Page 9 of Not That Impossible

I had nothing scheduled at the gym until step class at five, but I had an afternoon date with my MacBook. I was going to write another article for theChipping Fairford Inquirer, submit it by Friday, and the editor, Ralph Gardiner, woulddefinitelypublish it.

The whole time we ate our lunch, Adam watched Ray.

“I’m going for it,” he said suddenly. “I’m done waiting.”

“For what?” I said around a mouthful of chicken salad. I swallowed, and looked from him to Ray and back. “For Ray?”

“Yes.”

I looked at Ray doubtfully. “I mean, maybe you could have had a shot, now you’re a sexy ex-model architect and stuff—”

Adam grinned at me.

“Rather than being the creepy little checkout boy at the Co-op—”

“I’ve been taller than Ray as long as I’ve known him. I wasneverthe creepy little checkout boy at the Co-op—”

“—who keeps staring at him. But I’m not sure you’ll ever be able to get over the issue of sleeping with his boyfriend.”

Adam scowled. “Fucking Fraser,” he said. He straightened up. “I’m not going to let that wanker get between me and Ray, and our eventual happily ever after. Ray needs someone who appreciates him, and looks after him. That someone is me. We are meant to be, and Ray will just…have to see that at some point.”

It wasn’t much of a plan. But, “I believe in you,” I told him. “You’ll get Ray, I’ll get over Liam, and our years of pining over unattainable men will be at an end.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Adam held up his beer.

I clinked it with my water, which was now lukewarm and flat with melted ice.

I didn’t think I was ever going to get over Liam.

It was probably time for me to at least try.

3

It was still raining when we left the pub. We hovered in the protection of The Lion’s small porch, gearing up to brave the dismal afternoon. In late spring, the porch was covered with cascades of purple wisteria that drove the tourists wild. Today, it was providing some much-needed shelter from rain that had stepped it up to a determined soaker.

Adam shrugged on his sexy leather motorcycle jacket and I pulled up the hood of my sweatshirt.

“Do you want a lift home?” I said, staring out at the road.

Traffic whooshed by, the tyres sounding extra loud on the wet tarmac. Leaves clogged a drain in the gutter a few feet away and water frothed out merrily. Some bubbles escaped to slide down the hill, only to coast into the road and be brutally popped by passing cars.

“Nah, I’m good. I’m on my bike.”

“It’s no trouble. Come on.” I tipped my head in the direction of the carpark. “I’ll drive you home, and we can come back and pick up your bike later.”

Later, when it had stopped raining and the roads weren’t like a waterslide.

Not to be his mother or anything, but I hated Adam riding that death trap disguised as a motorcycle on the best of days, let alone in shitty conditions with low visibility.

Adam turned to me and snagged the dangling strings of my hoodie. He pulled them tighter until the hood cinched up around my face and only a small circle was left to see out of. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “I’m very competent.”

“I knowyouare. It’s all the other idiots on the road I worry about.” I yanked the strings out of his chilly hand and fussed with the hood, loosening it.

“Mm-hmm.” He nudged me. “I’m careful. And I really am sorry for not telling you about Liam.”

I gave him a level stare.

“Okay,” he said with a grin. “I’m still not sorry about Liam because I’d definitely do it again. I’m sorry you’re upset?”

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