Page 14 of The Wing
He blinks at me a few times before answering slowly, “Not as often anymore.”
“Too busy right now?”
He shrugs. “Sure.”
I shove down my disappointment and run a hand through my hair. “Okay, well I guess I’ll do that tomorrow. Try to get out of my head.” I bite my lip and jiggle my knee again. I’ll be fine doing it myself. I’ll rent a car and hike with my thoughts for company. Maybe it would be better if I spend the day at a café with the noise of other people to distract me?
Hiking alone with my thoughts or a noisy café where people might recognise me?
Tough choice.
“You’re going tomorrow?” Liam asks, breaking into my thoughts, and I focus on his blue eyes.
“Yeah. I suppose I should look around while I’m here instead of staying inside and annoying you the whole time.” I smile and stand.
“I’ll come with you,” Liam blurts out, and I sit heavily on the chair.
I grin at him. “You will? You’ll come?”
Liam nods firmly. “Yeah, I will. We can take my car. Maybe leaving the cave will give me some inspiration to figure out world domination.”
“Thank you. Now I’ll have someone to talk to.” I smile again with relief that he’s coming. I won’t be alone, and we can talk about books or writing, anything but rugby. Charlie would be proud.
A timer goes off, and Liam moves to the stove. “I’ll sort everything out tonight, and we’ll go tomorrow morning before it gets busy.”
“Sounds like a plan. I can’t wait.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Liam
I fumble for my phone and hear it bounce on the carpet. I moan into my pillow and reach blindly to the floor to grab it and shut off the irritating sound it’s making. Squinting at the bright light, I yawn when I see the time. Why did I agree to go on a hike? Why was the only other hike I could think of a hard one? For me at least. If Daisy could see me now, she’d fall over laughing. She dragged me on a hike once, and we’ve never hiked again.
I couldn’t stop myself from agreeing to hike with him last night. He’d looked so disappointed when he thought I wasn’t going. His eyebrows had drawn together, and his bottom lip had stuck out ever so slightly in the most adorably petulant way. In my haste to cover the fact I wanted to suck his bottom lip, I agreed to go with him. If I can’t kiss his worries away, at least I can hike with him.
I greatly regret that decision when my second alarm goes off to remind me to get out of bed. Six A.M. is entirely too early to be awake. If I can’t think creatively this early in the morning, it’s going to be interesting driving through rivers to get to the hike,and then having to walk ten kilometres return, with an athlete. At six in the morning. Because I decided we’d go early so he wouldn’t run into as many people.
Is he allowed to hike? Does he have a contract saying he isn’t allowed to do extracurricular activities like skiing, or is that only American sports teams?
I rub my eyes until black spots dance in my vision. I hope he’s not breaking his contract, and that I won’t be blamed if he actually injures himself. At the moment he’s having mental health issues—not that anyone in the sports world calls it that—but if he returns from his so-called getaway to fix himself with broken bones, he’d be in deep trouble. And probably more stressed than he is now, so I won’t let him get hurt.
How I’m going to do that, I haven’t figured out yet. Can’t exactly magically float rocks and roots out of his way.
I flick the lights on in the bathroom and shy away from the offensive lighting, wait for my eyes to adjust, and shower quickly.
I finish in the bathroom and drag on exercise clothes reluctantly. I don’t remember the last time I wore track pants with sneakers. Probably when Daisy dragged me up Roy’s Peak, and I nearly collapsed at the top.
The sun isn’t even awake yet, and I sigh. There’s no way I’m getting any work done this week. I’ve accepted it and can’t believe I thought I’d get work done with Hemi in my home. Of course I’m distracted with him here. It’sHemi.
The fact I researched hikes, the best way to get there, and what to eat for it caught me off-guard, and I’m not sure I’m ready to analyse those feelings yet. So I stayed up late researching the track to make sure he wouldn’t hurt himself and we’d have the proper food for it. So what? That doesn’t mean anything. All it means is I don’t want him to get hurt, and I’m worried about hiking because I hate hiking. Nothing more.Definitely not because I have a vested interest in his happiness, which has taken me by surprise, and don’t want to see him upset.
No. I don’t think so. And if it is, it doesn’t matter. He’s a famous rugby player, and I’m a reclusive writer who only leaves the house for food and meetings I’d prefer were phone calls.
I pad to the kitchen, the sky behind the windows black and reflecting the kitchen lights, and stop when I see Hemi standing at the stove with a spatula in his hand.
His hair is styled and he’s clean-shaven, which I forewent in favour of more sleep, wearing tighter shorts than when I picked him up, reminiscent of his rugby uniform. I tilt my head to see better and jump, eyes flying to his, when he says, “Good morning.” Hemi’s voice is rough and low, and when he smiles at me, I shove my hands in my hoodie pockets to hide the nervous shaking.
I swallow thickly and say, “Morning,” before sitting at the round table.
