Page 93 of Dream On, Liar

Just Maeve.

The person they teased about her coffee order and blamed when someone had to do an extra recovery session.

It was progress.

Small, ridiculous progress.

But it still counted.

After a few minutes, Raina caught my eye from another table and waved. “Come sit with us!”

I excused myself and crossed over.

She was sitting with a mixture of people I'd grown familiar with during camp. A few of her media associates from her NexGen team, while some members of the official team that worked solely for England Lions, and two people from her own company who had been moving between the group all week, capturing an array of content.

“You survived that better than I imagined,” Raina said as I sat next to her.

“I’m as surprised as you are.” I said in a low voice. “I was having major regrets even as I left and was just gonna show my face…but it’s not bad. Although,”

“You look like you need a drink.” Raina finished for me.

“I do.” I nodded. “Can I get you anything?”

I gestured at the soda she’d been nursing.

She smiled, shaking her head. “I’m driving tonight.”

I nodded. “Be right back.”

The bar was quieter than the rest of the pub, though that wasn’t saying much.

I waited until the bartender came over and ordered, then leaned against the counter while I waited. I could feel the warmth of the alcohol already settling into the air around me, the scent of beer and citrus and something fried drifting over from the kitchen.

Feeling a presence near me, awareness spread through me as they stepped into the empty space beside me.

I didn't need to look immediately.

Because the déjà vu was so sharp it made my stomach dip.

Turning my head, I finally met Rihaan’s gaze.

For a second, the look in his eyes told me the same story.

Except tonight, he was drunk.

Not pleasantly tipsy, or trying to be relaxed.

Tonight, he was drunk enough that the careful control I'd become accustomed to seeing in him had slipped around the edges.

His hair was slightly dishevelled, his eyes heavy, and there was a looseness to his posture that I'd never seen on the field or in the treatment room.

He glanced at me. “Hey.”

“Hi.” I replied curtly.

Neither of us said anything else. I didn't ask how he was. After everything that had happened, I wasn't sure I had the right. Instead, I watched him rub his shoulder absentmindedly. His hand moved over the joint once.

Twice.