I AM A MAN WHO gets what I want.
I am not a man who’s used to losing.
I’ve lost a handful of football matches, tickets to Coldplay once, and a bet with Vi over how much food her dog, Bruce, could consume in thirty seconds.
This isn’t a proud list.
Now I can add Indie Porter to it, file it away, and move the hell on. She’s a different calibre of the birds I shag, so that’s why I’m still smarting over the whole ordeal. I guess rejection wounds even the most confident of footballers. So in the interest of moving on and gaining back some of my “Camden Harris, knicker-dropping smirk” mojo back, I let my brother drag me out tonight.
“I still can’t believe you bagged your doctor!” Tanner takes a long drink of his beer, then puts it back up to his eye socket. With the other eye open and on me, he adds, “I did not take her for the monopoly squirt and split type. Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred pounds.”
“If you don’t knock it off, I’ll give you a matching set,” I growl through clenched teeth, balling my fist up beside me. “I’m not kidding, Tan. Leave it.”
“That info was well worth the shiner,” he states, happily rolling the condensation-soaked beer bottle on his eye.
I take a drink of my own beer, mentally junk-punching myself for the eighteenth time tonight for telling him about Indie and me. Or at least telling him a tiny version of it. I’m not about to tell him she was a fucking virgin. I’d never hear the end of it.
I’m not proud of spilling the beans. But I am a bloke, and ever since he got back from their match last week, he hasn’t stopped bragging about the threesome he had on the road. It’s not uncommon for him to brag about his conquests, but for the past ten days I’d been slowly dying on the inside over this Indie thing. I was holding on by a thread.
Then today, after my MRI, he started talking about having a threesome with Indie and her coworker, Belle, who apparently chatted with him in the waiting room while I was suffering through a little piece of redheaded hell. My possessiveness got the better of me. I blurted out that I’d screwed Dr. Porter because I knew he’d shut up then.
You see, my brothers and I have an understanding about women. We call it the Bacon Sandwich Rule. If I lick a bacon sandwich, that means it’s mine and they can’t touch it. Ever.
We apply this same well-thought-out and highly-sensitive philosophy to women, and it’s worked well for us…until today.
The punch went a little something like this:
Tanner starts, “You fucked the redhead?”
“Stop.”
“What was it like?”
“Stop.”
“Were her tits big? They look big.”
“Stop.”
“Was she wild? She looks like a screamer.”
“Stop.”
“Did she suck you off? God, I bet she gives good head.”
“Stop.”
“How were her nipples? Pink or pale pink?”
“Stop.”
“Did she call out my name when she came?”
PUNCH.
I know it was probably a bit dramatic, but bloody hell, Tanner can be a sod. This isn’t the first time we’ve rowed over a girl; however, it is the first time I’ve punched him over one. It evidently still didn’t teach him because he won’t stop running his mouth.
Regardless, I didn’t punch him because I’m still pining over Indie. After our talk today, I know that ship has sailed. Whatever fucked-up thoughts my mind was having over her are well and dead now. I truly think she is incapable of feeling. She’s got her head in the sand so far, she wouldn’t see a connection with someone if her glasses were binoculars.
She set me up so perfectly, though, like a master heartbreaker. When we fucked on that chair…I had hope. But after it was over and I realised she was just saying goodbye, I knew I was doomed.
After that, all sorts of self-doubt began creeping into my mind. Hell, if I can get it in my head that I care more about her than I do about football, my mind is fucked. Maybe tonight is just what I need to get my shit straight again because it’s time for Camden Harris to stop acting like he’s on his man-period.
“Hello, boys. Fancy seeing you here!” a voice says from behind me, and I snap my head around to see who it is.
Nothing could have prepared me for who stands before me.
“Dr. Ryan,” Tanner leers. “Nice to see you again.”
“Call me Belle,” she says with a giggle.
“I prefer Dr. Ryan if it’s all the same to you. And hello to you, too, Dr. Porter.”
Indie’s eyes haven’t left mine the entire time. She’s staring at me with a sort of shocked, embarrassed half smile—one that makes me wish I could read her mind. I know I just saw her today, but seeing her now, under the moonlight, dressed in street clothes with her hair down…well, she looks like the woman I used to know. Not the one I forced myself to make peace with earlier today.
Belle jabs Indie in the ribs with her elbow.
“Ouch,” Indie says through clenched teeth. “Hi, Tanner.” She looks at me. “Hi, Cam.”
“Hello,” I reply. “Is seeing you here really just a coincidence?” If so, the fates are cruel, cruel bastards.
Her brows lift. “I have a feeling this isn’t a coincidence.”
She looks at Belle and Tanner, who both smile knowingly.
“I’m a huge fan of Irish Way,” Tanner says, breaking the tension with a comment about the band. “And I just happened to run into Belle today, and she had the inside scoop on where I could score some tickets.”
