by Amy Daws
“I love Old George,” I coo.
“I know, love. You look fab tonight, too. Have I told you that?”
“You look better,” I murmur.
Belle is kitted out in black leather leggings and a studded, black tank top that makes her look as badass as the combat boots she’s rocking. I’m a bit more colourful in floral print leggings and a fitted white T-shirt that Belle says makes my tits look great. Wearing my hair down is usually the only accessory I need to spruce up an outfit. That and my black vintage eyewear.
“Okay, so let’s do this.” Her gaze narrows on the crowd. “Are you sure you don’t want to give Stanley a shot.”
“I’m sure.”
“So what’s the type you’re looking for?”
My face turns serious. “Penis Number Two type. Sweet, sensitive, and a nurturing lover. Must cry when he comes.” I giggle as I remember that little tidbit from our list.
“I meant physically,” Belle says around the straw of her drink.
My brows rise. “I don’t know…I guess I like light hair.”
“What else?”
“Maybe tall and broad.”
“Yes…”
“With eyes that smoulder.”
“Got it.”
“And I wouldn’t say no to some abs.”
“What about another crack at Penis Number One?” she asks, her eyes locked on something behind me.
“That’s not what—”
She grabs my chin and turns my head toward the far back corner of the beer garden. Despite the darkness, I can make out the outlines of two huge, strapping men sitting on top of a picnic table. It looks like a hairy and non-hairy set of twins.
“Oh no,” I say.
“Surprise!” she giggles and clutches my arm, yanking me in that direction.
I AM A MAN WHO gets what I want.
I am not a man who’s used to losing.
I’ve lost a handful of football matches, tickets to Coldplay once, and a bet with Vi over how much food her dog, Bruce, could consume in thirty seconds.
This isn’t a proud list.
Now I can add Indie Porter to it, file it away, and move the hell on. She’s a different calibre of the birds I shag, so that’s why I’m still smarting over the whole ordeal. I guess rejection wounds even the most confident of footballers. So in the interest of moving on and gaining back some of my “Camden Harris, knicker-dropping smirk” mojo back, I let my brother drag me out tonight.
“I still can’t believe you bagged your doctor!” Tanner takes a long drink of his beer, then puts it back up to his eye socket. With the other eye open and on me, he adds, “I did not take her for the monopoly squirt and split type. Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred pounds.”
“If you don’t knock it off, I’ll give you a matching set,” I growl through clenched teeth, balling my fist up beside me. “I’m not kidding, Tan. Leave it.”
“That info was well worth the shiner,” he states, happily rolling the condensation-soaked beer bottle on his eye.
I take a drink of my own beer, mentally junk-punching myself for the eighteenth time tonight for telling him about Indie and me. Or at least telling him a tiny version of it. I’m not about to tell him she was a fucking virgin. I’d never hear the end of it.
I’m not proud of spilling the beans. But I am a bloke, and ever since he got back from their match last week, he hasn’t stopped bragging about the threesome he had on the road. It’s not uncommon for him to brag about his conquests, but for the past ten days I’d been slowly dying on the inside over this Indie thing. I was holding on by a thread.
Then today, after my MRI, he started talking about having a threesome with Indie and her coworker, Belle, who apparently chatted with him in the waiting room while I was suffering through a little piece of redheaded hell. My possessiveness got the better of me. I blurted out that I’d screwed Dr. Porter because I knew he’d shut up then.
You see, my brothers and I have an understanding about women. We call it the Bacon Sandwich Rule. If I lick a bacon sandwich, that means it’s mine and they can’t touch it. Ever.
We apply this same well-thought-out and highly-sensitive philosophy to women, and it’s worked well for us…until today.
The punch went a little something like this:
Tanner starts, “You fucked the redhead?”
“Stop.”
“What was it like?”
“Stop.”
“Were her tits big? They look big.”
“Stop.”
“Was she wild? She looks like a screamer.”
“Stop.”
“Did she suck you off? God, I bet she gives good head.”
“Stop.”
“How were her nipples? Pink or pale pink?”
“Stop.”
“Did she call out my name when she came?”
PUNCH.
I know it was probably a bit dramatic, but bloody hell, Tanner can be a sod. This isn’t the first time we’ve rowed over a girl; however, it is the first time I’ve punched him over one. It evidently still didn’t teach him because he won’t stop running his mouth.
Regardless, I didn’t punch him because I’m still pining over Indie. After our talk today, I know that ship has sailed. Whatever fucked-up thoughts my mind was having over her are well and dead now. I truly think she is incapable of feeling. She’s got her head in the sand so far, she wouldn’t see a connection with someone if her glasses were binoculars.
She set me up so perfectly, though, like a master heartbreaker. When we fucked on that chair…I had hope. But after it was over and I realised she was just saying goodbye, I knew I was doomed.
After that, all sorts of self-doubt began creeping into my mind. Hell, if I can get it in my head that I care more about her than I do about football, my mind is fucked. Maybe tonight is just what I need to get my shit straight again because it’s time for Camden Harris to stop acting like he’s on his man-period.
“Hello, boys. Fancy seeing you here!” a voice says from behind me, and I snap my head around to see who it is.
