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“Fuck that. It’s a big deal. You got the job you wanted, and we get to use your discount.” Ander flashed me a quick grin. “Seriously, though. You wanted another job, and this one’s ideal. Close to our house, good hours, and decent pay. What could be better?”

“To be on the football team.”

Fuck. I clamped my mouth shut immediately, but the words were already out, and based on the looks on my housemates’ faces, everyone had heard them. I couldn’t remember ever saying aloud that I wanted to be on the team…except to Nate, and I wasn’t even sure why I’d told him. Maybe it had been easier to talk to him because he didn’t know me.

But I could turn this around. Clearing my throat, I tried again. “I mean, uh, for my uni project. I have to compare different training methods in different sports. Mani—a guy on my course—set me up with the rugby team to watch some of their training sessions, and I’ve already watched the hockey team training. I thought…uh…I should add football?”

Ander and Levi exchanged glances, and then Ander nodded. “Let me speak to Travis. No promises yet, so keep it to yourself for now, but I think we can do one better. Instead of just watching the team train, why don’t you train with us?”

5

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Nate’s dark brows flew up as he pushed away from the wall he’d been leaning against. Today, he was dressed casually in a navy LSU zip-up hoodie and faded denim shorts. His thick, dark hair was styled away from his face, artfully arranged on top of his head. It sent my focus straight to his deep brown eyes. “Tell me you’re not Orange89.”

I stared at him, my mouth falling open. Okay. This wasn’t a weird dream. It was actually happening. When I’d first caught sight of him, I’d thought it was a coincidence or possibly a hallucination that he was here in the courtyard of The George…but apparently not.

“Are you Pink31?” There was no point in my even asking the question. The answer was obvious.

“Fucking Jonas,” he growled, scraping his hand through his hair. “This was funny the first time, but now it’s taking the piss.” Jabbing at his phone, he huffed out a frustrated breath. “I’m gonna tell him exactly what I think of his fucking app.”

“Yeah…” I scuffed the toe of my trainer against the courtyard’s cobbles. There was no point in feeling offended by Nate’s reaction because I felt the same. We were supposed to be here to meet potential dates, not to have a replay of the first mix-up. I aimed for a light-hearted tone. “No offence, but I was actually hoping I had a date this time. Not another potential mugging.”

The angry look melted away from his face, and my stomach did a weird flip at the reluctant smile that replaced it. “Sorry. I’m not pissed off with you. Just the situation. As for the mugging…you’re safe for now. I don’t have my bike with me this time.”

Okay. Fuck it. We might as well make the most of it. “In that case, since we’re both here…”

He sighed in defeat, but then he nodded. “Alright. Wanna head inside for a pint?”

“Our second date. Can you believe it?” We were four shots and several pints in at this point, and both of us were feeling the effects.

Nate leaned into me, the warped, antique wood of the pub booth seating creaking audibly as he moved. “First time I’ve been on a second date without getting a kiss.”

“Aww.” Turning my head, my nose brushed against his. I pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek, and he laughed, shoving me away.

“Fuck off.”

I blinked several times until my eyes could focus properly again, and then I glared at him. “No, that’s not how it works. You’re supposed to kiss me back.”

“You’re not into men. And neither am I.”

“Yeah, but we’re on a date.” It made sense to my drunken brain.

He frowned. “Mmm. Good point.” Without any warning, he lunged at me, messily sliding his mouth over the corner of mine in a move that was definitely not a kiss before falling back against the booth. “Ugh.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, wiping at the side of my mouth. “Fuck. I’m gonna feel the effects of these drinks tomorrow. Want another?”

“Yeah, why not. Let’s do more shots. Fucking hell, I don’t think I’ve drunk this much since I was a fresher. You’re a bad influence, Charlie B. Guess it comes with the territory of you being young. How old are you, anyway? Eighteen? Nineteen?”

“Nineteen, but I don’t think that has anything to do with it.”

“Look, I’m almost twenty-two, and I’m a responsible older brother,” he slurred.

I laughed. “Respon—spon—responsible?” My tongue tripped over the word. “You’re not my brother. Wait here. I’m gonna get us more drinks.” Carefully easing myself out of the booth, I did my best to walk in a straight line to the bar. I only bumped into two, maybe three people, so I counted that as a win.

When I returned to the booth, somehow managing to carry two pints of beer and two test tube shots with minimal spillage, Nate had peeled off his hoodie, leaving him in a navy T-shirt that stretched tight across his pecs and biceps. As I set the pints down, I stared at him. It was lucky we weren’t trying to find any women right now because it was a guarantee that they’d look straight past me to him, with all those muscles on show.

“You’re so fucking fit.” I poked his bicep, then slid my palm onto his pec, squeezing the firm muscle lightly.

He swatted my hand away with a laugh. “Are you sure you’re straight? You’re kind of feeling me up here, mate. And you just called me fit.”

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