“We love Old George,” Belle adds, walking over and sitting down on the bench beside Tanner’s feet. “This is our hangout spot, and it’s fun when bands play here.”
Tanner begins small talk with Belle while Indie remains standing here, staring at me awkwardly. She shifts from one foot to the other as she plays with the frame of her glasses.
I could tell Tanner we need to leave. I could leave by myself. I could go to the bar and get a drink, go to the loo, go to another pub, go hit on a different girl, go crazy!
But I don’t.
“Can we go talk for a minute?” I ask, sliding off of the table, not waiting for her response.
Tanner watches me like he thinks I’m going to go take her to the toilet and fuck her.
Indie looks at Belle and gets a silent nod of approval. When she turns to walk away, my hand instantly goes to the small of her back. I hear her sharp intake of breath, so I pull my hand back and clench my fist, wishing Tanner’s face was nearby again. Indie Porter likes space…and, fuck, I wish I didn’t want to be inside of her right now.
She stops by a thick cluster of ivy, away from the crowd of people, and turns around to face me. She crosses her arms over her chest. The warm bulbs cast a halo around her head and it all seems ironic.
“Do we have a problem that I don’t know about?” I ask, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my jeans. They’re one of my tightest pair, but today I noticed that my stitches are completely dissolved, so this is the first time I’ve been able to wear them in two weeks.
Her gaze slides down my abs and lingers somewhere around my legs. “What makes you think we have a problem?”
“Because you look like someone kicked your puppy.”
“I’ve never had a puppy.” She glowers before my meaning finally dawns on her. “I’m fine.”
I nod. “Good. We can be around each other, can’t we?” I ask out loud, wondering the same thing myself.
“I guess so. Does your brother know about us?” She looks down and I can see the shame blanket her. As much as I don’t want to, I take it personal.
“He knows, but don’t worry about him. He’s a sod but he’s a decent sod.” I watch her face and register the tension knitted between her brows. I can’t help myself as my hand reaches out and lifts her chin. I pin her with a serious look. “He won’t judge you, Indie.”
She exhales when she sees the sincerity in my expression. “Good. So are you really just out for a fun night with your brother, or is this where your book club meets?”
My brows lift at her little attempt at a joke. It feels like the Indie I grew to like. “Book Club meets on Sundays,” I wink. “What about you? Tequila Sunrise night I take it?”
Her eyes flash with a tiny level of anguish over how well we know each other. Our late-night pillow talk saw to that. “I’m off for four days this time,” she replies.
I want to ask her what her plans were for tonight—if she really was going to try to find her number two—but I bite my tongue.
“Let’s go try and have some fun.” I toss an arm around her shoulders and exhale when she doesn’t tense this time. She actually tucks into me a bit, and the familiar scent of lemons and freshly washed hair makes my heart pound.
The four of us commandeer the corner picnic table that is now littered with empty beer bottles and a pizza we all shared. The band is loud, but not so loud that you can’t hear each other talk. It’s also not so soft that you feel like you have to fill the awkward silences with chatter.
It’s the perfect spot because there’s less lighting back here and, so far, my brother and I have gone relatively unnoticed, aside from a couple blokes who wanted to talk football in the loo.
It’s always the loo where they get ya. Dick in hand, minding your own business, and bam. “You’re a Harris, aren’t you?”
The ones that get me in the loo never know which Harris I am. They just generalise and try to play it off that I’m a twin so that’s why they couldn’t tell. Tanner and I haven’t looked alike all season, but whatever. People are in love with the idea of us all on one team, playing for the hearts of East London. If I become a Gunner and break up our trio, the Bethnal fans will be devastated. But I can’t think about that right now.
The night carries on and it’s a bit odd having a normal outing with Indie after everything we shared. Tanner and I are on one side of the table, and Indie and Belle are on the other. It’s so ordinary but it feels right. It makes me wonder what life might be like if I was in a relationship. Perhaps it wouldn’t be as bad as I’d always thought.
At one point, I get the sense that Tanner and Belle know each other more than they’re letting on. Something about the way he says her name, “Dr. Ryan.” I’d make a mental note to pester him about it later, but that means he’d pester me about Indie and I don’t want that hot, hairy mess coming at me.
“Oh my God, are you two the Harris twins?” a blonde croons as she wobbles up to our table in four-inch heels. She’s standing closest to me.
“That we are,” Tanner answers with his familiar prowling leer.
“I’m a huge Bethnal Green fan…You guys are like, the best.” The girl steps in closer and touches my shoulder as she stumbles. “You had a great season.”
I smile politely as her hand squeezes repeatedly. My eyes move to Indie when I hear a heavy sigh from across the table. Her mouth is hanging open a bit and she’s watching the girl with a definite curl to her lip.
