“Don’t bet on it,” I tease him.
“Ryan…”
“What? It’ll happen sooner or later…”
“Not now, and not soon.”
“We’ll see…” I say, winding him up. Although, to be honest, I was being serious.
I wouldn’t mind having a baby around, but Christine insists on taking things slowly. We’ve only been living together for a few weeks, and it would probably be a step too far. But I know that what I want is right in this house.
I’m damaged, and there are lots of things I don’t believe in: and I doubt I’ll believe in them again. I’ll probably never be the man that this incredible woman deserves, but I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere. Because I don’t believe in much: but I do believe in her.
I believe in how I feel. I believe in laughter, in her eyes and her kisses. I believe in her heart, which calls to mine, through our looks, our gestures, our silences. And I want it all, just for me.
I want her and I want to be her man.
Imperfect, but hers.
* * *
Chris
“Here we go,they’re out on the field. Oh my God, I think I might faint.”
“Oh God, oh God, tell me what they look like. Are they excited? Nervous? Does Ian seem calm?”
“They look…hot. Can I say that? You don’t mind, do you?”
Riley bursts out laughing on the other end of the phone.
“Do you guys have to make comments through the whole match?”
I turn towards Nick and smirk.
“Great, I’m the only dickhead out in the bleachers accompanying everyone else’s girlfriends to the game. How did I end up like this?”
“Calm down, mate, I’m here, too,” Evan reassures him.
“So?” Riley pulls my attention back to the game.
I’m sitting in the stadium with Nick and Evan. Riley can’t come to the games anymore – she only has a few weeks left until the baby’s due, and they’ve advised her not to do too much, to stay at home. But she’s not very good at it. So when I come to the stadium, I give her a running commentary of all the matches on the phone, which really pisses Nick off. He’s really had enough of all these women constantly being around.
Riley watches the matches on TV too, but she says that the commentator isn’t enough. She prefers my own commentary.
“Hey, you still there?” she asks me, but I can’t respond: my man has just made his entrance, and I sit back breathlessly in my chair.
His pride, his confident smile, his slick hair. Those muscles, almost tearing through his shorts, and those hands, which, last night, were intent on…
“Ah okay, Ryan’s just come on,” Riley says. “I’ll give you a few minutes to cool off, okay? I’ll call you back after the first whistle.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me, as Evan rips the phone from my hand.
“You two are so embarrassing, you know that? He never stops staring at your arse, and you…no, I don’t even want to know what you’re staring at.”
“Shut up, you’re ruining the moment,” I say to my son, who sits next to me, scoffing.
Ryan raises his arm, waving to the crowd, and his face appears on the big screen. He looks right into the camera and smiles, like only he knows how, showing off his gleaming white teeth. I don’t know how he keeps them so perfect – surely someone would’ve smashed them to pieces by now?
