International Player

by Louise Bay

  “Be friends,” I said, hoping he’d take the hint.

  “Well, yes, of course. We’ve always been friends, but I’m saying, nothing needs to change between us.”

  He was oh-so-wrong. “I think it’s the right time to go back to being just friends, though.”

  He frowned at me, searching my face as if he didn’t fully understand what I was saying. “What are you talking about? Did I upset you?”

  I wasn’t sure if he was capable of doing anything that didn’t make me like him a little bit more. “Not at all. But this Europe thing—you should concentrate on that. Your next challenge. And like I said, I’m so grateful for all the help you’ve given me—”

  He caught my arms as I went to move away. “Wait, so now you’ve met your fundraising targets, things are over between us?”

  “Things?” What was it he thought we were doing? “What things? We agreed on casual. And casual ends sooner or later.”

  Noah released my arms and stepped back. “You want to end things. Why? Because of the offer from Morgan? I haven’t even said yes yet.”

  “But you should. It sounds like exactly the sort of challenge you relish. And I’m not asking for anything from you,” I replied. “Like you said, we’ll be friends.”

  “But I want more than that. I want to be friends with you, but I like the sex too. And you can’t tell me the sex isn’t good because we both know it’s fucking fantastic.”

  I fought back a grin. There was no doubt about that on my side, but it was good to hear that he felt the same way about the physical relationship between us. “So what is it you’re picturing for us?”

  I wanted to smooth out the ridge between his eyebrows. He seldom looked so serious. “Well, I like the sex stuff. And lately, we’ve had fewer dinners together, but I like spending time with you. I want to be your friend, hang out, eat Chinese, and argue about string theory and whether Lucas should have kept Han shooting Greedo first in the special editions.”

  God, I’d missed all that stuff the last few weeks when I’d been trying so desperately to keep him at arm’s length. “We both know that it’s who Han is at that point in the film. Of course he should have still fired the first shot in the 1997 version.”

  “Right,” he replied. “So why stop all that?”

  “Because I can’t do it anymore, Noah,” I said, honesty bursting from me as if someone had popped a water balloon of emotions inside me. “It’s too difficult. I’m not that girl. You know me—I’m all in with whatever I do, and I’ve tried with this casual thing but—”

  “Hey, casual was your idea. I didn’t put rules in place.”

  “I know. I did. I thought it would help.”

  “I just don’t get it. What are you saying? You don’t want the sex or you don’t want the Star Wars stuff?”

  I folded my arms. “Tell me what is it you really want? You want the Star Wars marathons and the sex but looking ahead, what do you want with me?”

  He grinned. “Well, Star Wars marathons and sex sound good to me. Why would anyone want anything else?”

  “But I will, Noah. My feelings for you grow every time I see you, and if I were to let you in—stop dodging your calls and ditching dinner with you—”

  “I bloody knew you were avoiding me.”

  “And I’m telling you why. I can’t do casual sex with my best friend. Not anymore.”

  “I don’t understand why you’re having this sudden change of heart. We like each other. You’re one of the few people in the world who doesn’t bore me, and I never know what you’re going to say next. I want to see how this goes.”

  “You say you like this now, but what about tomorrow? What happens to us next month? After the Europe job there will be another opportunity. Another mountain to climb and you’ll move on. In New York or freaking Beijing or wherever. There will be a different challenge. And when you leave, I’ll be left in ruins, Noah. I have to protect myself.”

  “So you don’t want casual. Fine. Let’s officially date. Let’s see how things develop.”

  He really wasn’t making this easy for me. “We can’t, Noah.”

  “I don’t fucking understand, Truly. What have I done wrong? What is it that you want from me?”

  “I’m not asking for anything. But . . .” I’d never expected anything from Noah. And our time was up. “I need more.”

  “I’m saying, let’s date. Isn’t that more?” His gaze was focused on me, intense and almost irresistible.

