Page 50 of The Fly-Half

The idea of anyone else touching him made me want to destroy everything in my path and rip the person who’d dared to put their fingers on him limb from limb. And then I wanted to drag Devon into a quiet corner and claim him, marking him up so everyone knew he was mine.

It was fucking terrifying.

And I had no idea how to deal with such intense emotions.

“Come on,” Devon said, gently patting my leg. “If we’re going to go in, we should get out the car.”

I nodded and tried to smile again before unbuckling my seat belt and climbing out, grabbing my bag off the back seat and digging my keys out of the front pocket. Devon followed me up the front steps and through the door, which led straight into the kitchen. The smell of something rich, meaty, and delicious wrapped itself around my senses as soon as we stepped inside, and I inhaled deeply.

“Oh my God,” Devon said from behind me. “That smells incredible. Is that bœuf bourguignon?”

“Good nose,” Mason said, emerging from behind the open fridge door with a couple of cans of beer. “Ryan got the recipe from a guy called Orlando who does a load of wigs for people at The Court. Apparently, one of his partners makes it, and Ryan wanted to try it.”

“And they’re not even here to try it,” Devon said almost sadly. “You’re going to save him some, right?”

“Of course,” Mason said with a chuckle. “There’s mashed potato to go with it too, and some greens.”

“Sounds great,” I said as I slipped my shoes off, hoping Mason couldn’t tell how in my head I was. But as soon as I looked across the kitchen, I saw him frown at me. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, popping open a can of some craft beer he’d bought recently. He took a sip and offered me the other can, which I gratefully accepted. “Does Clive know about you two then?”

“Yeah,” Devon said as Mason grabbed a bottle of red wine off the counter. “He figured it out.”

“Is it going to be a problem?” Mason asked. “Also, I don’t know if this is any good, but I was told you like red. So if you want it, you’re welcome to a glass. We’ve even got some wine glasses around here somewhere.”

“Do we?”

“Yes, Jonny, we’re not animals.”

Devon chuckled. “Sounds great, thank you.”

“Sure? You don’t have to drink it to be polite. If you think it’s gonna be horse piss, then say so.”

“It can’t be any worse than the glass I had at Bisou the other week.”

I huffed and opened my can of beer to take a long sip.

“What the fuck was that?” Mason asked, looking around from where he’d been rummaging in one of the cupboards.

“What was what?” I asked as I took another sip and feigned ignorance. “This is nice, thanks. Where’s it from?”

“North Yorkshire,” Mason said as he pulled a large wine glass free, holding it up to the light before taking it over to the sink to wash. “And don’t pretend I didn’t hear you. What the hellwas that noise? Are you seriously annoyed because poor Devon mentioned the bar he and Peaches went to?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“Give me a break,” I said. “It’s been a long day.”

“Oh piss off, it’s been a long day for all of us. You’re not special.”

“See? I told you he’d be a bastard,” I said to Devon with a flat look, my mouth pulling at the corners as I tried not to smile. “Maybe we’ll just go back to yours.”

“No, I want bœuf bourguignon,” Devon said, accepting the glass of wine that Mason handed him, sniffing it before taking a slow, appraising sip. It must have been good because he smiled and took another.

“Why am I a bastard this time? Is it for calling you out on your shit?” Mason asked as he walked over to flick the gas burner on under a large saucepan, which I presumed had peeled potatoes in ready for us to boil. We really didn’t deserve Ryan and the amount of shit they did for us. Coming home to their cooking had become one of my post-match highlights, and I needed to ask Mason what to get them for both their upcoming birthday and Christmas because if anyone in our house deserved spoiling it was Ryan.

“Maybe,” I said with a sigh, putting my arm out to find Devon’s waist and pulling him into me, resting my head on top of his. “I’m just… struggling with a lot at the moment.”

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