International Player(4)

The only problem was, I’d never run seriously before. But how hard could it be? It was just walking but faster.

I tied my brand-new Adidas laces and headed out into the July London morning. It was light enough to see where I was going and early enough for no one to be up to witness my potential humiliation. I was also hoping that while I was fighting for breath, I’d decide on whether or not to go to lunch at my sister’s later that day.

I tightened my ponytail as I strode past the unoccupied porter’s desk and paused outside the door. Which direction should I head in? I’d not planned my journey or anything, so I really wasn’t prepared. Perhaps I should forget it for today and figure out a route for tomorrow? I could map out a manageable distance and head to a specific place, then work back. But I was here now, I might as well start.

I checked my watch and turned left out of my building toward the park, walking at first and then breaking into a light jog as I turned off my road. The streets were eerily quiet, and although cars passed me fairly regularly, it was almost as if I were in a different city. The dull roar of the motorway that I never normally noticed had disappeared, and I could even make out birdsong. Instead of dodging pedestrians, I had a chance to look around and examine the white stucco houses, mostly divided into flats, and wonder who lived beyond the glossy black front doors.

This wasn’t so bad.

I just needed to keep my pace steady. Not push myself too hard, too fast. As I carried on along the empty streets, my breathing fell into a rhythm with my feet. I breathed in every two steps and pushed out again every two steps. The sensation of being so aware of my lungs emptying and filling brought my thoughts back to Noah.

And lunch. And how I wanted to see him, which clearly meant I shouldn’t go. It had been four years. Why did my heart rate shift into a different gear when Abigail just mentioned his name? Why could I still remember how his arms felt around me and his beard scraped against my cheek when he greeted me?

I’d heard stories about Noah from Rob as he relived what he’d called his “glory days” at university, but our paths hadn’t crossed until the wedding. Noah had just returned from working in Hong Kong or China or another faraway destination. Even then he’d stood out—all blond hair, white teeth, and long limbs. He’d grinned at me from across the aisle and I’d looked away. Confused by his attention, I’d done my best to ignore him through the rest of the ceremony.

When he’d tried to engage me in conversation during the pre-reception drinks, I’d tried to figure out why. Was he one of those uber-friendly people who just liked getting to know everyone, or did he feel obligated to make conversation because I was Abigail’s sister? Or a bridesmaid?

When he’d asked me to dance the first time, I’d refused. The second time I’d offered him a deal—a fifty-pound contribution to the Harbury Foundation in return for three and a half minutes to Katy Perry’s “California Gurls.” He’d countered with two hundred pounds for five minutes and forty seconds of Spandau Ballet’s “True.”

I’d accepted.

For the first time ever, I’d been nervous to touch a man, for a man to hold me. Until Noah had slid his arms around my waist and breathed out a “Perfect” in my ear, his whiskers scraping my cheek. I’d melted into him, letting him press his hands against my back so there was no gap between us. Five minutes dissolved into just a few seconds where Noah had been the only person I’d been aware of in that marquee.

It was clear he was trouble.

And a player.

And well used to banging bridesmaids at weddings.

His intentions became all the more clear when I figured out we were the only two single people over eighteen at the wedding. So I challenged him to see me as a friend rather than a potential conquest. I told him that I wouldn’t be sleeping with him, but we could hang out and I could steer him away from conversations with aunties who wore too much perfume and cousins who were ten years too young for him.

And that night something new had been born between us. I’d become the first ever woman he’d tried and failed to sleep with. He’d become the person I was closest to other than my sister. We’d become the best of friends.

He teased me for being a geek. I bollocked him for being a player.

He was always able to tempt me into doing things I thought I’d hate and ended up enjoying. I showed him how boys were not the only experts on comic books.

He’d once confessed how relieved he was that I’d rejected him at the wedding so we could be friends, and right then and there a line in the sand was drawn.

Noah turned out to be different to how I expected. He wasn’t just some handsome player. I liked him, respected him, thought he was clever and driven and humble, and somewhere along the way I’d developed a huge crush on him. At least he’d never known, and I’d been saved that embarrassment. I’d hidden it well. Under my geekdom, and firmly in the center of the Friend Zone.

And that was why I should avoid him. I didn’t want my crush coming back and this time have him figure it out. He might have wanted to seduce me at a wedding because of a lack of other single women of a suitable age, but I wasn’t the girl who was going to change his player ways, and I had no interest in being another notch on his bedpost. I should make an excuse about not being able to make lunch.

My thighs began to burn and a trickle of sweat ran from the back of my neck down my spine. I hadn’t even reached the park yet, and I wanted to stop, give up, and turn back. But no. This was my chance to do something different. Prove to my sister that I had breadth and to myself that I’d changed and was no longer the girl who ran away from men who were far too attractive for their own good.