Page 53 of Something Borrowed

The man bristles. “What did you just say to me?”

I roll my eyes. “He said he likes going for a stroll.”

“Fucking weirdos,” Pete says and vanishes into the crowd.

Stan huffs. “We’re the weirdos when his opening chat-up line was ‘fancy a good hard fuck’?”

“Don’t sneer. I might borrow that one.”

He frowns. “Being blind is a major turn-off in the kingdom of the gay.”

I sling my arm over his shoulders and hug him, pressing a kiss into his hair and handing him his drink back. “Only with the wankers. I’m sorry it cost you a threesome with Captain Charisma. He lookedsuper.”

He laughs, his bad mood vanishing. “I think we’re the sanest people here, Raff.”

“I fear for the safety of the world, then.”

“I’m having such a good night.”

“Me too,” I say softly. “I always do with you.”

He smiles, and when the crowd pushes him into me, he doesn’t move back. Instead, he rests into me, and the awful warmth in my chest grows and spreads.

Chapter

Seven

Rafferty

Stan wincesin pain as we step off the bus with Hump close to his side. It’s Sunday afternoon and the streets are dusty and hot.

“It’s your own fault,” I murmur. “If you tackle that hard, you have to expect some bruises.”

He pats his leg as if that will miraculously ease the pain. “It was totally Malcolm’s fault. He fouled me.”

“Okay, Eric Cantona.” I eye him and grimace. “I’m not sure if you’ll have a black eye too, babe. It looks swollen.”

“It’ll be totally worth it,” he says with a relish that makes me laugh. “Malcolm is a complete prick.”

“He’s a lovely man. It’s just that the two of you turn into monsters on the football pitch for some reason.” I pause and add slyly, “I wouldn’t like to be the one who tells Leo that his best man has a black eye due to violent tendencies.” Stan blanches, and I laugh.

We’re on our way to have dinner at Stan’s parents’ house after his Sunday game of football. Before his eyesightdeteriorated, he was a keen footballer, so when he found he missed it, he took up blind football last year.

Watching the games is certainly an experience, and not just because Stan’s legs are a thing of beauty. According to Stan, the game was adapted from futsal. It’s five-a-side, and they play with a ball that has a noise-making device so the players can hear it. Players in the outfield wear eye patches to make gameplay fair, as some players have more light or shadow perception than others. It’s exciting to watch, and I rarely miss an opportunity to go and support Stan. The silent cheering the spectators use so the players can hear the ball gives the game a frisson for me, as do their shorts.

We’ve barely gone a few yards before he stops and winces. “Sorry,” he mutters. “My calf’s really tight.”

I look at the park next to us and then pat his arm. “This way,” I say. He frowns in confusion but still takes my arm as I walk into the park. Finding an empty bench, I set his hand on the back of it. “Sit down.”

He bites his lip to hide a smile. “Me or the dog?”

“Hump is the least irritating member of your partnership.”

“Ouch!” He laughs but sits down obediently on the bench with Hump coming to settle at his side. The dog shoots us one of his patient looks and then sits serenely as if it’s his dream come true to be forced to deal with two such aggravating adults.

Stan’s mouth is quirked in amusement, but his smile dies quickly as I kneel down in front of him and lift his foot onto my thigh. “What are youdoing?” he gasps.

“I can’t watch you limp along. We’ve got a couple of miles to walk, and you might make us late for dinner.”

---