Page 56 of Game on, Love
She bit her lower lip. “What if it’s years before I’m ready?”
“I told you. You take as much time as you need.”
“What if I’m never ready?”
“Then we stay like this forever.”
She frowned, confused. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m really not.”
She leaned back, but I tightened my hold on her waist, keeping her in place. “You’ll get bored.”
“That’s what you’re worried about?” I raised my eyebrow, a little amused.
“You’renot?” She asked, her voice going up an octave, and I couldn’t help but brush my thumb down her side.
“I’m a cricketer, love. Patience is kind of our thing.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe so, but I sure as am not wrong.” I winked, andfinally,the corners of her lips turned up.
17
Oliver
THE CLINK OF GLASSESand the buzz of chatter filled the air in the pub. The warm light from the chandeliers reflected the polished wood, the scent of freshly poured beer, the sweat of Londoners grabbing a pint after work mixed with a distinct smell I never could name. I just knew it to be familiar.
Familiar enough that the occasional heads turning our way, directing whispers towards us were barely a faff and the random commentary on how we were suckers—for cricketers—for being so bad at darts was tuned out.
The walls were filled with pictures from over the years with some of the sporting legends and celebrities who had stepped in to this very pub. Of course, seeing as the pub was merely a ten-minute walk from my family townhouse, the King men were lined up in their own section: from celebrating their first pints to their first centuries, each moment had a captured memory to speak of it.
And I was a part of it.
I stared with the framed image from four years ago. My dad had brought me down here when I’d turned eighteen to get my first pint with him—which, according to him, was a family tradition. Bob, who was now the owner of the pub, had served me, but he’d also served my Dad his first pint fifteen years prior to that, on his very first day.
“Oi! Oliver,” Noah’s voice snapped me out of the memory. “It’s your turn, mate.Unlessyou’re already ready to admit defeat?”
Noah Davenport was a fellow top-order batsman and our resident joker. He was the kind of guy you never took seriously becausehealso never took anything seriously; except Cricket.
I rolled my shoulder, the dart cool in my hands as I took my position. I blinked, internally shaking my thoughts before focusing them on the board.
Sameer had missed the bullseye, but he and Noah—who were paired against me and Rihaan—were still ahead of us by a margin, and we’d only just begun.
Pulling back my arm slightly, I took a breath before the dart left my hand, landing just on the triple inner ring.
“If you were shit at it, then why did you suggest a match, you idiot?”
I ignored Noah, even though I knew it was all for a good laugh, but he quite literally had no room to talk, considering how bad he was, and threw the second one.
It landed just by the target, and Rihaan whistled. We were on even points now, and anything more would bring us in the lead.
“Now, Ollie, you might need to—”
“Shut up, Noah.”
I waited a beat before throwing my last one and looked at Noah.