Page 21 of Keeper
She huffs out a frustrated growl. “So you’re going to leave without hugging me goodbye?” Her angry eyes blink rapidly. I think I might see tears forming in their depths, but there’s no use in worrying about her anymore.
I give her one last look. “This isn’t a goodbye I want, so I’m not giving it.”
Vi calls everyone into the house when dinner’s ready. All seated around the table, Tanner and Camden fight over who gets to hold Rocky next because she can’t ever just be sat in a pram or a car seat. She must be held at all times. Meanwhile, I’m still holding the prize. I hunch over her in my arms, kissing her head over and over.God, how do they make baby’s heads so bloody soft?
In the end, Gareth sneaks in and swipes Rocky next. I smile at Vi as I pass her over. “She really is the cutest baby that ever existed.”
Vi nods but then points to me and Poppy, who’s seated across from me. “You and Poppy were pretty cute kids, too, if I recall. You were always the talk of the neighbourhood because you’d stop traffic with your cuteness.”
“We did not,” I scoff and look at Poppy, whose cheeks are red with embarrassment. It doesn’t deter Vi a bit, though.
“When you were about eight, I remember finding you two playing out back. I walked up just as Poppy said to you in her adorable little voice, ‘I wish there were a hundred Bookers in the world.’ And Booker, you looked right at her with the straightest face and said, ‘I wish there were a hundred Poppies in the world.’ And the two of you laughed like you just shared the most hilarious joke. I could have died from cuteness overload. You two were always in your own little world.”
Belle and Indie croon, and Tanner and Camden chortle like the prats they are. Tanner sighs and looks at Camden with his hands clutched against his heart. In a high-pitched voice, he says, “Camden, I wish there were a hundred Camdens in the world.”
Cam smiles hugely and replies in a similar tone, “And Tanner, I wish there were a hundred Camdens in the world, too.”
“You wanker,” Tanner bellows and yanks Camden down into a headlock.
Dad yells at them to grow up, but nobody listens until Vi places her hands on the table and shouts, “Oi, not around the baby.”
They stop instantly, and we all laugh and roll our eyes at the ridiculousness of the twins.
When things settle down and we all begin to eat, my eyes find the one person in the room I actually would take a hundred of…And that thought scares the shit out of me.
INEVER THOUGHTI’D SAYthat teaching German to English children is easier than teaching English to grown adults, but bloody hell, no wonder this job pays so well. The next few weeks of teaching are a nightmare. If I’m not hand-holding the small Vietnamese grandmother as she weeps about having to do homework, then I’m shouting at the ItalianGodfatherwannabe to put out his cigarette. Cultural stereotyping is something I am very conscious of, but these people walk right into it! Though I will say the group of Scandinavian men—Denmark I think—are a laugh. They have no clue what I’m saying, but they smile through every lesson. I think they were even trying to ask me out for a drink one day after class. My Danish is a little rough, but I was able to politely say, “Nej tak, no thank you.”
Quite honestly, though, I wouldn’t mind a little company. Booker has had some away games, so I’ve seen very little of him. The bit I have seen him, he’s been busy stretching. One day I came home and he was in the living room bent over with his arse high up in the air in the downward dog pose. When he took off his shirt and started massaging Deep Heat onto his lower back, I had to get the hell out of there. Avoidance seems essential for my mental health, especially when he looks like that.
After being at the Harris house a few weeks ago, my old feelings for Booker started to creep back up. And the way he looked at me at his game and across the table with his family all around didn’t help matters.
But tonight is a new night. It’s Friday. I’m done with my final course for the week, so I’m plotting the beverage I’ll make myself as I let myself into the flat. When I walk inside, I’m shocked to find Booker sitting in the living room.
“Oh hi, Booker,” I say, dropping my keys on the kitchen table. “I’m surprised to see you home.”
He stands up from the sofa, thrusting his hands in the pockets of his worn jeans. His dark hair has been freshly cut—close on the sides but with a longer quiff in the front. It’s lightly gelled back away from his face, which displays the full moody colour of his eyes. “Our last match was Wednesday night in Sheffield. We got back late last night.”
I walk over and stand near the sofa, trying to ignore that he was sitting exactly where we got naked. “Erm…right, I saw the score. Congratulations.”
He nods, running a lazy hand through his tresses. “Thanks. I’m glad the season’s over, though. I’m ready for this break.”
“Oh yeah?” I drop down and perch on the arm of the sofa, far enough away that I can’t smell him but close enough to be friendly. “So, what do you do in the off-season? Pig-out and become a lazy sod?”
He laughs. “Hardly. I might eat a little more indulgently, but I still workout nearly every day.”
“That’s cool. The gym here is brilliant,” I say stupidly. Of course he knows the gym here is brilliant. It’s his flat and he’s probably been in it tons of times.
“When do you use it?”
“Mornings usually. Around ten o’clock.”
“We should work out together tomorrow.” The corner of his mouth pulls up into an adorable boyish grin that reveals one of his dimples. “I want to see this exercise lover, Poppy McAdams, at the gym. Is it awful that I’m imagining you falling arse over tit on the treadmill like a cartoon character?”
“Yes, it’s awful,” I baulk and immediately try to school my features so he doesn’t see recognition dawn on my face. I have fallen off a treadmill not once, not twice, but three times. “I’m much more agile on my feet these days. It’s been at least a week since the last time I fell.”
He laughs and it sounds good. I’ve missed his laugh.
“Want to watch a film?” He lifts his brows hopefully.
