Page 23 of Brat on the Ball

“Not to the world you’re not. You’re just another fucking football player who’s not going out with any girls at the moment.”

“John. I am not playing for a country that would throw me in jail for who I love.”

“Just one year! One year and we could both retire. I’m not getting any younger.”

“You’re not getting any poorer, either. No means no, John. I won’t play there.” I hung up the phone and switched it to silent. He tried to call back twice, but I just watched as it rang out. He’d stressed me to hell with his inconsideration, and I knew what I needed to calm me down. I knew who I needed.

Then, finally, what I’d been waiting for arrived. A text from George. With his address. And I had to laugh.

George: Can you get here in an hour?

Ol: How soon can you be ready?

George: I’m ready.

I got up, dried off my feet, and without putting on my shoes, got in the private penthouse lift. The problem with the whole privacy thing was that I had to take the lift to the bottom of the building, only to take the slighter grottier lift back up.

Because George, the mysterious man that he was, lived three floors below me. I laughed again in the lift, laughed until I was holding on to the railing to support myself. Because it was so ridiculous, so implausible, that I couldn’t believe it. How could we live in the same building? So many times we must have passed each other in the foyer, or parked our cars near each other in the car park.

I got out of the lift on the twentieth floor and walked down the carpeted corridor to the address George had given, and knocked.

“Finn, I swear to God that better not be you because I have a hot piece of…” George tailed off as he opened the door and looked at me. “You,” he said.

“Me.” I suddenly felt nervous. The sunset was streaming in through George’s windows, and all the lights were on in his apartment. What if he didn’t like me in the cold light of day? What if he was having second thoughts?

I knew I wasn’t. He was even more beautiful in the light. Every shadowy angle of his face, every raised bump and scar made him even more appealing to me. It took me a minute to notice he was dressed in a shirt and jeans. I’d just rushed down in my tracksuit, shoeless and impulsive, because I wanted to know it was real. That the man I’d been chasing was soclose.

“How did you…?” he tailed off.

I pointed upward. “We live about ten metres from one another.”

“No way.”

“Yes way.”

I tried my best to discern the smile he was giving me. Was he pleased to see me? Did he…

And then George grabbed me by the front of my shirt and was kissing me as the door slammed shut behind me. “I…” he started, seemingly unable to say what he wanted to. I didn’t know how to say what I wanted to either.

One rough, calloused finger traced my collarbone, and then he was pulling aside the collar of my workout shirt and pressing his lips to the crook of my neck and sucking.I could have come then and there, just from him giving that to me.

“I…they were fading,” George’s finger traced where I knew he’d left the love bites. “I need…fuck. Sorry. This isn’t me.”

He backed away from me, and I just wanted his touch on me again. My heart was thumping with both nerves and anticipation. I looked around the place he had. It wasn’t totally different the penthouse, a little barebones, the furniture obviously quick catalogue buys and the walls painted white. Otherwise, it was just a basic, slightly small flat. The kitchen and living room were one, and there was a dining table with two chairs pushed in one corner.

“Let me…you like wine, right?” George was heading toward the kitchen, and I followed him to lean on the counter. He took out a bottle of white from the fridge, and two glasses from the cupboard. I noticed how his hand shook as he poured, and then he slid the glass over to me. There was a metre between us physically, but I could feel the mental gulf widening by the second.

“I…I’m Ollie,” I offered.

“I know,” said George. “I watched you play last week.”

Fuck. Shit.I looked round the room for an emergency exit, like I could throw myself out of the nearest window for a safe landing. My heart had dropped into my stomach. He knew who I was.

“Hey. You OK?” he asked.

“Are you going to tell anyone?” I asked. Well, screeched.

“No. No way, man. I know how it feels to be outed against your will as a sportsman.” George took a step closer to me and took my free hand in his. “C’mon.”

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