linny vaguely implied Atti came from money, but she did not imply it was this kind of wealth. “From what I saw last night, Atti seems like an exhausting person.” I swallow. “He’s not very nice to Linny.”

Paul nods. “Yeah, from what little Mel has said about their breakup, I’ve gathered that. Mel made it sound like it was something he said more so than did to pull that final straw. Which, more power to her. You and Linny seem like you’re much better suited. For one, you’re nice to her.”

“I always plan to be,” I say. It’s simple, really, though many people act like it’s not. Be nice to your partner. Be kind to them. If you have a slip-up, apologize. Not that Linny is my real partner, but the same idea applies.

Paul is grumbling at his phone. “We have to enter through bridge two,” he says. I trail along beside him.

A worker immediately meets us as we walk in. Once we explain we’re here for a stag party, said worker leads us through a concrete tunnel that eventually opens out onto the pitch.

I pause as soon as I step out onto the turf. Wow. I mean, these pitches look massive when you’re watching matches on the telly and sitting in the seats of the stadium, but on the ground, it’s even larger. I suddenly feel so very small. We are not worthy of playing on a pitch like this.

Paul practically has to drag me along to meet up with the rest of the lads who have stationed themselves near the middle of the grass.

It’s the other groomsmen and some blokes I haven’t met before.

When we reach them, Paul gives Julien a big hug and says, “Sure this is not what you expected, is it?”

He laughs. “Not a bit. But you know Atti.”

“I do indeed.”

“Speaking of,” I cut in, “where is that tall fella?”

“Right here,” a deep voice says behind me. I try not to jump.

I turn to see him carrying a carton of plastic waters. Sure, he can rent out London Stadium, but can’t spend the extra few pounds on reusable water bottles. That would be a great party favor. Reusable water bottles with Julien’s face.

Paul hands over the extra pair of boots he brought me, so I take to the ground to lace them up.

Once they’re on, I pop back up and count.

There are enough people here for a good match of six on six, ten on the pitch, two on the goals.

They’ve been kind enough to pull the goals inward so we’re not playing across the entire stadium.

“Suppose we’ll pick teams,” Atti proposes, arms crossed over his broad chest.

Julien claps his cousin on the shoulder. “I’ll be team captain for blue and you, red?” he suggests.

I notice the box between them, shirts of red and blue mixed together.

Atti nods. “You’re first pick.”

“Paul,” Julien says without pause .

Atti picks Darren. Julien picks some guy named Trevor.

Atti some bloke named Wes. Julien, Gregory.

Atti, Alfie. Julien, Kip. Atti, Holland.

Now it’s down to me and a lad named Mark.

I’d be insulted if I weren’t the odd man out.

Though Julien better pick me, as I would much rather play against Atti than with him.

And he does.

Mark heads over to Atti’s team, mumbling, “Always picked last.”

“You’ve got a bum knee. You’re of no use anymore,” one of the blokes taunts.

“Mark almost went pro,” Paul says quietly, “but tore his ACL at uni. Knee hasn’t been the same since. Right shame.”

“That’s shite,” I comment, catching the T-shirt Paul tosses at me. I pull off the one I wore and throw on the new one. Paul does the same, and I can’t help but glance his way. Though I will admit, it was more of a linger than a glance. My cheeks burn as he catches that linger, but he just smiles.

Atti asks obnoxiously, “You know how to play football, Ben?”

“I have an understanding,” I state.

We separate into two sides, and a referee comes out of nowhere to toss the ball in the air.

Julien steals it, passing it to Paul, I follow alongside, ready for it.

Atti comes and steals the ball, taking it back toward our goal.

I run up beside him, sliding in there and kicking the ball from his path.

The death glare he gives me is enough to make me want to have a doctor check my years.

Paul catches the ball I kicked, running it back toward the goal.

He gets boxed in, and I wave my arms to signal I’m free.

He kicks the ball over to me, so I run it down the pitch, taking aim and shooting.

It glides into the goal, right past Mark, who swears like a sailor.

I give him a shrug and jog back over to my team.

“An understanding?” Paul asks incredulously.

“I mean, I played at school. Then on a club squad at uni,” I say loud enough for Atti to hear. He grumbles, but gets back in line, ready for the ref to toss the ball back into play.

We play through the game, ending on a three-to-three tie. Afterward, the plan is to head to a pub in the area.

“You coming?” Paul asks as he unlaces his boots to throw back in his bag.

“Can’t,” I say, handing him my borrowed boots. “Linny and I are going to see her Dad.”

“Is this your first time meeting him?”

“Aye, so I need a shower beforehand.”

Paul nods as though I am truly a boyfriend trying to make a good impression on his girlfriend’s dad.

I pull out my phone to give Linny an update on my timeline. There’s a text waiting for me, but it’s not from Linny. It’s from David.

DAVID: So, for dinner this week, I was thinking I could bring Callum and you could bring Linny? I met her briefly at the soft opening, but I’d love to get to know her better. I didn’t realize then you were dating

Yeah, me neither. “Fuck,” I murmur.

“Something wrong?” Paul asks.

I sigh. “Naw. Nothing.”

Nothing except that David has clearly invited Callum and Linny to our supper because he’s afraid to be alone with me—using our partners as a shield.

Paul stands up, and I follow suit. We trail behind the other guys as we leave the stadium .

I text Linny as we catch up.

ME: What time are you thinking for your dad’s?

LINNY: I’m heading over there at 6

ME: Then I won’t be far behind