Page 107 of Off the Pitch

David sighed, his forehead knitting with concern. “I don’t know. You’d have to ask him.”

“Oh… but I thought…” My voice trailed off, a selection of questions hanging in the air between us.

“Look,” David said, “I’ve known Kit since we were eighteen, and I’ve never, ever known him to have a romantic relationship with anyone. I’ve never even heard of him hooking up with anyone.”

That would certainly explain why he hadn’t brought up an ex, but it still didn’t answer my question.

“The only thing I know,” David added, speaking quickly, “was that he was really close with a guy we lived with in first year—a guy named Josh. Kit and I weren’t very close then, but I thought they were together because they were always hanging out. But then I came back one day and found them arguing in the kitchen. I don’t know what he’d said, but Kit was upset.” A dark expression crossed David’s face. “I’ve never been so close to committing murder. I literally wanted to fucking stab him.”

“So, let me tell you this.” David’s voice was low, the undercurrent of threat heavy but unspoken. “You can ask Kit, but if you hurt him in any way, shape, or form, I will end you with a rusty spoon. Do you understand me?”

“Of course.”

“Good. By the way, he hates horror movies and loves the pink slushy mix you get at the cinema. Also, don’t let him have caffeine in the afternoon and please, please try to convince him to eat some vegetables.”

“You know he made us ratatouille last night,” I added, unable to resist teasing.

The selection of expressions that passed across David’s face made me wish I’d been recording him.

“He did what? Motherfucker!”

Laughter bubbled up from inside me, shaking my ribs as I watched David’s face. Christian was almost doubled over behind him, trying to smother his laughter.

Hearing the click of the door, I quickly signed off, turning to see Kit bounce into the kitchen with the takeaway bag in hand.

I could see why David was protective of him; how could he not be? How could he not defend this sweet, brilliant man? Every moment I spent with Kit made me more and more convinced that I wanted him in my life as more than a friend.

Now I just had to figure out how to ask him if he was interested in the same thing.

Chapter Nine

KitHave you ever sung karaoke?

HugoTrust me, nobody wants to hear that

Kit

“What are you up to tomorrow?” Hugo asked, leaning over the kitchen counter and watching me plate the risotto I’d made us for dinner.

“Not much,” I said as I grated some extra parmesan over the top of my plate. “I finished the piece I’ve been working on, and I can wait a day or so before starting my next commission.”

The next one wouldn’t be too difficult—it was just a headshot portrait for someone on Tumblr, and the character style was similar to others I’d done before. It would just require a little personalisation. I was almost looking forward to it because it would be a nice break from the epic fantasy art I’d been working on over the past two weeks.

“Cool. What sort of commission is it?”

“Just a portrait for someone,” I said as we took our bowls over to the sofa and settled onto it. Hugo pulled up Netflix and found the latest episode of the show we’d been binging. It was about body painting, and I found it completely and utterly fascinating. It wasn’t a medium I’d ever considered before, but part of me was itching to try it out to see how my work would translate. I imagined it would be very different, simply because of the properties of skin as a canvas and the shape of the human body.

I wondered if Lily would consider being a model for me.

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Hugo added. I nodded, feeling a little bad for not being open with him about the piece. Most of the time I was happy to share my work with him, but a lot of the commissions I did for Tumblr were for the furry community, and I didn’t want Hugo to think they were weird or kink-shame them.

Not that I thought he would, but you could never tell how people would react. The people I’d met there had been some of the loveliest people I’d ever known, plus they always knew what they wanted, and they paid well and on time. They were an artist’s dream.

“It’s not. I’ve drawn similar things before.”

“That’s good. I’m sure whatever you do will be fantastic.”

“Well, I hope so, or my reputation will be severely dented,” I chuckled, pushing my food around the bottom of the bowl. I wanted to tell him because Hugo had fast become one of my best friends, and I was rapidly finding it hard to picture my life without him in it.

---