Nothing could have prepared me for who stands before me.
“Dr. Ryan,” Tanner leers. “Nice to see you again.”
“Call me Belle,” she says with a giggle.
“I prefer Dr. Ryan if it’s all the same to you. And hello to you, too, Dr. Porter.”
Indie’s eyes haven’t left mine the entire time. She’s staring at me with a sort of shocked, embarrassed half smile—one that makes me wish I could read her mind. I know I just saw her today, but seeing her now, under the moonlight, dressed in street clothes with her hair down…well, she looks like the woman I used to know. Not the one I forced myself to make peace with earlier today.
Belle jabs Indie in the ribs with her elbow.
“Ouch,” Indie says through clenched teeth. “Hi, Tanner.” She looks at me. “Hi, Cam.”
“Hello,” I reply. “Is seeing you here really just a coincidence?” If so, the fates are cruel, cruel bastards.
Her brows lift. “I have a feeling this isn’t a coincidence.”
She looks at Belle and Tanner, who both smile knowingly.
“I’m a huge fan of Irish Way,” Tanner says, breaking the tension with a comment about the band. “And I just happened to run into Belle today, and she had the inside scoop on where I could score some tickets.”
“We love Old George,” Belle adds, walking over and sitting down on the bench beside Tanner’s feet. “This is our hangout spot, and it’s fun when bands play here.”
Tanner begins small talk with Belle while Indie remains standing here, staring at me awkwardly. She shifts from one foot to the other as she plays with the frame of her glasses.
I could tell Tanner we need to leave. I could leave by myself. I could go to the bar and get a drink, go to the loo, go to another pub, go hit on a different girl, go crazy!
But I don’t.
“Can we go talk for a minute?” I ask, sliding off of the
table, not waiting for her response.
Tanner watches me like he thinks I’m going to go take her to the toilet and fuck her.
Indie looks at Belle and gets a silent nod of approval. When she turns to walk away, my hand instantly goes to the small of her back. I hear her sharp intake of breath, so I pull my hand back and clench my fist, wishing Tanner’s face was nearby again. Indie Porter likes space…and, fuck, I wish I didn’t want to be inside of her right now.
She stops by a thick cluster of ivy, away from the crowd of people, and turns around to face me. She crosses her arms over her chest. The warm bulbs cast a halo around her head and it all seems ironic.
“Do we have a problem that I don’t know about?” I ask, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my jeans. They’re one of my tightest pair, but today I noticed that my stitches are completely dissolved, so this is the first time I’ve been able to wear them in two weeks.
Her gaze slides down my abs and lingers somewhere around my legs. “What makes you think we have a problem?”
“Because you look like someone kicked your puppy.”
“I’ve never had a puppy.” She glowers before my meaning finally dawns on her. “I’m fine.”
I nod. “Good. We can be around each other, can’t we?” I ask out loud, wondering the same thing myself.
“I guess so. Does your brother know about us?” She looks down and I can see the shame blanket her. As much as I don’t want to, I take it personal.
“He knows, but don’t worry about him. He’s a sod but he’s a decent sod.” I watch her face and register the tension knitted between her brows. I can’t help myself as my hand reaches out and lifts her chin. I pin her with a serious look. “He won’t judge you, Indie.”
She exhales when she sees the sincerity in my expression. “Good. So are you really just out for a fun night with your brother, or is this where your book club meets?”
My brows lift at her little attempt at a joke. It feels like the Indie I grew to like. “Book Club meets on Sundays,” I wink. “What about you? Tequila Sunrise night I take it?”
Her eyes flash with a tiny level of anguish over how well we know each other. Our late-night pillow talk saw to that. “I’m off for four days this time,” she replies.
I want to ask her what her plans were for tonight—if she really was going to try to find her number two—but I bite my tongue.
“Let’s go try and have some fun.” I toss an arm around her shoulders and exhale when she doesn’t tense this time. She actually tucks into me a bit, and the familiar scent of lemons and freshly washed hair makes my heart pound.
The four of us commandeer the corner picnic table that is now littered with empty beer bottles and a pizza we all shared. The band is loud, but not so loud that you can’t hear each other talk. It’s also not so soft that you feel like you have to fill the awkward silences with chatter.
It’s the perfect spot because there’s less lighting back here and, so far, my brother and I have gone relatively unnoticed, aside from a couple blokes who wanted to talk football in the loo.
It’s always the loo where they get ya. Dick in hand, minding your own business, and bam. “You’re a Harris, aren’t you?”
The ones that get me in the loo never know which Harris I am. They just generalise and try to play it off that I’m a twin so that’s why they couldn’t tell. Tanner and I haven’t looked alike all season, but whatever. People are in love with the idea of us all on one team, playing for the hearts of East London. If I become a Gunner and break up our trio, the Bethnal fans will be devastated. But I can’t think about that right now.
The night carries on and it’s a bit odd having a normal outing with Indie after everything we shared. Tanner and I are on one side of the table, and Indie and Belle are on the other. It’s so ordinary but it feels right. It makes me wonder what life might be like if I was in a relationship. Perhaps it wouldn’t be as bad as I’d always thought.
