Page 71 of Off the Pitch

“Dunno, but we need his help.”

“Why?”

“’Cause he’s French and they’re good with romance. Plus, he’s the only other guy I know who likes dudes.”

“It’s not different just ’cause David’s a guy,” Liam argued. “Romance is romance.”

“All I’m saying is that you’d win me over better with pizza than flowers.”

I laughed to myself again. I was not getting involved in this argument at all.

Even if I did know that David preferred sunflowers.

Chapter Thirty

“I will always support King!” says Trossero in heated press conference

BBC Sport

David

I hadn’t left the house in four days.

In fact, I’d barely left my bed.

Yes, I was being an overdramatic bastard, but I’d lost the love of my life, so yeah, I was being fucking theatrical about it.

It had gotten so bad that Kit had even emerged from his hideout, covered in green paint and bits of charcoal, to see if I wanted food. It was like some sort of horrible reverse universe situation where humans became pets.

Not that I’d complained when he’d shoved a very nice bowl of mac and cheese under my nose. Especially not when I’d discovered Kit had also put bacon in it.

Maybe I’d just marry Kit instead. It wouldn’t be so bad. I mean, he was better than most of my exes and short-lived flings. And he wasn’t likely to choose some stupid fucking game over me because he was worried that someone might,might, get mad because he preferred dick over pussy.

Although come to think of it, I wasn’t completely sure about Kit’s sexual preferences… I couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been on a date. Not that I’d have noticed recently, given that I’d been spending so much time at Christian’s house.

Fuck my motherfucking life!

I pulled the duvet back over my head, descending into my own pit of despair. I’d stay here for as long as I wanted, everything else be damned. Except that tomorrow I definitely had to get up and teach because I doubted I’d be able to take a sick day for getting dumped.

And I’d rather like the money, thanks.

Meh, that was not my problem right now. Tomorrow me could deal with getting out of bed. Today me was going to stay here and wallow… and maybe binge some Netflix, listen to every Adele album, and order the biggest, greasiest takeaway I could imagine.

From outside my pit, I could hear someone knocking at the door. It was probably my future husband coming to check if I was still alive. Not that I wanted to see him right now.

“Go away,” I grumbled loudly, hoping that hearing my voice would at least convince Kit I was still breathing.

Apparently not, because he knocked again, louder this time. It sounded like he was trying to batter down the bloody door.

“Fuck off!”

“No,” came the response, in a decidedly un-Kit-like voice. I heard the door open, and seconds later the duvet was ripped from my head, and I was blinded by the sudden onslaught of bright light as my intruder flicked on the overhead light and pulled open the curtains.

“What the fuck do you want?” I cried, my voice scratchy from disuse. A familiar face appeared, looking highly displeased.

Lily fucking King.

“Get up,” she demanded.

---