Mr. Nice Guy by Belinda Williams

Chapter Eleven

Chelsea was relievedwhen plans for their fourth date got downgraded the following day. Tom always played indoor soccer on a Sunday afternoon and he told her that he’d cancel this week, but she insisted he still attend.

‘I’ll meet you there after your shift,’ she’d said to him that morning before he left the apartment. ‘Then how about we just do something casual, like get fish and chips for dinner? We can eat it near the water.’

‘Are you sure?’ he’d asked.

‘Isn’t this the sort of thing normal, well-adjusted couples do?’

He hadn’t been able to argue with that, so he agreed to her plan. Chelsea was relieved because the more the week progressed, the weirder the entire pretend boyfriend arrangement seemed. It was a given that Tom was a nice guy—that went without saying. But somehow it felt like she was taking advantage of him despite the fact she hadn’t been the one to suggest it. At least if they kept the dates low-key it would feel more like friends spending time together than the weird pretend boyfriend scenario Nadia had come up with.

‘Poor Nadia,’ Chelsea muttered to herself as she pulled the handbrake on.

She’d just arrived at the indoor soccer place and remained in her car to gather her thoughts.

Chelsea and Nadia had only been friends for eighteen months, and Chelsea had never seen Nadia behave like she had last night. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. Nadia could be fierce, and it was one of the things Chelsea loved about her. Fierce didn’t always equate to scary. It also translated to fiercely loyal, fiercely hard-working, and fiercely reliable.

Chelsea had met Nadia when Chelsea had signed up with a local netball team after moving to Newcastle. Nadia’s competitive spirit on the court was impressive. However, the event that had cemented their friendship was during a game when a woman from the opposition had hurt her knee and gone down hard, hitting her head.

Nadia had immediately sprung into action, using her nursing skills to assess the woman. She’d then insisted on driving the woman to the emergency department. Chelsea had originally been concerned about the woman having a concussion, but it turned out her knee was the more serious problem. The ACL had ruptured during the game and required further treatment.

Chelsea and Nadia had taken the woman to the hospital and ended up grabbing some dinner afterwards. Now they were firm friends, and Chelsea had spent last night doing her best to redirect Nadia’s anger. This had involved a particularly stupid reality television show that Nadia could critique with her scathing wit.

Chelsea suspected Nadia’s reaction towards Tom’s brother, Luke, included other feelings besides anger, but Chelsea knew better than to go there. If there were unresolved issues between Nadia and Luke, Nadia wasn’t talking about it.

Putting her worry about her friend to one side, Chelsea locked her car and headed into the sporting centre that occupied an old warehouse. Inside, she took a moment to figure out which field Tom’s team was playing on, and when she spotted him, she went over to sit on the sidelines.

Chelsea didn’t make a big deal of her arrival. Tom was busy playing, and the last thing he needed was her distracting him. The seats were located behind a giant net surrounding each of the fields to prevent the balls from ending up in places they shouldn’t. Despite the massive size of the warehouse, Chelsea detected a whiff of stale sweat and an odd concoction of deodorants that merged together into one powerful, sickeningly sweet fragrance. It was why Chelsea preferred to play sport outdoors when possible.

Chelsea’s eyes settled on Tom as he jogged easily around the indoor field. He was light on his feet—hardly surprising given his history of jujitsu and his general level of fitness. Chelsea had to admit to herself that he was rather nice to watch.

There was that word again. No, not nice. More like easy to watch, Chelsea corrected herself silently. Yes, that was it. Tom was easy to watch.

Probably because he was sprinting around the field with a big grin on his face. Some of the other players were frowning in concentration. Occasionally, Tom’s brow would crease, but only for a microsecond, and then his expression would return to a resting happy face. He didn’t know how lucky he was.

Nadia often complained that she had a resting bitch face—Chelsea would have said it was more stern than bitchy. Nadia had dubbed Chelsea’s resting face as “daydreaming”, jealous of the fact that Chelsea was unlikely to develop deep frown lines. Chelsea suspected that Tom was more likely to end up with happy lines, and she kind of liked the idea.

‘They’re easy on the eyes, aren’t they?’

Chelsea blinked and looked up to find a woman with light brown hair styled into a pixie cut who looked about her age smiling at her. Chelsea flushed.

‘Oh, I was just . . . daydreaming. I wasn’t necessarily watching the game,’ Chelsea admitted.

The woman sat down on the opposite end of the bench seat. ‘Ah, the dutiful girlfriend. Which one is yours?’

Chelsea blinked again and straightened her back at the woman’s question. ‘No one. I mean, Tom. Except he’s not mine. We’re just friends.’

Chelsea closed her mouth.

