Page 57 of The Fly-Half

“Evening, and I repeat, who died?”

“Why do you think someone died?”

“Because you never call me unless someone’s dead,” Aiden said dryly, raising an eyebrow and smirking at me. He’d stepped back slightly and propped his phone up on something. I assumed he was in his kitchen given that he was wearing a stained apron and I could see a commercial bakery rack over his shoulder.

“That’s not true.”

“Yeah, want me to check my call history?”

“Fuck you,” I said, shaking my head as I finished making my tea. “Twat.”

“So, what’s up then?” Aiden asked. “You finally get picked for England?”

“Not yet. Still got my fingers crossed.”

His smile softened. “There’s still time. You’re not dead yet.”

“Thanks for the encouragement.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, grabbing a huge metal bowl from somewhere off screen and putting it down on the counter in front of him, slightly off to the side so I could still see him clearly. He gestured at the bowl. “Sorry, do you mind? I’ve got a massive order for tomorrow and I need to get the cookies prepped.”

“Knock yourself out,” I said as I leant against the kitchen counter and picked up my steaming mug. It was one Ryan had bought for Mason with a Beholder monster on it in bisexual flag colours. “It’s going well then?”

“Yeah, so far. Still not sure it’s going to last, you know? Keep expecting the rug to be pulled out from under me.”

I nodded. I understood that in some ways—where Aiden and I had been born, prospects weren’t always great, and we bothknew plenty of guys we’d grown up with who’d ended up in prison. We’d been lucky to have sport as an outlet, and rugby had allowed me to flourish. And as soon as I’d met Devon, all my thoughts about what I was going to do with my life had vanished because I’d known I’d follow him anywhere. And even if we ended up on separate teams at first, I’d been determined to make sure we ended up together one day. We had trophies to win together.

“You’re doing a great job,” I said. “Everyone keeps asking me to order more from you.”

“Yeah? Well, why haven’t you?” he asked with a laugh as he scooped cookie dough onto a large pan on the counter. “Cheap bastard.”

“You just said you’re busy!”

“For tomorrow! Order more cookies, tightass.”

“Fine, I’ll message you.” I sipped my tea slowly, trying not to burn my tongue. “Maybe you could bring some up around Christmas? What are your plans?”

“Working,” he said casually. “Eating microwave nachos. Watching whatever sport I can find on telly. Maybe try and get laid since there’ll be a bunch of guys back home for Christmas looking to get away from their families for a few hours.” He grinned. “Grindr’s usually full of them.”

“Why don’t you come here then? I’ll feed you, and we were thinking of maybe going to a drag show. I can promise you live sport too, if you stay long enough. Can’t promise you’ll get laid, though. You’ll have to figure that out yourself.”

There was a beat of silence as Aiden stared at me through the camera. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. We’ve got a spare room here, or you can have mine and I’ll stay with Dev.” Technically, we had a spare room we’d never filled since Guy had moved out in June. We mostly used it for storage, although Ryan had been asking if they couldturn it into a drag room. It would be easy to grab a duvet and some pillows to stick on the bed that was still in there. It’d do for a couple of days.

“All right then, sounds good,” he said, his face lighting up. For all his tough-guy, don’t-need-anyone exterior, Aiden had always loved being around people, and he had a sweet, squishy centre I wished he’d let more people see. I really needed to keep in better contact and get him up here more often, if only to remind him there was at least one person on his side who cared. “I’ll look at my diary and figure out when I can come up. And yes, I’ll bring you some cookies.”

“You’re the best.”

“I know.” He smiled again. “Is that all? Because that doesn’t really seem like a reason to call me.”

I took another sip of my tea. “Er, no. I… well… Devon and I are dating.”

Aiden’s eyes widened comically as he did a double take, the ball of cookie dough he’d been holding dropping back into the bowl with an audible thud. “You’re fucking kidding me?”

“No, why would I?”

“I knew it,” he said with a triumphant jab at the camera, a victorious gleam in his eyes. “I knew you fancied him!”

---