Page 30 of Fever Dream
“I’ll put in a hundred tomorrow,” I grump, all those nice relaxing endorphins suddenly dissolved into the atmosphere.
“Why are you walking so fast?”
“Because I’m an athlete. I like to do things fast.”
“Sure, Case,” he replies, amusement spreading across his face. “There’s no rush, just so you know. The ice rink doesn’t open until nine.”
“Well, maybe I’m just hungry. Did you think of that? Like, maybe I need to eat to fuel my body for a day of hard work.”
“Wow. You’re really in a mood this morning,” Harrison returns, voice edged in humour. And really, well, that’s just even more annoying. “Did you not get enough sleep last night?”
“You and I both know I can run on three hours of sleep. I’d sayyou’rethe one who missed your beauty sleep.”
“Beauty sleep? Well, I did spend half the night talking on the phone to you. Pretty sure that makes it your fault.”
“Nuh uh, Harry. It takes two to tango.Two.”
He bumps my arm as we walk along together, his vibrant smile almost enough to put me back in a good humour.
I’m just not entirely sure I still want to do these dawn Pilates classes anymore. Maybe it would be better if we went back to when it was just Harrison and me. Yeah. That would make me feel better.
Maybe I’ll suggest it tomorrow.
CHAPTER 13
harrison
The five a.m. phone call is warning enough that the call will be international. I brush my hair out of my eyes, sleep clinging to me as I almost fall out of bed trying to find my phone. I grab it just before it rings out, the +44 telling me it’s from home.
“Hello?” I rasp, voice dry.
“Oh no, did I get the time wrong?”
I can’t place the voice even though something is tugging on the peripherals of my memory, but I sit a little higher as the sleep fog lifts. “Well, it’s five a.m. if that answers your question?”
“Oh shit, sorry, man,” he laughs until the brain waves click into place inside my head.
“Xavier?” I ask, sitting up straight.
“Who else?”
“How are you?” I ask, scratching at my chest and wondering why Tottenham’s number one midfielder is calling me. At five a.m. in the morning no less.
“I’m great. Did you hear the news? Our game has been shifted to Sydney,” he says. “Apparently too much political turmoil ineastern Europe and now they need a neutral territory to play the game.”
Game? I really am slow this morning as my brain slowly sparks to life, like an old computer rebooting for the day.
“You mean England’s world cup qualifier against Belarus?”
“That’s the one,” Xavier confirms. “It was all set for Switzerland and then Belarus complained of some kind of bias and Sydney swooped in and landed the last-minute bid.”
“Wow. That’s … I don’t think that’s even made the news here,” I say, swiping open the local news to see that the story has, in fact, made headlines, just an hour ago. “Actually, it’s this morning’s headline.”
“There you go. And see, I have a whole heap of family and friends tickets that nobody can use because Australia is so bloody far away so I wanted to see if you want to come. Bring some of your new Aussie friends with you.”
“Really?” I say, instantly alert now. I scan the details on the news article, noting the game is set for a Thursday night in a fortnight which means it won’t clash with any football duties.
“Yep. Second row seats with after match entry to the player’s lounge.”