‘You’re with Tom, huh? Lucky you.’

‘No, we’re just—’

‘Friends. I get it. I just meant you’re lucky to be friends with him. He’s a great guy.’

‘We actually live together.’ What was that about only being friends? She wasn’t doing a very good job of explaining herself. She added quickly, ‘I mean, we share an apartment.’

The woman’s brown eyes that matched the colour of her hair lit with recognition. ‘Oh, so you’re Chelsea! Tom’s mentioned you more than once. Nice to meet you.’

Chelsea tried not to frown. ‘Um, OK. Hi.’

The woman laughed. ‘I’m Mia. And don’t look alarmed. Everything Tom has said about you is good. Exceedingly so.’

‘Really?’ Chelsea asked casually, although she was somewhat alarmed at Mia’s easy acknowledgement of her. ‘I generally don’t let him into my room. It’s not pretty.’

‘I don’t think he cares about that. I’m Reece’s girlfriend, by the way. He’s a paramedic like Tom.’

Chelsea thought she recalled Tom mentioning a co-worker called Reece at some stage.

‘Are most of the team paramedics?’ Chelsea queried.

‘That, or doctors or nurses. We’ve nicknamed the team Bedside Manner.’

Chelsea laughed. ‘That’s hilarious.’

‘They don’t think so, which only makes it more amusing.’

Chelsea realised she liked Mia, even though she’d known her less than five minutes. ‘So, ah, what has Tom said about me?’

Mia smiled. ‘Just that you’re fun to share an apartment with. Easy to live with, that sort of thing. He’s joked that you’re the girlfriend he has when he doesn’t have a girlfriend, because you’re so good to live with.’

Chelsea felt herself blush. ‘Oh, that’s . . . nice.’ She cringed inwardly. ‘Tom’s good to live with, too.’

He was, now that Chelsea thought about it. He was neat and tidy, unlike Chelsea, but she made sure her mess was restricted to her personal spaces. Plus, he was considerate, easy to chat to, helpful, had a great sense of humour, and generally just easy to get along with.

‘I’ve never known Tom to have a girlfriend,’ Mia continued. ‘Have you?’

‘Oh, um. Not since I’ve lived here. I think there was someone in Sydney before he moved up here, but I never met her.’

‘A serious someone, from the little he’s said about her. Must have left a mark for him to have been here for three years and not dated anyone.’

Chelsea twisted to face Mia. ‘Really? I always thought he must go on dates, but he just doesn’t talk about it.’ Unlike Chelsea, who regularly complained about her string of disappointing boyfriends.

‘If he has, he’s not telling us either. Reece is probably one of his closest friends in Newcastle and he’s never known Tom to see anyone.’

‘Right,’ Chelsea said because she didn’t know what else to say.

Mia’s gaze rested on the men playing soccer again. ‘It’s a waste, if you ask me. Tom’s such a decent guy, and don’t tell Reece I said this, but Tom’s gorgeous too.’

‘I suppose so,’ Chelsea replied noncommittally. What else was she supposed to say? They shared an apartment together.

Mia returned her focus to Chelsea. ‘Come on, you live with Tom. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed?’

Chelsea shrugged and glanced over at Tom. They’d just scored a goal and Tom was grinning from ear to ear. Chelsea felt a jolt of something—she wasn’t sure what—skim along her spine.

‘I suppose I haven’t really noticed,’ Chelsea admitted to Mia. ‘He’s my older brother’s best mate. I’ve always thought of him as just Tom.’

Safe, dependable Tom.

Mia winked. ‘Just Tom, huh? I think there’s more to him than that, but he hides it well. He seems unaware of his good looks, which is refreshing.’

Chelsea’s eyes were drawn to the field again. Mia was right, Tom was good-looking. She wondered if it was because he never made a big deal about it that Chelsea had kind of missed it. A lot of the men Chelsea dated knew they were good-looking.

‘I don’t think I’d want to live with him if he made a point of it,’ Chelsea said without thinking.

Mia laughed. ‘Too irresistible for you, huh?’

‘What? No!’ Chelsea could feel her cheeks heating again. ‘I just meant that it would make him kind of a jerk. Then he wouldn’t be Tom anymore.’

Like all the jerks you date on a regular basis?

The thought hit Chelsea out of the blue and left her feeling unsettled.

‘Well, if you get the sense that he’s ready to start seeing women again,’ Mia went on, ‘let me know. I’ve got at least three girlfriends interested in him.’

Chelsea nodded, once again not quite sure what to say.

This was Tom. Just Tom. Except maybe he wasn’t just Tom, after all. Not according to Mia and her friends.

The problem was, if Tom wasn’t just Tom, Chelsea had no idea what that made him.