The Introvert's Guide to Speed Dating (The Introvert's Guide 2)

“Okay, fine, but at least let me cook you dinner as a thank you.”

“Homemade food instead of ready meals or take out? You won’t get me saying no to that.” He flashed me a dazzling smile and punched in a code on the elevator in front of us. The doors opened, and he gestured for me to go first with the sweep of his hand. “Ladies first.”

“Thank you.” I stepped inside the silver box ahead of him. “How do you feel about lasagna?”

“I’ve never turned that down in my life.” He hit the button marked ‘GYM’ and the elevator whirred to life. It started with a jolt, and I lost my balance, falling to the side into a very hard, very warm body.

Oliver caught me.

My hand was flat against his stomach, and I could feel all his muscles beneath my fingertips. My cheeks flamed red as the elevator shuddered again, this time to a stop. “Sorry,” I muttered.

“Don’t worry. It’s my fault. I should have warned you. It’s a bit jarring, but you get used to it.”

I extracted myself from his very strong arms and brushed off my shirt, clearing my throat. “Thank you. The last thing I need is a bump on the head.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled, his eyes sparkling. “The gym is right through there.”

“Uh, thank you.” I returned his smile, nervously pushing my hair behind my ear. “I appreciate it.”

“Anytime.” With a wink, Oliver pressed a button on the elevator panel, and the doors closed in front of him.

CHAPTER EIGHT – OLIVER

RULE EIGHT: TWO HOURS IS BETTER THAN TWO MINUTES.

“Yeah! I got it!” Leo bounced on the balls of his feet. “Ollie!”

“That was amazing, mate!” I clapped my hands together. “That’s your best save yet! You see what a difference your foot placement made? You could move in both directions much quicker than before.”

He nodded emphatically, retrieving the football. “Can we try again?”

“One more time,” London called from the back door. “Dinner is almost ready.”

“One more go,” I confirmed. “I’m going to make it harder this time!”

“Okay. I can do it!” Leo kicked the ball back to me.

I stopped it with my foot and waited until he was ready and in position, then kicked it with a view of getting the top right corner of the goal. He moved like a little lightning bolt, stretching his arm out as far as he possibly could, and his fingertips brushed the ball.

It wasn’t enough, and the ball hit the back of the net.

“Oh, snickerdoodle!” Leo kicked the ground, tossing up a clump of dirt.

“Hey, hey!” I slowly approached him, bending down on one knee in front of him. He was looking at the ground with his gloved hands hanging listlessly beside him, and I could almost feel the despair rolling off him. “Hey, buddy,” I said softly. “Don’t be sad, okay? It happens. You did amazing to get your fingers on that ball. That’s better than most kids your age would do.”

He sniffed and looked up at me. His cheeks were flushed, and his little eyes shone with one too many tears for my liking. “But I really wanted to get that one.”

“I know you did, and you almost did. It just means you’ll have to work a little harder next time to get it, doesn’t it?”

“I guess. I just want to save them all.”

“Ah, but that would be boring. How would anyone ever win a football game? We’d have endless penalty shootouts, and as an England fan, I can tell you that penalty shootouts are so painful to watch.”

“Why?”

“Because we usually lose them,” I admitted with a dry laugh. “So I definitely don’t want to watch an infinite round of pens.”

He rubbed his nose and laughed a little bit. “It would suck if the other team saved all our goals.”

“Exactly. As long as you do your best, that’s all that matters. You can’t win everything, but if you lose and you know that you tried your hardest, then it just means they were a little better on the day.” I tapped his nose, then opened my arms and drew him in for a hug. “Shall we go inside now? I can smell that lasagna your mum cooked.”

He nodded against my shoulder. “I’m hungry.”

“I bet you are. That was a lot of hard work you just put in there.” I got up and rested my hand on his shoulder, guiding him back towards the house.

“Do you think she made garlic bread?”

I made a big show of sniffing the air. “Smells like it.”

“Yummy.”

“Everything okay?” London asked, peering over her shoulder as she tossed a salad.

“Yep!” Leo undid his gloves and pulled them off. “Did you make garlic bread, Momma?”

“Would I dare serve you lasagna without it?” She winked at him, and he giggled. “Go and wash your hands, please. And your face. You look like you got in a fight with a mud monster.”