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I raise an eyebrow. “See? I knew there was a story.”
He growls as he draws his legs up again. “I thought this was just an interview for a fashion magazine.”
“Making the cover of the September issue of Fashion Warehouse would be a big deal, especially for a solo man—it’s actually never happened before. And it’s more than just an interview about fashion. Believe it or not, our readers don’t only care about what's in your closet. They want to get to know you a bit better too.”
He releases a guttural grunt as he does his last rep. “Find another angle, Roxy.”
“Fine,” I say, throwing him a new bottle of water as he jumps down. He sits down on a chair, head in his hands. The temperature in the room just dropped twenty degrees. I knew I shouldn’t have brought this up, but I had to. If I have no story, it doesn’t matter who’s on the cover. I won’t win. And this interview is one of the motivations for even doing this in the first place.
“Oh, by the way,” I begin, trying to defuse the tension. “How was your game on Monday? Did you win?”
He wipes the back of his neck with a towel. “No.”
“O-kay.” I check my watch. “Well, it’s a quarter to eight. I’m going to go shower and change. This was fun—kinda. But it’s too much, too early for me,” I joke.
He raises his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “You did all right. Not bad for a girl.”
I shoot him a playful glare. “You mean, not bad for someone who’s not a pro athlete?”
He takes a sip of water. “That too.”
“We have time for a little breakfast,” Wade says once we’ve changed into our regular clothes.
“Breakfast? We just worked out.”
“Exactly. Refuelling is key. It’s only eight-fifteen, so let’s go next door. They have a great selection.”
We enter the narrow confines of an empty pub, and a plump woman who appears to be in her fifties welcomes us with a warm smile. Clearly, Wade is a regular here. We order tea and begin studying the menu. My stomach growls when I read the words, “bacon,” “beans,” “scones,” and “sausages,” but I don’t care what Wade says—it just seems silly to eat fatty foods right after a workout. I go for scrambled eggs with grilled tomatoes, and he orders a full English breakfast with bacon, fried eggs, sausages, mushrooms, baked beans, toast, and grilled tomatoes. He even adds a few scones on the side.
The waitress pours us our tea as we wait for our food.
After blowing on my piping-hot tea, I say, “Oh, by the way, would you be up for getting drinks with Karl and Kim? You know—my, em, friends from the airport.”
“You mean the bloke you’re into and his fiancée.”
My face warms, and I plaster on a sarcastic smile. “Thanks for reminding me. And yeah, that’s him. AKA, the main reason I even agreed to fake-date you. Or have you forgotten?” I whisper.
He looks up from his tea, a glint in his eye. “Always bringing on the sass. I like it.”
I shake my head. “What?”
“No matter what I throw at you, you always have a snarky response. It’s very entertaining.”
“Glad you’re enjoying my misery.” I snort, though I feel my cheeks reddening further.
“I’m not.” He chuckles. “I just—it’s nice to talk to a girl who has repartee.” His steel eyes lock on mine, sparking my insides with a thousand shades of grey.
I sip my tea to distract myself and immediately regret it. Hello, burned tongue. But it kind of worked, since I’m now focusing on my throbbing taste buds instead of my throbbing heart. “Well, are you in?”
“Sure, I’m in. Let’s make the prick regret having ever looked at another girl.”
I feel the blush on my cheeks deepen. “Friday night? Or maybe Saturday?”
“Let’s do Friday night. I know a cool pub we can go to for drinks.”
“Great. I’ll text Karl right now.”
As I’m hitting Send, our food arrives. My mouth waters when I see Wade’s plate. I quickly finish my eggs and deeply regret not ordering more.