“Would you want to dance?” the blonde asks, looking back and forth between Tanner and me.
“Which one are you asking?” I ask, unable to stop watching Indie out of the corner of my eye.
The blonde smiles knowingly. “Both of you.” Then she giggles in a way that makes my balls crawl up inside of me.
“Fuck. Off,” Belle growls, and all of our eyes fly to her. “Seriously. Are you blind? We’re sitting right here.”
The girl crosses her arms over her chest and cuts a determined look right at Belle. Then she glances at Indie and rolls her eyes. Looking back at Tanner, she says, “You’re not seriously staying here with these two frumps, are you?”
Belle slams her fists down on the table and shoots up while Tanner’s hands fly out to grab hold of her wrists. I remain silent and watch Indie as she frowns down at the table. She’s not moving to calm Belle down. She’s not glaring back at the girl. She’s just retreated completely inside of herself and blocked it all out.
Tanner’s voice is garbled from restraining Belle when he says, “Thanks for saying hello. Have a nice night.”
The girl cocks out her hip with an obvious look of disgust. Then she turns and totters away, trying not to fall on the jagged cobblestone and looking like a complete prat in the process.
“Relax, Tony the Tiger. She’s not worth messing up your surgically magical hands.” Tanner releases his grip on Belle.
She sits down in a huff. “Well, the cheek of her! Talking shit about us when she’s the one who looks like a prostitute.”
“You could have gone with her if you wanted,” Indie blurts out and her eyes are pinned right on me. “Nothing here to stop you.”
My gaze narrows at her obvious meaning. “She’s not exactly my type.”
“What’s your type?” She tips her beer and takes three long swigs in a row lowers it and wipes her hand across her mouth.
“I don’t know. I’ll let you know when I see her,” I answer through clenched teeth.
The tension is heavy as Indie’s toffee eyes stay locked on mine. Is she picking a fight? Is she trying to bait me? I shouldn’t have to remind her that she’s the one who told me to fuck off before.
I should be angry, but my strongest emotion right now is turned on. I’m turned the fuck on by Specs and the possibility of her being jealous.
“Camden gave me this black eye,” Tanner blurts out of nowhere.
Indie’s mascara-lashed eyes are drooping when she looks over to him. “That’s what looks different,” she replies as she quickly chugs down the remainder of her beer like she’s on a mission. She grabs another one out of the ice bucket beside me. “I could hardly see it around all your hair and all this…nighttime. Gosh, that beard!”
“Don’t mock the beard!” Tanner crows.
“What did he punch you for?” Belle asks, and I reach out to take the beer from Indie’s hand.
She hands it to me without hesitation as she waits for Tanner’s answer. I tip it to my lips and drink down most of the contents. She doesn’t look like she needs more to drink. I hand the bottle back to Indie, who scowls when she realises it’s mostly empty.
“A girl,” Tanner responds. Before I can stop myself, I punch him hard in the shoulder. “Ooof, bloody hell, mate. What was that for?”
I roll my eyes and rest my arms back on the table. “Because you’re an arse.”
Indie’s brows raise. Then they narrow. “Another girl. No surprise there. We all know Camden’s quite experienced.” She takes a drink of the empty bottle and then sets it down on the table with a huff. “You’ve got the next round, Belle.”
“All right, I’m going.” Belle unfolds herself from the table, a look of discomfort marring her features.
“I’ll help you.” Tanner stands like he too wants to get away from this awkward situation. “Those drinks are very heavy. You’ll need a muscled figure with my sort of stamina to help you carry them.”
“You’re a gentleman and a scholar, good sir.” Belle mock bows to Tanner before they shuffle off toward the packed bar area.
I envy their light-hearted banter. Indie and I used to have that. Not all this tension and these narrowed eyes and passive aggressive comments. I watch her pick at the label of her bottle, away with her own thoughts. I’m craving the old Indie—the one with a fiery temper and a knee-jerk reaction that makes me smile.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”
Her brows lift as she looks at me. “Good thing you know better.” She’s not letting any cards show tonight. “So tell me, is it normal for two brothers to punch each other over a girl?”
I purse my lips. “It’s normal for us to fight. It’s how we communicate I guess.”
She nods like this is a completely foreign concept to her. “And then you guys make up, just like that?”
I lean forward and reply, “I think even Tanner knows when he deserves a punch.”
Her eyes rove around my face. We are so close I can smell the beer on her breath. I prefer the lemon scent, but it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t kiss her if I had the chance.
She tucks her hair behind her ears and says, “I suppose it’s nice you guys are related, and that you have family around who cares about you enough to punch you in the face over some girl.”
She’s fixating on this girl. I’m torn between being honest with her and telling her that she was the girl, or letting her stew with curiosity.
