Page 94 of Off the Pitch

“That’s because you never trusted me to clean anything. I know you used to wash the dishes again after I did them.” He turned to Christian and smiled at him. “I’m still not sure how you put up with him!”

“We have a dishwasher. It helps.”

Their whole conversation had notes of easy familiarity to it, and it was obvious that David and the other man were close. I knew David had been living with a roommate until recently, and I wondered if this was him. I was struggling to match the stories I’d heard to the charming, funny man in front of me.

“Well, as lovely as this is,” David added, “I’m going to have to steal Christian away for a few minutes. We’ll be back soon.”

Taking David’s hand, Christian slid out of his chair, and the pair of them disappeared through the crowd of other guests towards the house, leaving me and the other man alone.

“You’re David’s old housemate, aren’t you?” I asked, deciding it was the best question to start with.

“Yes,” he answered, reaching out his hand to shake mine. “I’m Kit. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hugo. It’s nice to meet you too.” Kit’s smile was warm, and something lurched in my stomach, sending little shivers up my spine, which was ridiculous because I’d only just met the man.

“So, what do you do? Are you studying for a PhD as well?” I asked, internally cursing myself for asking such a stupid question.

Kit laughed, shaking his head, and it was such a wonderful sound that it made little waves of happiness curl through me just hearing it. It made me want to laugh too.

“God no! I’m definitely not an academic,” he said. “I’m far too scatter-brained for that, and I’d never be able to write the thesis! I’m an artist.”

Oh fuck, he was an artist.

I had such a weakness for artists.

It was how I’d met Hélène—she’d been painting in her parent’s garden when I’d come home to my parents from a training camp one summer. I could have watched her paint for days. In fact, I did watch her for days before I plucked up the courage to speak to her. Her parents hadn’t lived there long, and she didn’t know anyone, so I’d offered to show her around the small town. The rest had been history.

Kit must have taken my silence for a bad thing, because he suddenly looked slightly sheepish and waved his hand. “I know it’s not particularly impressive or sporty, but it pays the bills.”

“No, it’s fine… I mean,” I spluttered out, stumbling over my words like a teenage boy who was just figuring out how to talk to his crush. “That’s amazing. What sort of art do you do? Are you a fan of digital or paint or chalk or something else? I mean I can’t really draw, but I love art because it’s so beautiful and personal and really captures the soul of humanity.”

I knew I was rambling, but I couldn’t stop myself because for some reason I desperately wanted to impress him. I grabbed my glass, hoping to make myself stop talking, but it was empty, and I’d probably just made a complete twat of myself trying to drink from an empty glass.

“Really?” Kit said, a note of delighted surprise in his voice. He reached for the bottle of raspberry lemonade beside him and poured some into my glass while he spoke. “You really want to hear?”

“Of course.” I gave him my best encouraging smile. “I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

“I know, but mostly people ask that question to be polite, not to actually hear the answer.”

“Well, please, assume I would like to hear the answer. Art is one of my favourite things.”

Kit beamed, grabbed a platter of newly arrived food that someone had passed him, and started to fill his plate. “I do digital art mostly. I mean that’s where I get most of my commissions. I do a lot of work for hire because it pays well, although the deadlines can be dreadful, and some art directors are terribly picky. It’s mostly book covers and game art. You know, for cards and rulebooks, that sort of thing. And then I do some private art commissions as well, and they’re usually for lovely people, so I don’t get a lot of time for my own art. I mean the art I really love doing.”

“What art’s that?” I asked, trying not to drop pasta salad into my lap while I stared at him. He had the most adorable dimples when he smiled and soft pink lips that I wanted to lean over and kiss, even though I hardly knew him.

“I like working with paints and charcoals mostly. I like the contrast of colours I can play with. Although I tend to make a lot of mess doing it!”

“I can imagine.” It wasn’t hard to picture him covered in charcoal dust and streaks of paint. Somehow, I thought it would suit him more than looking scrubbed and put together like he did now. “What are you working on right now?”

There was a moment’s pause and then, like a whirlwind, Kit was off. The conversation seemed to dance all over the place, Kit adding little anecdotes throughout and diving off on tangents about various pieces before returning to his main point.

Around us, I could hear the other’s chatting and eating, but I wasn’t particularly interested in what they had to say. I was too enthralled by the man sitting next to me, and I had to admit it was nice to talk about something other than football for once.

It was nice just to have someone to talk to.

By the time we’d finished eating, Kit and I had moved on to discussing digital art in depth—I was learning a lot, and I hardly noticed when most of the rest of the group got up to have a friendly kickabout on Christian’s spacious lawn.

“Did you want to play?” I said quietly, when Kit paused for a moment to draw breath while complaining about the cost of software.

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