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“Right,” I say, resisting the urge to fan myself.
“Nothing we haven’t done before.” He winks.
As if I could ever forget. But he’s right. I did survive that kiss. I, Roxanne Grant, am a Wade Hunter kiss survivor. If I did it once, I can do it again. Especially if that means getting one step closer to figuring out this thing with Karl.
I place my hands on my hips, steadying my breathing. “You’re right. It’ll be fine.”
It has to be.
The bar Wade chose for tonight is a popular venue that’s crowded wall-to-wall with Londoners. We arrive before Karl and Kim, get photographed holding hands by the paparazzi, and head straight to the lower level where the atmosphere is a tad more low-key. The walls are a mix of wood panelling and exposed brick, giving the place a touch of warmth.
Beneath dim lights, the centre of the room features half a dozen pool tables, and booths line all four walls. We navigate to the one in the right-hand corner and order drinks while we wait for our companions.
They show up a few minutes later, and naturally, non-jet-lagged Kim looks even more stunning. Her skin is like porcelain, perfectly smooth and milky white, and her hair is glossier than ever. If that wasn’t enough, her light-pink mini dress makes her look like a doll. Nothing can make you feel pretty next to a girl like her. Not even the gorgeous black-and-gold Versace jumpsuit I’m wearing tonight. And it’s hugging my curves in all the right places.
“Hey, guys!” Karl croons as he slides in next to Kim across the table from us. His fresh, zesty cologne infiltrates the space, and I get lost in the familiar scent for a moment. Come to think of it, I never really noticed Wade’s cologne. Maybe he doesn’t wear any? Surely, he’s the face of some body spray or something. Most footballers are.
“How are you doing?” Wade asks, draping his arm around me casually and drawing me close. I lean in, and all I can smell is soap. The clean, subtle scent of soap. Far from the intoxicating aroma of Karl’s citrus cologne but much more comforting.
“We’re great,” Karl says. “We absolutely adore our place. Thank you again, Rox.”
I paste on a smile. “Oh, my pleasure.”
The waitress brings us our drinks, sparkling water with lime for Wade and a tequila sunrise for me. She then takes Kim’s and Karl’s orders before disappearing again.
“So, how long have you guys been together?” Karl asks, narrowing his deep-blue eyes on me. Does he know we’re faking it?
“Em, not long.”
“About a month,” Wade adds, glancing at me. “We met at the grocery store, of all places.” A low chuckle escapes his throat, making his chest rumble.
I peep, “Yeah, I needed help grabbing some—”
“Cereal. It was on the top shelf. She asked me to grab her a box, and now here we are.” He cocks his head, landing his soft gaze on me as he squeezes my shoulder.
“Oh, that’s a cute story,” Kim says, her eyes sparkling. “Karl and I met at work. Not nearly as romantic.”
“So, you eat cereal now, Rox?” Karl asks, completely ignoring Kim. His eyes turn into slits as they drill into me. Luckily, the waitress interrupts, placing their drinks on the table.
“Y-yeah.” I clear my throat. “I eat a bowl of Cheerios every now and then.”
“Good for you,” he says, taking a sip of his beer. “So, Wade, I watched the game on Monday. Tough one.”
Wade withdraws his arm from my shoulder and takes a swig of his water. “We can’t win them all.”
“Right. You’re still ranked well in the league, though. No worries.” Karl’s eyes are tinted with a nasty smugness I’ve never seen before. It’s not a good look.
Wade places his hand on my thigh, and my mouth goes dry. “Oh, I’m not worried.” He shoots Karl a crooked smile. “We still have two months left. And there’s also the Champions League. We hope to make it to the finals this year.”
“I’m sure you will.” I lean against him, my eyes becoming entangled in his. Soon, I’m hopelessly lost in the depths of his gaze. Wade has this unique gift of making you feel seen when he looks at you. Like nothing else matters.
“Will you look at that!” Karl shouts, slamming his now-empty beer pint on the table. Kim and I both jump in surprise. “Roxanne Grant into football. Now, there’s something I thought I’d never see. Your dad must be ecstatic. You spent your entire life droning on about how it’s the dumbest sport, and you’ll never understand why those guys get paid so much to run after a ball.” He snorts. “Your words, not mine,” he adds quietly, folding his hands on the table, a self-satisfied smirk contorting his face.
That was pure provocation. As silence engulfs our booth, my tensed body boils with anger. Wade squeezes my thigh, forcing me to look at him. He winks, rolling his lips as if trying to contain a smile.
I take a silent breath. He’s right. Our plan is working. Karl is jealous.
“Well, yeah.” I fluff my curls nonchalantly. “When your boyfriend is on the pitch, it’s a lot different.”
