Page 62 of One Last Try

Five minutes into the movie and Owen’s asleep. His head lolls back on the couch cushion and sonorous snoring echoes through the living room.

I should probably send him home, let him sleep in his own bed and get to sleep myself. I have training at nine tomorrow, bright and early. But I don’t move him. I spend the rest of the one hour and thirty-six minute long film just being near him.

24

Wednesday 16th April 2025

Mathias

I’ve added yet more Owen facts to my Owen Rolodex.

He treats everyone like family. Doesn’t matter if you’re throwing up on him, or dropping biological weapons of mass destruction in the communal toilets with little regard for what you’re interrupting, he’s there for you.

He says wazzock unironically.

He’s an awful driver. Seriously, the worst. I didn’t even know it was possible to cause a tailback in a village with only ninety-nine residents, but Owen drives so slowly he accomplished that feat during the thirty minutes back to Orlando’s mansion. No wonder we usually take the field route onfoot.

He has no gag reflex.

He has no gag reflex!

I’ve thought about this one a lot. Literally any and every second I’m alone, and also a lot of time when I’ve not been alone too. It’ll pop into my head without any warning. I’ll be going about my day, doing my business, and bam!—Owen is on his knees for me, tears streaming down his face, his whines vibrating against my cock, and just like that, I’m uncomfortably hard. The remedy comes in the form of remembering Lando’s explosive diarrhoea, and then everything’s soft again.

It’s made training and showering with the other guys and sitting through team meetings . . . interesting. Like playing boner Russian roulette.

It’s a relief at the end of the day when I can hop back in my car and head home, and because I’ve been thinking about him nonstop for the twenty-five minute drive—“I want to choke on your cock. I want to not be able to breathe”—it takes thirty seconds at most to relieve the pent-up tension. I don’t even have time to break out my toys or lube. I just fuck my hand like I’m a seventeen-year-old cum factory again. Raw and desperate.

He’s made me like this. Owen Bosley.

And now he sits beside me at the desk in the study as we plot the Easter pub quiz together. I’ve had a twenty-minute-turned-three-hour power nap to prepare for my all-nighter, but Owen is fresh from landlord duties. He’s yawning, and despite his second double-caff Nespresso, he can barely keep his eyes open.

“Right, we’ve only got history, picture, and wild-card rounds left,” Owen says, ticking the other ones off on his fingers. “We could just google some history questions and—”

“That’s cheating!” I say, and Owen laughs. “Do you do that? Is that what quiz masters do?”

He shrugs. “Sometimes. We’re busy people. I’ve got an entire pub to run, and a bunch of nitwit hungover sevens to coach,and. . . two kids. Okay, one of them is at uni and I don’t really have to do much there except chat on the phone, but . . . yeah, well, two kids if you includeLando.”

“My whole life is a lie,” I whinge. Owen playfully slaps my bicep.

“I mean, we could sit here all night and come up with history questions. Or we could cheat, just a teeny little bit . . .” He holds his thumb and forefinger apart by a millimetre, demonstrating how teeny the amount of cheating is. “And then we’d have some time for me to suck your cock again.”

My elbow slips from the desktop. “Ha! Wow, um . . .” I push the hair off my forehead. “Sure, let’s go with that option . . . the second one.” I cup my fingers around my silver cross. “Jesus, please forgive me for the sins of duplicity I’m about to commit on this, the weekend of your resurrection, but Owen Bosley just offered to blow me again and I’m pretty certain it’s illegal to turn that kind of offer down.”

“Good lad,” Owen says. Then he slides off his chair and plants his knees on the hard stone floor in front of me. “Damn, I wish I’d carpeted this room now.”

“Oh my god, here?” I don’t know why I’m trying to protest.

“I’ve not stopped thinking about doing this again,” he says. “Seriously, I could have written an entire ten question quiz round on the noises you made as you came.”

“Um?”

Owen’s face turns bright pink. “I should maybe not have admitted that.”

I palm the front of my shorts. “As much as I want a repeat of Sunday night, I think you should know that this needs to be switched around. I need to be the one on my knees for you.”

His eyes roll closed. “Oh god, yes, I’d like that too.”

“But I’m not smashing my knees up on the stone floor. Coach will kill me. So we’re gonna have to take this upstairs.”

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