Page 42 of Someone Like You

In a good way

Handsome

In a “the world should be scared of our combined sass” kind of way

Ian smirked smugly. He was typing out his joint custody conditions when another text arrived:

Handsome

I’ve got a free trial at the gym you recommended tomorrow afternoon

I can drop the books off at yours along with the tupperware and your precious bag before I go home

The gym in question was in Ian’s neighbourhood. It was a small business run by his old friend Najeer, the ideal place for someone with Phil’s issues with crowds and strangers.

You

Gym huh?

Planning to outhandsome yourself?

Handsome

Shut up

Ian couldn’t tell Phil there was no way he could get any more attractive than he already was. It wasn’t about looks or any specific physical traits: it was about the light that took over Phil’s face when he smiled, broad and genuine, and the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes deepened, displaying a joy his forced smiles couldn’t fake, the bright twinkle of intelligence of those eyes that almost turned green in the sunlight. It was about the strength and the courage of a man who’d chosen to stand through the pain and limp on rather than give up. A sculpted physique could never make him more charming than he already was, but this wasn’t Phil’s goal: workingout was a natural remedy for mental health issues and Phil deserved nothing but praise for wanting to get himself back on track.

You

Go do your thing

I’ll be waiting for your old carcass to drop on my mat

If Ian had to live with a bleeding heart, he was glad it was for a man like Phil Hanson.

* * *

The following day, like all Fridays, was hectic and tiring and left very little time to indulge in leisure activities like reading. Ian went to the gym during his lunch break, but his favourite metal playlist blaring in his ears wasn’t loud enough to distract him from his obsession with Alba’s story and her fate. He’d left her lying in a hospital bed with several cracked ribs and a crushed spleen after a shady car accident. The book had ended in a cliffhanger, with a nurse bringing a flower delivery while Alba was being questioned about the accident by Detective Beauchamp, leaving Ian with an abundance of theories and zero answers.

When the doorbell finally rang around 6 PM, he had a whole day of pent up frustration to vent.

“I’ve got questions,” he said as soon as the door opened to Phil, who arched his brows, bike leaning against his side.

“Good evening to you, too.”

He was dishevelled, a light flush lingering in his cheeks, and Ian remembered about the gym. He stood aside, motioning for Phil to carry the bike into the flat.

“The wheels are wet.”

“It’ll be gone in minutes if you leave it outside.”

So the bike was brought in and propped to the wall. Ian ignored the muddy trails the tires left on the linoleum; he’d noticed thehelmet hanging off the handlebar: the black paint had long silvery scratches along one side.

“Ah.” Phil eyed it apologetically. “Yeah, it was a pretty timely loan.”

“What happened?”

“Slipped in a puddle of soggy leaves.”

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