  Why didn’t I just say yes to him? It wasn’t as if anything he was saying was untrue. It would be so easy. I wanted him to stay in London, call me up in the middle of the day, slide his arms around me and pull me toward him, all heat and sunshine. But I’d need that forever. How long would Noah want it for?

  “Noah . . .” I said. Should I tell him every single thought in my head? Did I have anything to lose?

  “Is this because you’re dating? Have you met someone?”

  I sighed in exasperation. “Don’t you get it?” I asked. “It’s exactly the opposite. I can’t hold myself back from you. When we’re together, it’s so easy for me to imagine a future together, to think about being a couple, having kids who grow up with Rob and Abigail’s and hate us because we make them learn the periodic table rather than let them play Fortnite. I can imagine growing old together and fighting over Scrabble in a nursing home.” I took a deep breath. “I’m a step away from being so in love with you that I can’t function. And I know if I let myself take the next step, if I let you in even a little bit more, I’ll love you for the rest of my life.”

  Noah’s eyes widened, shock covered his face, and he stepped back. “I had no idea.”

  I looked away, my gut churning in horror over what I’d said, even though it was all true. I wanted the sex and discussions about string theory, but I also wanted more than that. “You’ve not done anything wrong, Noah.” I shrugged, my voice wobbling. “But you need to let me go or I’m going to drown in you.”

  He pushed his hands into his pockets, his head bowing. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to hurt you but . . . This is . . .”

  He didn’t finish his sentence. But I did in my head.

  It wasn’t how he felt, what he wanted, or how he saw us together.

  It wasn’t who he was.

  And that’s why I had to leave.

  “I know,” I said. “I never wanted it to get to this point. I thought I had it under control. I thought with the rules and everything—this is my fault.” I swallowed and took a deep breath. “And I’ll fix it and everything will be fine. You’ll go to Europe. You’ll meet someone. I’ll throw myself into work and everything will get back to normal. When I next see you—we’ll be . . . friends.”

  “Wait,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about this.” He paused and blew out a breath. “I know you’re different. You’re special. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone.”

  My heart clanged against my ribcage. I’d never thought I’d hear this from him.

  “But, there are no guarantees in life. I can’t tell you how I’m going to feel in a few months or years. Whether or not I want kids or whether I’ll want to be playing Scrabble in my old age. I just never look that far ahead.” He shook his head, his mouth tight as he struggled to find the words.

  I nodded. I knew who this man was, and I couldn’t blame him for being himself. “I get it. We’re different. We want different things.” I needed more. I needed certainty.

  Silence stretched between us before he stepped forward and cupped my face. “I’m sorry,” he said, as he placed a kiss on the top of my head. “I’m so sorry, I just . . .”

  “I know,” I replied and stepped back, letting the truth of how incompatible we were solidify between us. And then I turned away, into the cold London night. This time I knew for certain he wouldn’t be following me.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Noah

  In New York all the views were skyward. And that’s what I needed
: a fresh perspective. I stepped out of the car and glanced up. New York felt so much smaller than London—more compact. Less sprawling. New York was decisive and sharp against London’s worn softness. I breathed in the contrast, the sounds of the taxi horns and the yelling of the hot dog sellers. The tightness around my ribcage that I’d had since my conversation with Truly just a few days ago loosened, and I knew I was in the right place.

  Refusing the offer of a porter’s help, I took my carry-on from the driver and headed through the lobby of the Time Warner building toward the lift to the Mandarin Oriental hotel lobby located on the thirty-fifth floor.

  “Noah,” a female voice said from behind me. I turned to find Francesca Sanderson smiling at me. “I’d recognize the back of that head anywhere. Good to see you.”

  The lift pinged open and I stepped aside to let Francesca through. “It’s days like today when Manhattan feels small. How are you?” I asked. I’d known Francesca two or three years ago. For about three months of one particularly sidewalk-melting summer.

  “Perfect.” She beamed. “Just down for the night from the Hamptons. I’ve given up my place in the city, so this hotel is like a home away from home. What about you?”

