Page 47 of The Fly-Half

West had a point, but I didn’t want to admit it. And being a possessive bastard wasn’t going to do me any favours if I took offence to everyone who laid a hand on my man.

I just had no idea how to get a handle on it, though.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Devon

My ribs achedas I stretched but there was no sharp pain or anything to indicate they were anything more than bruised. That was something at least, because the last thing I wanted was another set of cracked ribs. And not just because it would stop me playing, but because it would definitely prevent Jonny from folding me in half and fucking my brains out later.

Which, if I was being honest, was the thing I’d be most upset about missing.

“Are you okay?” Jonny asked as he walked up to me with West alongside him. “How’re your ribs? Are they broken?”

“Sore but not broken, just bruised.” I took another swig of my bottle as I looked over his shoulder to where the Coventry players had finally finished arguing with the referee. “What happened there? I missed half of it.” I’d seen there was a bit of a punch-up, but I’d been too busy spitting out turf to see what started it. Although I had heard Jonny pulling someone off me and yelling at him.

I didn’t think he’d been binned again, though, so even if he’d started it, the fight had definitely escalated out of his control.

“Eh, they were being twats and didn’t like being called out on it,” Jonny said with a shrug. “Then one of them hit me around the back of the head.”

“Shit, you okay?”

“Yeah, he didn’t exactly hit hard.”

“Was that it then?” I asked, looking between the pair of them. I wasn’t completely convinced it was the whole truth, but since everyone was getting back into position to restart, I didn’t have time to press much further.

“Yeah, that was it,” West said with a furtive glance at Jonny, who said nothing and instead put his gumshield back in. There was something going on, but it would have to wait until later.

The match resumed at a fairly mundane pace, but with our opponents being a man down, it was easy to get the ball through their defences and across the try line. Charlie put it down in the middle too, right between the goal posts, which meant an easy kick to convert it for the extra two points. It was such an easy position to kick from, I could have done it in my sleep, but I still watched carefully to make sure the ball landed squarely between the posts and over the bar.

The last thing I wanted was for us to lose points due to my complacency.

When the final whistle sounded, the small group of our travelling fans burst into rapturous applause as we all grabbed each other in tight hugs as we celebrated. Not all games were such easy wins, and it was always nice to take away good points and a solid score difference. I almost felt bad for the home fans, although it looked like half of them had already left.

“Good job today,” Jonny said as he grabbed me around the waist and pulled me in tight, squeezing me hard and patting my ass cheekily before he released me, because nobody ever battedan eyelid at an ass grab in rugby. “I can’t wait to celebrate later. As long as you’re not too sore.”

“I can’t wait,” I said quietly, grinning at him as we all went to shake the hands of the opposition players and the officials before trooping back to the changing room to cool down and shower. My kit was plastered to my skin with mud, the pale blue colour now virtually covered in brown, and I knew when I took it off the rest of me would be covered too. It was even in my ears.

Maybe it would be worth taking two showers before I let Jonny get his hands on me.

The mood in the away dressing room was a jubilant one, with singing and cheering as we all relaxed and stripped off. Sammy and Donna came in to help remove our sports tape, which supported various muscles and joints or in some cases gave people something to hold on to. It was why some of the forwards had bands of it around their thighs to provide extra leverage and grip in the scrum.

“Good job today, boys,” Clive said as he strolled in with Tommy and Gavin beside him. “Nice set of points and good movement of the ball. But—” There was a collected groan from all of us and a few muttered grumbles about having to do this now. “No, no, we’re doing this now. Does anyone want to tell me what the bloody hell went on in the middle of that half? Why the fuck were you fighting?”

He looked directly at Jonny, who was sat right beside me, and raised a grey eyebrow. “Wasn’t my fault,” Jonny said flatly. “They flattened Dev and wouldn’t get off him. And then they tried talking shit.”

“And they threw the first punch,” Mason said from Jonny’s other side as he sipped a can of beer. “Well, the only one that hit anything anyway.”

There was a round of chuckles and Clive sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. I could tell he was trying not to smile. “Youused to do a lot worse,” Jonny added with a cheeky grin that I shouldn’t have found so damn hot. “And it’s not like we got in trouble. You have always told us to push people.”

Clive sighed again. “Cheeky wankers, the lot of you,” he said, but he was definitely smiling now. Beside him, Tommy was grinning but Gavin was bristling, which probably meant we were in for a world of pain when we went back to training next week. “Right, get yourselves cleaned up. We’re leaving in forty minutes. Jonny, Devon, I want a word before we get back on the bus.”

“What do you think that’s about?” I asked as the changing room returned to raucous levels of celebration.

Jonny shrugged as he peeled off his shirt, and I tried not to stare at the vast amount of chest and shoulder being exposed in front of me. Fuck, Jonny had nice arms. And shoulders too. Very muscular and strong… perfect for bending me over or pressing my thighs open or—

“If you keep staring, your face’ll stay like that,” he said teasingly.

“I wasn’t staring.”

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