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‘It’s not you, is it?’ he asks curiously – excitedly even.

I shake my head.

‘Okay,’ he replies, although he seems unconvinced.

I’m relieved when the pizza arrives, because if he’s eating, he’ll be quiet – or quieter, at least.

We sit near the window, me in the chair and Jamie on the edge of the bed, with the pizza box open on the desk between us. It is oddly cosy, the two of us eating together while looking out over the pitch.

‘So,’ Jamie says, picking up a slice. ‘How long have you been working here?’

‘Just over a week.’

He pauses, his pizza hovering in front of his mouth.

‘Seriously?’

‘Don’t sound so surprised.’

‘It explains why you know so little,’ he teases.

‘We all have to start somewhere,’ I remind him.

‘How did you end up living here after one week?’ he asks.

‘I’m temporarily without a home,’ I say, keeping the details light.

‘Why can’t you stay with Eddy? He was quick to point out that you’re his girlfriend,’ he replies.

That is one of the most glaring plot holes in all of this, isn’t it?

‘Because it’s very early days,’ I reply.

‘Oh, so you’re not, like, serious-serious?’ he checks.

‘It’s early days,’ I say again.

At what point will my fake relationship with Eddy potentially sabotage any real ones I might be able to start up? For some reason, I don’t want to lie to Jamie; I don’t want to totally dismiss him, because I do like spending time with him, and he does seem to enjoy being around me – but it feels disloyal to Eddy to downplay ‘what we have’.

Conversation with Jamie is easy in the same way it was in the lift. He asks questions, but never in a way that makes it feel like it’s an interrogation, and he gives just enough away to keep me curiously wanting to know more.

I learn that he grew up in Salford. He started playing rugby when he was six. His uncle coached his first team and apparently still phones after every match to explain what he did wrong.

‘Even when you win?’ I ask.

‘Especially when we win,’ he replies. ‘He thinks losses are character-building and victories make you sloppy.’

‘Wow,’ I reply. ‘I suppose it’s worked though, you’re a fantastic player.’

‘Thanks,’ he replies. Then a cheeky grin spreads across his face. ‘It means a lot, coming from a league expert like you.’

I tell him about my marketing job, although I leave out the part where I lost it before Bryan hired me, and explain that while rugby league is not my natural habitat, I am starting to really like it.

‘Sometimes it takes an outsider’s perspective,’ he says. ‘They want more people watching the matches, so asking someone who doesn’t already watch can tell them how to get more people in seats. It makes sense.’

‘Exactly,’ I reply. ‘And, like, I did really enjoy Friday’s game – and Leeds won.’

I didn’t need to add that to the end, but for some reason I want to push his buttons.