  “I’m here from London for a board meeting.” I’d been due to fly out on Monday but decided to come early after my conversation with Truly at the winter ball. Part of the reason I liked Truly was that she was always surprising me. But the last thing I’d been expecting was her to end things between us. On the surface, we’d left things amicably, but I was pissed off and I wasn’t sure why or what to do about it. I just knew that I didn’t want to see Truly. I wanted to stop thinking about her. I needed a break from London.

  “Oh, you went back. I heard about the float. Congratulations.” She smiled at me, her auburn hair looking like she’d just been to the salon and her makeup emphasizing her dazzling green eyes. She’d always been gorgeous.

  “Thanks. I’m still on the board but . . .” I felt a disconnection to the business now that it was owned by someone else.

  “It’s not yours anymore? I guess it feels weird.”

  I chuckled. “Yeah. A little. What are you up to now?”

  “Oh, you know. Still consulting.”

  “Still working too hard?” Francesca was one of the most disciplined women I’d ever met. She got up at five to work out, something her inside thigh muscle grip could vouch for. She was in the office by seven, and even when we’d gone for brunch at the weekends, she looked like she’d just stepped out of a magazine shoot—glossy and glamorous. She was Truly Harbury’s exact opposite.

  “Always.” The doors slid open at the lobby level of the hotel, and I held the doors as Francesca stepped out. “We should grab a drink,” she said as she glanced at her expensive watch. “Unless you have plans?”

  “Sure,” I said. It was nice to see Francesca. She was always sweet and uncomplicated, and from what I remembered, decent in bed. Spending the evening with a friendly face felt like a good distraction from what I’d left behind in London.

  “The lobby bar is open already, unless you want to change?” she asked.

  “No, I’m good. Let’s check in and I’ll meet you over there.”

  She smiled, and we split off toward separate check-in desks.

  I was done first, and I made my way over to the bar and grabbed a seat by one of the floor-length windows overlooking the park. It was a picture-postcard view—the green parkland sunk into the middle of the towering skyscrapers. I hadn’t even thought about the four years I’d spent here since I’d been in London. Seeing Francesca brought a little bit of my history into my present. I couldn’t remember giving her a second thought after we split, either. I was good at moving on, leaving my past in the past. My relationship with Francesca had been simple. There had been a lot of sex and some dinner dates. I didn’t remember us talking or sharing things. I certainly never had to escape to a different continent in an attempt to stop thinking about her.

  London was different. Truly was different.

  When I’d seen Truly after being away from New York, I’d wondered why we hadn’t been better at keeping in touch. I wanted to hear about her work, wondered if her hair still smelled of coconut. I’d been excited to see her. Seeing Francesca after so long was . . . fine. Perfectly pleasant. A distraction from another woman.

  “Hey, did you order?” Francesca asked as she took a seat opposite me.

  “No, not yet.”

  She beckoned over a waiter in a way that only women in New York could. She crossed her legs, her shiny, strappy heels knocking the table. I was pretty sure Francesca wouldn’t own a Star Wars t-shirt let alone a Stranger Things one. Fuck, Truly looked good in that t-shirt. Looked good in everything.

  “Whiskey?” she asked.

  “A Manhattan,” I told the waiter. I never drank cocktails in London. Whiskey straight, beer, or wine, but cocktails weren’t pivotal to London culture in the way they were in New York. We might speak the same language, but there were so many differences, large and small, between New York and London. The most important one was that Truly wasn’t here.

  “So, tell me, break any hearts recently? I see you’re not married.” She glanced at my left hand. I’d forgotten how forward New York women were. It was how Francesca and I had ended up together in the first place. She’d introduced herself to me in a bar like this one, asked me if I was single, and I’d gone home with her. She’d made it easy. Women like her always did.

  “Oh, I think you’re the heartbreaker here,” I replied, sitting back. Francesca’s invitation for a drink was an opening line after which we’d both decide whether or not we wanted to go to bed together.

  “No heartbreaking here.” She drew a square around her heart with her finger. “I love my work. It might not bring me flowers, but the money keeps me warm at night.”