Before I can decide, she continues, “I never had that.” She frowns down at the table. “I never even had a pet. I wanted a gerbil once, but my gran said no because I wouldn’t be around long enough to take care of it.”
“That’s no good,” I reply, the corner of my mouth turning up at her memory.
“Yeah, you know, my gran died two years ago and I realised at her funeral that I never hugged her. She raised me and I never hugged her my whole life.” I watch Indie in eerie silence as she rubs her pointer finger over the rim of the glass bottle.
“My parents came home for the funeral and I spent three days straight with them, which was so weird because it was awkward, as if I didn’t know them and they felt like strangers. When it was time for them to go, I drove them to the airport because they had to get back to work…I remember getting out of the car and wanting to make sure I hugged them. I had this desperate need to hug them…because, you know, they were getting on a plane, and you never know when a plane could crash and the only people genetically wired to love you unconditionally are going to go down in flames.
“So I went to hug my mum and she stopped me in my tracks like this.” She reaches across the table and grips my biceps. She looks at the physical representation like she still can’t believe it. I can’t much either. “Then she said, ‘Indie, I think I’m getting a cold. Better keep your distance.’”
The weight of the words suspends in the air as she releases my arms with a sad smile. I’m frozen, unmoving, and still feeling the harshness of her grip on my arms.
Shaking her head, she tips the empty beer bottle onto its side and rolls it along the bumpy ridges of the wooden picnic table. “Who keeps their daughter at arm’s-length like that? At the time, I tried to believe that she cared enough to not want me to get sick. But when I was driving home, all I kept thinking was, ‘What kind of mother doesn’t hug their child at the airport?’ Hugging at the airport is such an epic moment. There are YouTube montages of awesome hugs at airports. There are homeless men who hold up signs that say ‘free hugs,’ and they aren’t worried about getting sick.”
She nods a few times before her eyes snap to mine. “I bet you a million pounds I bury my parents before I hug them.”
I feel like I was just shot in the face. Like a million times. Or kicked in the ribs after they’re all broken and I’ve been bleeding internally for hours.
She frowns and looks over her shoulder. “Where’s Belle with those drinks?” She moves to get up from the table and I reach out for her hand.
“No more drinks,” I beg, my eyes stinging.
She grimaces and then looks at my hand on hers. I don’t know if she doesn’t feel the tears falling down her face, or if she just doesn’t want to acknowledge them. “It’s Tequila Sunrise time. You know how important that is to me, Cam.”
“I do, but let’s go dance instead.”
She contemplates the idea. “Dancing is part of the approved list of items for a Tequila Sunrise worthy activity,” she says, bobbing her head thoughtfully.
I don’t wait for her answer. I stand up and make my way around the table toward her. She won’t make eye contact with me, but when I reach out, she puts her hand in mine and stares at our fingers linked together. Tears continue to slide out over and over, but I still don’t say anything. Words aren’t what she needs right now.
The music isn’t slow. Not at all. People are dancing wildly around us, but I tune it all out. I wrap her in my arms and clasp her head to my chest. I begin slowly rocking her to the music, alternating between holding her, squeezing her, and running my fingers through her hair the entire time. Her shoulders shake every once in a while and I know she’s crying. All I want to do is take away the pain. I don’t want anything more in this world than to take away this pain she has in her.
My desperation to do this for her trumps football. It trumps my family. It trumps my desire to kiss her. What I want for her to feel in this second supersedes any sexual desire I’ve ever had for her.
I need her to feel this.
“Let me take you home,” I whisper into her hair, loud enough she can hear me.
Her eyes shoot up to mine and the pain in them guts me. “No,” she exclaims. “I couldn’t stand it.”
My face falls. “Why, Indie?”
She shakes her head side-to-side like the answer should be clear as day. “Because I’m not right for this. I’m not right for you.”
I cup her face in my hands, my jawbone ticking with ferocious need to make her see. “Indie, please. Let me take you home.”
She jerks her head out of my hands. “No, Cam. This was a mistake. I don’t want you.”
Her words feel final as her watery eyes dry up, piercing through me once again.
“Just go find one of your hundreds of girls at your beck and call. Or that girl you punched Tanner over. If she’s worth fighting your brother for, she’s who you should be with.”
“She was you,” I growl, stepping back into her space.
Her face crumples in pain, and she walks backwards away from me. “If she was me, I feel bad for you because I’m not worth that.”
“Indie—”
“I’ll see you at your surgery, Camden.”
I want to chase after her. I want to say more. I want to show her my heart again, but I don’t…because I’ve already said too much. None of it will matter anyway.
She stumbles back over to the picnic table, grabs a confused Belle’s hand, and drags her toward the door and out of my heart.
For good this time.
