Page 9 of Pitch Prince

“Noted.” Rhys walked into his room and switched out the lights on the way, leaving me in darkness but for the dull glow of the floodlights filtering through curtains. I took of my shirt and folded it and my jeans next to the bed. Laying almost naked in Rhys Prince’s flat, I let myself wonder for just a second how the hell this had all happened.

5

Chapter Five - Rhys

I woke up in total darkness, just how I liked it. But there was a sliver of light that snaked under my door and told me I was waking up a bit late. Fuck it, I needed the sleep. But then my heart thumped as I remembered that I had someone else sleeping in my flat. A man who I’d fancied from the age of about thirteen. I was just lucky that I’d refused Finn’s offers of a few drinks. I might have propositioned the married Gentleman of Rugby if I’d really been drinking.

I got up, pulling on a pair of pyjama bottoms so I wasn’t exposing myself to him first thing in the morning, but I didn’t bother rooting through drawers for a decent t-shirt. We were rugby players. He’d seen plenty of bare chest in his time.

When I opened the door of my bedroom and stepped out into the living room I was immediately disappointed. The sofa had been folded back in and the bedlinen carefully folded on top of it.

Well. That was disappointing. I’d been hoping to be able to talk to him over a cup of coffee, talk about his long career in rugby and pick his brains on what I could do to better Had the Gentleman of Rugby only walked me home out of politeness? I snorted at my own stupidity. He might’ve been a gentleman, but he certainly wasn’t walking me home out of some misguided sense of chivalry. Maybe he just had to get back to the hotel in time for his flight.

I opened up the curtains properly to let the winter sunlight fill the little flat when I saw the note that had been left on the arm of the sofa, a note written with pretty terrible handwriting.

Hi. Sorry I had to leave early. Didn’t want to get in trouble with the coach. If you ever want to talk through rugby, or anything else, give me a text.

Beneath the note was a mobile number. I smiled to myself as I put the kettle on to boil and felt my heart flutter in betrayal.He’s straight he’s straight he’s straight. My brain’s tragic back-pedalling didn’t do much to stop my heart.

The Gentleman of Rugby had proved himself to be exactly that. Kind, gentle and genuinely thoughtful. And he wassexy. I’d known that since I was a kid. I’d seen it in his mud-streaked face on the rugby field. But in the club, walking home, his calm and kind face had been everything. Getting close enough to see the laughter lines on a face that had a good few years to age on me, the patches of stubble that he’s missed with a razor. Transplanting that god of the rugby world into real life hadn’t made him less attractive, somehow. It had made himmoreattractive. Because now he existed and was real. And I had his number.

And he was straight, with a wife and kids. It was a stupid fantasy to want him and I knew it. I could’ve gone home with any guy in the club — rugby boys were Kryptonite for gay men as much as they were for women, in my experience — and instead I brought a married father home and had him sleep on my pull-out bed. Real classy.

Still, I reached for my phone after I’d poured myself a strong coffee, any typed just two letters.

Rhys: Hi

* * *

I winced as I lowered myself into the ice bath and then groaned as the icy cold water soaked through the thin fabric of my boxer-briefs.

“Get over yourself,” said Finn. He was sitting a couple of metres away in an identical bath and sloshing his legs around like it was nothing.

“Ithurts,” I replied, but lowered myself even further so only my head was showing. Ice baths were horrible and painful but I knew I’d be happier later. Three weeks of solid rugby, both home and away, had battered my body after so much time off. I had bruises on my legs from awkward tackles, a footprint on my chest and that twinge in my arm was still happening on and off.

We were days away from an announcement of the Six Nations squad and I wanted to be fighting fit on the slim chance I got selected. I knew I still wasn’t playing aggressive rugby like I should, but I was playing fast, and better than could be expected from my injury.

As Finn let out a groan and stretched his arms above his head, Bernie the physio and Garrett walked in together. I thought I saw Bernie take a step away from Garrett as he registered our presence. “Just…came to check you were both OK,” Bernie said. “Not drowned, I see. Good. That’s good.” And then he walked past Garrett and out of the room.

“I’ll just…” Garrett pointed over his shoulder and followed Bernie. The normally unflappable coach was bright red.

“Weird,” I said.

“Yup…reckon I could get a bird even with my tackle all shrunk from the ice water?” Finn asked after a second.

“Only because your shrunken tackle is still bigger than most of ours before we even get in the water,” I muttered back.

“Been looking, have you?” Finn leered at me and I threw an ice cube at his head.

“Shut up,” I said.

There was silence for a few moments and I watched as Finn’s face twisted downward, as if he was thinking. He seemed to hesitate before opening his mouth which in my experience with him was pretty bloody rare.

“Thing is…” he said, but then my phone rang with no Caller ID, interrupting him. I scrambled out of the icy tub, getting ice all over the floor and slipping on wet tiles before answering.

“Hello?” I said.

“Hi,” said a familiar voice down the line - one I had been waiting to hear for years. “Is this a good time to talk?”

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