Page 91 of Almost Ours

The long and short of it is that I’m fucked.

I find myself studying Ruby’s face for signs she’s uncomfortable before realising what I’m doing and feeling like a complete dickhead. She can handle herself. I’ve seen her handle Bonnie. I’ve seen her climb through a toilet window rather than admit defeat. If Tom were bothering her, I doubt there would be much ambiguity about it.

That doesn’t make me want him there.

In fact I’d quite happily fling him through the fucking window.

Shit.

I take a long drink of my pint.

When did this happen?

There hasn’t been a day where Ruby suddenly became important. No grand revelation. No point where I consciously decided I wanted to spend every spare hour with her. She was just there, and then she was there again, and then I started asking whether she wanted breakfast before I’d even gone to bed the night before.

Now every room feels divided into where Ruby is and where Ruby isn’t.

“You gonna drink that?” Oscar asks, pulling my focus back to him. He looks oddly like Ruby and nothing like her at the same time. His brown eyes are assessing me the same way her hazel ones do. “You’ve been holding it for about ten minutes.”

“I’m pacing myself,” I grunt.

Cam makes an offended noise. “No fucking pacing after a win.”

“I told you already, mate, I don’t really drink.”

“We know,” Oscar tells me. “Cam won’t shut up about it.”

Cam sits straighter. “Because it concerns me.”

“My alcohol consumption concerns you?”

“Yes. You’re a footballer. There’s a culture to uphold.”

Dave leans across the table, eyes on Cam. “You could do with drinking less, to be honest.”

“That will never be true.” Cam rebuffs.

Dave looks at Oscar. “Remember when he threw up into a traffic cone after Varsity?”

Oscar nods. “Or when he got mowed down by a bull at Daisy Waite’s birthday party?”

“That bull tried to kill me!” Cam booms. “Speaking of, has anyone had a run-in with Bernardo recently?”

My head snaps towards him. “You know Bernardo?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Cam asks, looking thoroughly unhappy. “Little fucker tried to eat my nose right off my face. He’s got it in for me.”

I look around the table, everyone is nodding sagely. “Why doesn’t the uni just get rid of it?”

“They can’t,” Oscar grimaces. “Swans are protected by the Queen.”

“What?” I stare at him. “What do you mean that thing is protected by the Queen?”

Oscar shrugs. “All swans belong to her, don’t they?”

“You’re telling me an eighty-nine-year-old woman is personally responsible for the fucking psychopath that keeps chasing me around campus?”

Cam looks the most serious I’ve ever seen him. “He almost got you too?”