Page 59 of One Night With You

We stop doing laps and start stretching out our hamstrings, quads and arms. I don’t mean to look at Jackson as Ollie makes his point, but I do. He scowls. He’s just done exactly what Ollie has said: the girl he was trying to seduce at work has told him, in no uncertain terms, that she’s not into him. He’s normally so upbeat, but he’s been totally dejected these past two weeks. He claims it’s a case of sore ego over sore heart, but either way he’s been licking his wounds.

‘I’m not going to drop the ball,’ I grunt, touching my toes. ‘You’ve both been very helpful in giving me pointers when I’ve needed them, and I’m grateful, but the student is ready to become the master. You’re single,’ I say, gesturing at Ollie as I stand up again. ‘And sorry, Jackson, but you are too.’ He clutches at his heart at the reminder. ‘And I’m the one who met a womanmonthsago now, made an impression, gave her space, and now she’s asked to go out properly. It’s been a slow burn, and that’s all right, you know? And …’ I add, ‘we’ve already slept together, so we know that works. We’ve already hung out at the party, and on the train, so we know it’s more than physical. Lads, I’m telling you: I’ve got this covered. Focus on yourselves.’

Ollie pings his sweatband at me and Jackson mutters darkly, ‘Pride comes before a fall,’ but he’s half-smiling, so I know he’s a tiny bit impressed. I don’t mean to be braggy or big-headed, I just don’t see the need to pretend it could all go wrong. The obstacles have slowly been removed. What’s wrong with assuming the best could happen, over fearing for the worst?

‘Okay,’ announces Zola, our co-captain with Jackson, who doesn’t meet my eye now, after our coffee date that didn’tpan out. She said no hard feelings, but we haven’t gone back to how we were, swapping flirty comments and teasing one another. She largely avoids me, now. ‘Tonight is just us, no rival team, so we’ll split up and play best of three games, team captains being Jackson for the reds and Ollie for the yellows.’ She holds out the bibs for them to take, and each of them stand either side of her, facing the rest of us. ‘I’ll flip a coin for who picks first,’ Zola continues. ‘So, Jackson, heads or tails?’

‘Heads,’ Jackson shouts.

‘Good,’ quips Ollie. ‘Because I’m good at chasing tail.’

Nobody laughs, but he doesn’t need anyone to.

The coin comes down on tails and Ollie chooses Zola, leaving Jackson to choose me.

‘You’d think blood would be thicker than water,’ I say to Ollie as I walk to join the opposing team. He grins. ‘You’re a goner.’

We play hard and fast, our team winning first, Ollie’s second. It’s neck and neck for the third match too, and in the end we just miss out on the win – but it’s close enough that Jackson doesn’t even seem to mind. Ollie does a handstand into some sort of handspring over his side of the pitch, shouting and whooping and generally making an idiot of himself, sucking up all the attention in the room.

‘Your brother is a dick,’ Jackson says, but his features are soft and he’s shaking his head lightly, like a mother who can’t control her unruly son but loves him anyway. ‘An absolute dick.’

‘Yeah,’ I agree. ‘But he’ll also probably get the first round in, so there’s that.’

‘Oi! Sheridan!’ Jackson bellows across to him. ‘You coming to the pub or what?’

Ollie peels off his bib, taking his T-shirt with it, and jogs over to us topless. He’s ripped, and knows it. Jackson narrows his eyes in a way that shows he knows it now, too. ‘’Course I am,’ he says, jogging on the spot. As he moves off towards the lockers he adds, gallantly, ‘I’ll even get first blood in. That’s what you call it, isn’t it, Jackson?’

‘It is,’ Jackson says, and we both watch Ollie dash off ahead.

‘Dick,’ Jackson reiterates once again. ‘Dick, but also a charming bastard.’

‘Frustrating, isn’t it?’ I reply, satisfied that he can see what I’ve been dealing with my whole life.

I don’t stay long at the pub, choosing instead to leave Jackson and Ollie arguing over the series finale of24, and everyone else drinking and laughing – even Zola, who managed her first smile at me across the bar when we were both ordering at the same time. I decide I want to walk through the city, meandering through Shoreditch down to Clerkenwell, finally ending up at Tottenham Court Road, the city changing from hipsterville to furniture design studios to the West End, theatres lit up with flashing lights and clothes shops still blasting pop music, even at 9 p.m. I don’t even listen to music as I walk; I want to admire where I live.

My mind turns to tomorrow and the date with Ruby: I already know what we’re going to do, and I’m excited. I wonder how things would be if I hadn’t met her. Our night together gave me the balls to date other women down here, and every date made me more confident, more sure of what I want. Through Ruby I met Jackson, and the dodgeball team, and that’s half my social life. Ollie hearing me talk about those dates, and the team, has given us new common ground. I’ve gone from sporadically seeing him a few times a year tonow, especially since he started playing too, to twice a week or more. Buying Ruby’s sofa on my second day has had a knock-on effect on so many things, and now it feels neatly like we’re coming full circle.

If I hadn’t met her, would I be another lonely loser down here, a millennial man who only cares about his job and anything that orbits around it? Work barely scratches the surface of my life here. It’s rich, and full, and more than I hoped it would be. I lived in or near Liverpool for my whole life, but it’s only been lately that I’ve truly felt it: the feeling of being home.

I can hear the gurgles of chatter coming from the flat above when I get home. I think they must be having a dinner party, because there’s the occasional scrape of chairs and the smell of cigarette smoke at the back window. I flick on the telly and take a long hot shower, washing the day away, and when I get out I open my wardrobe to pack for the weekend. I told Ruby I was up seeing family, but that’s not strictly true – I just knew I couldn’t wait. She’s worth the special trip.

I have my bag with all the equipment we’ll need, but I also lay out clean pants and socks, my baggy corduroys with the cuffed ankles, some coloured socks and a long-sleeved T-shirt to go under a heavy flannel shirt. I get a thin body warmer that I can wear under my coat if it’s especially chilly, and my hat, scarf and gloves as well. I might not need them, but maybe Ruby will.

When I’m done, I sit on my second-hand sofa and scroll through some work emails, umming and ahhing over whether to text her. I decide that yes, as a grown man with very specific intentions I am allowed.I’ve got our equipment ready,I text her.If you’re in the market for a date-shaped hint.

She sends back a single question mark. She’s cool as a cucumber.

Just make sure you’re wearing layers,I tell her then.I don’t want you to get cold.

Right away she replies:So we’re going for a walk?

Putting one foot in front of the other will help, yes,I reply.

You’re being obnoxious,she says.

Terrible habit of mine,I reply.

I get the eye-roll emoji back.

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