Page 19 of The Fly-Half

Maybe Peaches was right about spending too much time with Jonny.

But I also knew I wasn’t ready to rip that plaster off because doing so would break my fucking heart.

Peaches came back a couple of minutes later with four tall glasses filled to the brim with colourful drinks. “It was mix and match, so I got a random selection. I thought we could just drink, bitch, and spill some tea.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it. I’m pretty sure I ruined your night.”

“You’re fine,” he said. “Truth is, I don’t think my head is in the right place for anything more than meaningless, anonymous sex at the moment either.”

“Want to talk about it?” I asked as he sat down and slid one of the drinks over to me, which was a thick, creamy yellow-orange colour and smelled vaguely tropical. And when I took a sip, I was pretty sure it was just a blended Solero ice lolly with added booze.

“Maybe.” He sighed. “Don’t get married. At least, don’t get married unless you’ve worked through your horrific levels of internalized homophobia. And then make sure you actually get divorced.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. What happened?”

“Long story, which I really don’t want to talk about because it makes me look like an absolute cunt.” Peaches smiled but the pain behind his eyes was clear.

“Well, I think you’re very sweet.” I leant over and kissed his cheek, because whatever had happened, I liked Peaches and I wanted us to remain friends. Maybe he could be the first friend I’d made by myself since I’d moved back.

“Thank you.” He picked up his glass and tapped it against mine. “Now tell me all about this man you’re pining over. Want me to find all his red flags and put you off for life? I’m pretty good at spotting them.”

I chuckled. This night might not have gone how either of us had expected, but it was turning out more fun than I’d imagined.

And right now, I needed fun.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Jonny

I shouldn’t have beenclock watching, looking up every two seconds from my coffee to see if Devon had arrived yet, my foot bouncing on the floor under the table and my stomach rumbling because I didn’t want to get breakfast without him. The canteen was filling up as the minutes ticked past and the clock on the wall crept towards five past eight.

I was starting to get worried.

Devon was always here at bang on half seven and I’d never known him to be more than five or ten minutes late at most. The fact he still wasn’t here and that he hadn’t messaged me wasn’t a good sign.

My fingers flexed as I tried to resist the temptation to drum them against the tabletop. I was two minutes away from leaving and driving to Devon’s flat to find him, and if he wasn’t there, I’d be driving around Lincoln until I did.

I’d promised myself late last night when I’d been lying in bed, staring at the empty darkness above me, that I wouldn’t make a big deal about Devon’s date with Peaches. I’d eventryand besupportive given how I’d been read the riot act in the changing room by both him and Matty. But if his date was the reason he was late… if he was hurt… then I’d never forgive anyone, especially not myself.

Asking him to share his location with me had always felt unnecessary, but after today, maybe it would be the best option. Who cared if it was overbearing as long as I knew he was safe.

I chugged the last of my coffee, shuddering as the dregs clumped on my tongue, and grabbed my phone, preparing to head out into the corridor and call him until he picked up. And if he didn’t answer by quarter past eight, I was going to leave. Clive wouldn’t mind.

“Sorry I’m late.” The chair opposite me scraped on the floor as it was pulled out and a breathless Devon flopped into it. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked fucking exhausted as well as dishevelled as fuck. His clothes looked rumpled, like he’d grabbed them off the floor, and his hoodie had a small stain on his chest from where he’d spilt tomato sauce on it yesterday. “I overslept.”

I grunted, relaxing slightly but not enough to feel at ease. “Where’ve you been? I was getting worried.”

“Sorry,” he repeated with a sheepish smile. He burped and I wrinkled my nose at the smell of stale alcohol on his breath.

“Are you drunk?”

“No? At least, I don’t think so.” He thought for a second, then shook his head. “Nope, not anymore.”

“Anymore?” I asked in a low, rumbling growl. “Jesus fucking Christ, Dev, are you hungover?”

“Maybe? Just a little bit.” He grinned again like it was no big fucking deal to rock up late and hungover to training the day before a match. “Do you know if they’ve got sausages this morning? I really want sausages.”

“No idea.”

---