Page 59 of Your Second Chance
“Whoa.” I held up my hands.
At least, I thought I did. Were there three of them? Did I grow a third hand? Or worse—was I a bloody wolf staring at my paw?
“Feeecking hell,” I groaned, letting my arms—or paws—drop to my lap. “I’m pissed.”
The room spun. I couldn’t remember the last time I drank this much. Probably for a reason. Of course, this was the moment—when my head felt like a balloon full of whiskey—someone decided to accuse me of falling in love. Perfect timing. Bloody perfect.
“I’m not in love,” I moaned, slumping over the edge of the table like it might save me from Will’s relentless judgment.
We’d ended up at a pub down the block from my townhouse after I’d called him, only to find he wasn’t at home. This was safer somehow. Less personal. Not safe enough, clearly, because I was here, piss drunk, listening to my best mate call me out.
“I’ve been your friend for years,” Will said, leveling me with that knowing look of his. “And I’ve never seen you interested in a girl, mate.”
I tipped my pint toward him. “This isn’t interest. It’s?—”
“It’s distraction.” He raised his glass like he was delivering a bloody eulogy. “If I’m being honest, I’ve been harder on you on the field because your head’s not where it used to be. Your focus is shot.” He smirked, leaning back in his chair. “And now, here we are. At a pub. You’re piss drunk the day before a game. Explain that to me, eh?”
“Fire me,” I groaned, slumping against the sticky wooden table.
“I’m not going to do that,” Will said flatly, waving for the waitress.
“It’s complicated . . . I hate complicated.”
“I’m going to make you tell me what’s going on.”
“Wah.” I mock cried, dragging out the sound as I reached for the pint.
Before I could so much as touch the glass, Will intercepted it. “Water,” he told the waitress. “He needs water.”
“Mother,” I muttered.
“I heard that, you twat,” Will snapped, not missing a beat.
“Fuck off,” I grumbled, folding my arms across my chest like a sulking teenager.
“You’re the one who called me.” He fixed me with that piercing, no-bullshit gaze of his. “So tell me about her.”
“I regret calling you.” I glared at him.
“Great.” Will crossed his hands across his chest. “I’ll repeat it, then. Tell me about her.”
“I, ugh. She’s pregnant.”
He knew whoshewas because we’d spent the night traipsing all around the area a couple months ago when I’d forced him to help me find her.
“Oh shit.”
I held up both hands like I’d been caught mid-crime. “Not my baby. She was pregnant when she got here.”
“Double shit.”
“Right.” I sighed, grabbing the water the waitress set down in front of me. “I took her out to Camden Market?—”
“Very British of you.”
“Anyway,” I bit back, annoyed. “I found out who her ex is.” My voice dropped, or at least I thought it did. “Austin Hart.”
Will pursed his lips like I’d handed him a crossword clue with no hints. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”
