Best times always sneak up on ya. That’s my theory, anyway. Lets me float through the shite with a bit of hope.

Wasn’t arsed going out tonight, though. Not even a bit. The whole Bella thing’s left me fucking mentally drained, and Coach has been chewing the face off me all week. Plan was to wallow. Properly.

Didn’t account for Gibsie.

He kicked my door in, didn’t even knock. Took one look at me lying there and went, “Right. Get up. You’re not sitting here feeling sorry for yourself over some one who’s probably giving Joe Bloggs a gobble behind the chipper as we speak.”

Charming fella, really.

But it worked. My pride’s a fragile yoke. So I hauled myself up, had a shower, threw on a decent shirt. Felt a bit less like a ghost.

Glad I did. Because not ten minutes after we landed in the pub, she walked in. Never seen her before. Must be new, or maybe I’ve just had my head that far up my own arse lately.

Doesn’t matter. She’s class. Long hair, proper laugh. I was gone.

Haven’t heard a word the lads have said for a solid half hour. Just staring like a pure spa.

“Will you go over and talk to her, for fuck’s sake?” Hughie mutters, giving me a dig in the ribs.

I jump. “What? I’m listening to you.”

“You’re not, ya melt,” Gibsie cackles, slamming his pint down. “You’re eye-fucking the poor one from here to next Tuesday. It’s painful to watch.”

“Piss off.”

“She’s single,” Katie chimes in from next to Biggs, all innocent, sipping her vodka and red. “Just out of a thing, I heard.”

Gibsie’s grin turns lethal. “There y’are. You’re Johnny Kavanagh. Captain of the fucking school. It’d be rude not to.”

Fuck.

This is stupid.