Page 18 of The Fly-Half

I chuckled. “You can thank my ex-teammates from Marseille for that. Apparently, dressing badly is a criminal offence in the south of France.” I glanced at the bar and the staff behind it. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“That’d be lovely, thank you.”

Peaches ordered a cocktail and I went for a glass of red wine, even though I was pretty sure that living in France for so many years had ruined wine for me unless I bought it myself. But the bar had a French name, so maybe I’d get lucky.

I could hope, but I wasn’t holding my breath.

It was funny because all my friends in France had always joked about how English I was, even after years of living there, but coming home had only emphasised how many things about me had changed while I’d been away and how much of French culture I’d absorbed. Sometimes it felt like I was stuck between the two and I was never sure whether to lean into things or pretend the differences didn’t exist.

We carried our drinks over to a table in the corner that had suddenly become free. It was tucked away from the hustle and bustle and the group of women, who’d moved on to champagne, which meant I’d actually be able to hear Peaches talk.

A strange feeling fluttered in my stomach as we sat down, not quite butterflies but definitely nerves.

“So, did you grow up in France?” Peaches asked, his foot brushing against my calf as he crossed his legs.

“No, but I lived there for eight years while playing rugby. I moved back at the start of June. I actually grew up just outside London.”

“Marseille sounds so much nicer, not going to lie.”

“Yeah, I definitely miss the weather. I’m so fucking cold here.”

Peaches chuckled and leant closer. “Same. I spend half my time in the most ridiculously unsexy amount of layers at the moment. I’ve even got one of those giant Oodies. Although I don’t always wear much underneath it.”

My stomach twisted and I reached for my wine. I’d never minded guys being so direct before, but after everything that had happened in the last twelve hours, I wasn’t feeling it. And I knew right then that I had to say something.

“Look, er, I think you’re gorgeous as fuck but I have to be honest and tell you I’m not up for having sex tonight. And it’s nothing on you. It’s just I—”

“Hey,” Peaches said, taking my hand and squeezing it. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s not you.” I sighed and took a long drink of my wine. As predicted, it was horrifically average and overpriced. “I am hopelessly and irredeemably in love with someone else, who’s straight, and apparently my brain has decided that patheticallypining over him is better than trying to move on and find someone who actually wants to be with me.”

Peaches winced. “Shit, honey, I’m sorry. How long?”

“Have I been in love with him? I don’t know. Since we were about sixteen? I only realised it a few years ago, though, and it’s been getting worse since I moved back. If I wasn’t under contract, I’d almost be tempted to fuck off back to France just to get away from him.”

“I know that feeling. They always follow you,” Peaches said with a knowing look as he reached for his cocktail and sucked half of it down in one gulp. “Fuck it, we’re going to need more drinks.”

I squeezed his hand and tried to pull away. “You don’t have to. Seriously, this was meant to be a date and I’ve completely fucked it up.”

“Yes, I do. It sounds like you definitely need to vent if you ever want to move on.”

“I’ve been trying. It’s not worked yet.”

Peaches raised one perfectly pencilled eyebrow at me and shot me the most withering look I’d ever been on the end of. “Darling, do you spend ninety percent of your time with this man?”

“Yes…”

“Then how’re you ever going to get over him?”

“I haven’t got that far,” I said with a hollow laugh. “Fuck, we really do need more drinks.”

“We do.” Peaches downed the last of his and stood up. “Do you drink cocktails? If so, they’ve got two for one on until ten and I’m going to get four.”

“Sure. Go wild.”

“Don’t say that, darling. It’ll only get messy.”

I snorted and watched him walk away. His ass looked so fucking sweet and peachy, but it was still nothing compared toJonny’s, and I almost hated how that was my first thought. In another life, I’d have gone straight back to Peaches’s house and fucked him senseless. But in this world, I couldn’t even bring myself to contemplate meaningless sex.

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