  I chuckled. “Well, at least you’re clear about your goals.” We were alike in that way—goal oriented and driven—although money had never been my motivator, just a helpful by-product.

  “So, tell me about your work,” she said. “What are you up to now that you’ve made your fortune?”

  “I’m dabbling in a few things. I’ve been helping a friend with charity work and looking at the healthcare industry.” We chatted as if we’d just been introduced or were old business colleagues, but it felt as if I were at a networking event, being polite and swapping small talk.

  “Charity work? That doesn’t sound like you.” She smiled around the edge of her glass and took a sip of her drink. “You’re a corporate bad boy. A titan of the stock market now.”

  She didn’t know me at all.

  “What can I say? I’m complicated.”

  Francesca was attractive, but I wasn’t attracted to her, and I wondered if I ever had been really. There was no chemistry, and I wasn’t really interested in anything she had to say. I’d been fighting back the urge to call Truly since boarding to tell her how my airline wasn’t using the Airbus 380 and that instead I was on a Boeing 777. I didn’t care if Francesca had an alternative theory to Stiglitz on globalization. But if Truly did, I wanted to hear it. I wanted to tell her every nothing thought I had along with every important one, and I was pissed off that she didn’t get it. To end things because she was worried she’d feel too much? That was bullshit.

  I unclenched my fist and tried to concentrate on the woman in front of me rather than one three thousand miles away. “Are you still at the same firm?” I asked to be polite.

  “I’ve moved a couple of times,” she said, taking a gulp of the cocktail that had just arrived. “You have to move on to move up in my business, but I’m hoping I’ll get partnership at this firm. If not, I’ll leave in a couple of years.”

  I nodded. “The endgame is important to keep in mind.”

  “Speaking of—shall we finish our drinks and go up?” she asked.

  That’s why we were having drinks, wasn’t it? It wasn’t just to catch up. We weren’t friends. But what
she was offering didn’t hold the appeal that it would have done before I’d gone back to London and started sleeping with Truly. I didn’t want just convenient sex or a woman slotting into my life, as Rob had described it. I might want Truly out of my system but going to bed with Francesca wasn’t going to make that happen. I couldn’t even have a cocktail with a woman without comparing her with Truly and then being filled with regret. That wasn’t Francesca’s fault.

  “Yeah. I actually need to make a few calls, so I should probably go.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Oh. Okay. I thought I—”

  “I’m seeing someone.” On the face of it, I’d lied to her, but it didn’t feel dishonest. Running into Francesca brought things into focus for me. For the first time in my life, I’d been left heartbroken, and Francesca wasn’t going to put me back together again.

  “Oh. Good for you. I’m going to hang out here for a while then,” she said, leaning forward as I stood and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Enjoy. It’s good to see you, Francesca.”

  It had been enlightening. Knowing Truly was in the world, there was no way I could take Francesca to bed. It wouldn’t be cheating. Truly hadn’t even demanded monogamy when we were sleeping together, let alone now when she’d ended things. But I didn’t want anyone else. I wanted the woman who looked sexy as hell when she was hunched over her laptop, cross-legged on the sofa, eating cold Chinese food. The one who could match me question for question in a pub quiz. The person who, despite being a workaholic, still found time to read to sick and injured kids.

  I didn’t want Francesca or any other woman. I wanted Truly. I wanted her with me every night, by my side, beautiful without realizing it, funny and warm. I wanted her thinking I was the dumbest man on the planet because I hadn’t read all of Shakespeare’s sonnets. I wanted to peel off her yoga pants and fuck her in her Star Wars t-shirt. I wanted to fight with her, love her, live with her, explore the world with her.

  And I needed to find a way to address all her fears, prove somehow that I wouldn’t ruin her or whatever she was afraid of. I might not be able to produce the empirical evidence I knew would talk her around, but I had to figure out something. I had to convince her that although I couldn’t give her any guarantees, I could tell her that there’d never be any other woman for me but her. That the only woman I could picture in my future was her.