At one point, I get the sense that Tanner and Belle know each other more than they’re letting on. Something about the way he says her name, “Dr. Ryan.” I’d make a mental note to pester him about it later, but that means he’d pester me about Indie and I don’t want that hot, hairy mess coming at me.
“Oh my God, are you two the Harris twins?” a blonde croons as she wobbles up to our table in four-inch heels. She’s standing closest to me.
“That we are,” Tanner answers with his familiar prowling leer.
“I’m a huge Bethnal Green fan…You guys are like, the best.” The girl steps in closer and touches my shoulder as she stumbles. “You had a great season.”
I smile politely as her hand squeezes repeatedly. My eyes move to Indie when I hear a heavy sigh from across the table. Her mouth is hanging open a bit and she’s watching the girl with a definite curl to her lip.
“Would you want to dance?” the blonde asks, looking back and forth between Tanner and me.
“Which one are you asking?” I ask, unable to stop watching Indie out of the corner of my eye.
The blonde smiles knowingly. “Both of you.” Then she giggles in a way that makes my balls crawl up inside of me.
“Fuck. Off,” Belle growls, and all of our eyes fly to her. “Seriously. Are you blind? We’re sitting right here.”
The girl crosses her arms over her chest and cuts a determined look right at Belle. Then she glances at Indie and rolls her eyes. Looking back at Tanner, she says, “You’re not seriously staying here with these two frumps, are you?”
Belle slams her fists down on the table and shoots up while Tanner’s hands fly out to grab hold of her wrists. I remain silent and watch Indie as she frowns down at the table. She’s not moving to calm Belle down. She’s not glaring back at the girl. She’s just retreated completely inside of herself and blocked it all out.
Tanner’s voice is garbled from restraining Belle when he says, “Thanks for saying hello. Have a nice night.”
The girl cocks out her hip with an obvious look of disgust. Then she turns and totters away, trying not to fall on the jagged cobblestone and looking like a complete prat in the process.
“Relax, Tony the Tiger. She’s not worth messing up your surgically magical hands.” Tanner releases his grip on Belle.
She sits down in a huff. “Well, the cheek of her! Talking shit about us when she’s the one who looks like a prostitute.”
“You could have gone with her if you wanted,” Indie blurts out and her eyes are pinned right on me. “Nothing here to stop you.”
My gaze narrows at her obvious meaning. “She’s not exactly my type.”
“What’s your type?” She tips her beer and takes three long swigs in a row lowers it and wipes her hand across her mouth.
“I don’t know. I’ll let you know when I see her,” I answer through clenched teeth.
The tension is heavy as Indie’s toffee eyes stay locked on mine. Is she picking a fight? Is she trying to bait me? I shouldn’t have to remind her that she’s the one who told me to fuck off before.
I should be angry, but my strongest emotion right now is turned on. I’m turned the fuck on by Specs and the possibility of her being jealous.
“Camden gave me this black eye,” Tanner blurts out of nowhere.
Indie’s mascara-lashed eyes are drooping when she looks over to him. “That’s what looks different,” she replies as she quickly chugs down the remainder of her beer like she’s on a mission. She grabs another one out of the ice bucket beside me. “I could hardly see it around all your hair and all this…nighttime. Gosh, that beard!”
“Don’t mock the beard!” Tanner crows.
“What did he punch you for?” Belle asks, and I reach out to take the beer from Indie’s hand.
She hands it to me without hesitation as she waits for Tanner’s answer. I tip it to my lips and drink down most of the contents. She doesn’t look like she needs more to drink. I hand the bottle back to Indie, who scowls when she realises it’s mostly empty.
I roll my eyes and rest my arms back on the table. “Because you’re an arse.”
Indie’s brows raise. Then they narrow. “Another girl. No surprise there. We all know Camden’s quite experienced.” She takes a drink of the empty bottle and then sets it down on the table with a huff. “You’ve got the next round, Belle.”
“All right, I’m going.” Belle unfolds herself from the table, a look of discomfort marring her features.
“I’ll help you.” Tanner stands like he too wants to get away from this awkward situation. “Those drinks are very heavy. You’ll need a muscled figure with my sort of stamina to help you carry them.”
“You’re a gentleman and a scholar, good sir.” Belle mock bows to Tanner before they shuffle off toward the packed bar area.
I envy their light-hearted banter. Indie and I used to have that. Not all this tension and these narrowed eyes and passive aggressive comments. I watch her pick at the label of her bottle, away with her own thoughts. I’m craving the old Indie—the one with a fiery temper and a knee-jerk reaction that makes me smile.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”
Her brows lift as she looks at me. “Good thing you know better.” She’s not letting any cards show tonight. “So tell me, is it normal for two brothers to punch each other over a girl?”
I purse my lips. “It’s normal for us to fight. It’s how we communicate I guess.”
She nods like this is a completely foreign concept to her. “And then you guys make up, just like that?”
I lean forward and reply, “I think even Tanner knows when he deserves a punch.”
Her eyes rove around my face. We are so close I can smell the beer on her breath. I prefer the lemon scent, but it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t kiss her if I had the chance.
