Chapter Two

Theo

An hour or so later, I’m done with my set and the rain is still coming down hard, so I've settled for sitting at the bar for a while until it’s safer to leave. William, the bartender smiles as he opens another beer for me. He places it on the marble counter, “Are you staying until close tonight?”

I sneer, “I don’t think it’s possible to drive right now,” and then as an afterthought, I add, “I’d be in bed right now on a normal day.”

He scrunches up his nose, “Yeah, you’re telling me,” He grins, “although with how much George is paying me, I think I’d need to work five more hours to make ends meet.”

William is your typical blonde, overeager green-eyed Uni student. He’s paying his way through school by working a bunch of odd jobs. In times like this, he’s good company. He’s overall polite, quick with a joke and tends to mind his own business, which is why I like him. It’s also pretty obvious that this is just a pit stop for him. I hope he gets to where he wants to be someday.

I take a sip and look around. Although it’s late, it’s still crowded, laughter and chatter louder than before, probably due to the number of drinks that have circulated during my set.

The owner’s son is still in the corner, although now George is sitting with him. They don’t look like they’re having a good chat, though. His son is flushed, raking his hands through his curls, practically pulling at them every now and then. I thought those kinds of emotional outbursts weren’t allowed here.

William gestures his head towards them, “He’s going quick with his drinks, that one.”

“That’s George’s kid, isn’t it?” I ask.

“Mmmhm,” he replies as takes a glass from behind the counter and starts preparing a Mojito for an old man who’s sitting just to my right, “Yeah, foster kid.”

I don’t say anything as I take another long drink of my beer. “I heard his name is Sam Wilcox,” he adds as he shakes his head.

I raise an eyebrow at the ridiculous name, “That’s odd. That he’s a foster kid, I mean. He looks like George.”

William shrugs as he mushes mint leaves at the bottom of the glass. “I guess so. There’s nothing special about either of them, though. He just brought him here hoping he finds someone to settle down with,”

I cringe internally and bite my lip, “Yeah, I figured,”

I turn to look at this Sam bloke and find him already looking at me.

He is blatantly staring, his mouth slightly open. Fuck. His tawny skin glows softly under the dim, yellow lights. His blue eyes eagerly go up my body until they find my face. I hold his gaze for a second, then I lift my chin and sneer. His cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink, and then he looks down at this glass, fiddling with his tie again. I know the intimidating, I’m-richer-than-you dance too well.

I won't look at him again.

I despised the way my heart started racing when I caught him staring. I hate the way he reminds me of someone I once loved.

I’m finally putting my coat on downstairs, after waiting almost an hour for the rain to let up. A petite woman opens the door to the street and stands in the doorway as she fumbles in her Chanel purse for her car keys, letting the cold air rush into the small lobby. That's when I spot him. A lonely figure, standing under a lamppost, probably waiting for the valet to bring his car around.

I step out and hand my ticket to the valet. Sam Wilcox whips his head around so fast it wouldn’t be surprising if he tore a muscle. I ignore him as I place a smoke between my lips.  I cross my arms over my chest, trying not to shiver. I hate that I’m always unreasonably cold. The hot smoke warms my chest instantly. He’s still staring, but when I give him a long cool look, he averts his eyes.

I notice his top button is popped open and his blue tie is now wrapped around his fist. Definitely not used to suits and the like, then. Now that I’m seeing him up close, his tawny skin is splattered with freckles and moles, and for a split second, I imagine myself kissing the one on his left cheek, just under his eye.

He starts fumbling with his phone, still leaning against the lamppost. I think he’s too pissed to stand upright on his own.

He glances at me and gives me a shy smile. I nod my head towards him, and I think he’s about to speak when a car pulls up, disturbing the quietness and parks right at the curb. Sam looks at it, then back at his phone. Before he climbs into the car, he gives me one last look. An Uber, I think. I can’t help the strange feeling in my stomach as he’s still staring through the window at me, smiling faintly as the driver takes him away from me.

Monday, December 3rd

Theo

When Monday comes around, I’m still restless.

I keep telling myself I’m too old to have these kinds of schoolboy crushes. Then, the other half of me keeps telling me it’s been a while since I’ve felt like this, so I might as well try to at least enjoy the high I get from thinking about him. Lean into the feeling and all that.

He’s probably straight, anyway. Even if he wasn’t, he’s still the owner’s son, and that would be the recipe for an incredibly awkward situation. I don't think trying to pull his son would go very well. George is an ex-marine who’s still holding onto the idea that war is what the world needs for every single terrible thing that happens daily to change. The only thing he ever talks about is politics. I don’t think I’ve ever had a full conversation with him. Not that I care. 

No one knows much about his personal life. Up until three days ago, I was sure he never even had time for a wife and a kid. A kid that is around my age, has a soft smile and the prettiest freckled skin I’ve ever seen. A bloke who’s fit enough to get you to think about him while you’re doing your shopping at bloody Tesco’s just because he stared at you across a room full of people. Just because he decided to. Just because he can.

“Mate, seriously, we’ve been here for hours,” 

I roll my eyes at Bryce. We do our shopping together during the week since we’re practically neighbours. It’s something we used to do at Uni while we got used to the whole shopping-for-one-person thing, and it just stuck.

“I’m almost done,” I lie.

He takes a look at my shopping trolley and raises both eyebrows. It’s almost empty, but if he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“You’ve been staring at the bloody pasta for a good five minutes now,” he continues as I grab my favourite pack of ravioli and toss it in the trolley.

“How are things with your girl, anyway?”

He shrugs, “Pretty good. Since the engagement, it’s like we’re in the honeymoon phase again,” 

I grin, “You’ve never left it, to begin with.”

I know damn well they’re all over each other (in a good way) all the time. It’s a good fit. Danna is soft and a generally compassionate, gentle woman. She’s always down to have a chat if she notices you’re looking a bit too tense at Sunday roast. It contrasts perfectly with my cousin’s personality.

His grin is even bigger, “Yeah. I mean, it’s odd sometimes, trying to wrap my head around the fact that we’ll be a unit from now on, but mostly it’s good.”

I shrug. I try to avoid that gesture as much as I can because I think it’s an idiotic, lazy way of responding, but I just can’t think of anything to say back.

Bryce pats my back, “I keep thinking your time is near.”

I flinch. I hate it when people who know you’ve been single for a while insist you’ll find ‘the one’ soon. Because it doesn't work like that. I don’t see any future where someone could stand me for the rest of their lives.

“My time of death?” I lift both eyebrows at him again, “I’d hope so,” He rolls his eyes, “No. You know what I mean,”

“It’s all shit, Bryce.”

 He shakes his head. He’s a stubborn man, but we’ve had this exact same conversation so many times before, he knows it’s better to not insist.

“You’re incorrigible,” He says, with a sad smile.

There’s a small part of me that tells me I know perfectly well that I’d weep if I ever found someone to share my life with. I shut it down quickly with memories of heartbreak and anniversaries where I’d been the only one to remember.