Page 29 of A Match Made In Evan
Even if I do want to have a deep and meaningful conversation with Connor.
“Stop calling him that,” Jack complains. “Even if you’re technically right, it’s weird.”
“Oi!” Brett calls from the pitch. “Are you ladies planning on joining us?”
“You wish we were ladies,” Jack sasses him as we head over to take our places on the pitch, “have you seen how freaking aggressive the women’s league is? We’d kick major ass if we played like them.”
“I’ll kick your arse if you’re not careful,” Brett tells him, then points his finger accusingly. “Try not to let the ball near the goal this game.”
They toss a couple more barbs each other’s way, and then the game kicks off. It’s rough for a friendly social match. The other team is even more competitive than Brett, and there are yellow cards thrown around by the ref within minutes.
It’s fast-paced, brutal and exhausting, and it proves the perfect distraction from my personal woes. Brett manages to kick the winning goal with five minutes left of play and, while the other team complain to the ref about offside rules, the poor volunteer counts the goal and I’m surprised there isn’t a riot in place of the final few minutes. Once the whistle blows, we shake hands and fist bump the other guys, but it’s pretty obvious they’re nothappy, muttering under their breaths about unfair advantage and shit.
I wander back to the bench with Brett, ruffling his short hair and celebrating his winning goal raucously. I haven’t felt this light in ages, and I’m going to ride the high for as long as possible.
I keep joking with Brett as we start packing up our stuff, taking off boots and replacing them with sneakers, then shoving the lot into our sports bags. I’m keeping half an ear on Connor and Jack’s conversation, wanting to catch the former so I can hopefully borrow him for a private chat.
I know I’m probably stereotyping in my assumption that the only out gay man I’m friends with is my best option for such a conversation, but Connor is a good guy. He’s open, honest, and down-to-earth. He’s also married to a man and, seeing as I’m confused about wanting to do the same, I feel like he’s the best person to talk to about that.
Then Jack derails my plans entirely with his own admission that he slept with his Manny.
Jack.
Big, brawny, tattooed fireman Jack —a guy with a reputation as being a ladies man and a bit of a playboy to boot— slept with hismalenanny.
My heart hammers as he sums up his story, not seeming at all fazed that he just came out as bi to his indoor soccer team…not that any of us care — in fact, Brett even congratulates him and claps him on the back. I file that reaction away in the back of my mind to mull over in private.
Even though our situations are nowhere near the same, I hang on Jack’s every word and hold my breath for Connor’s advice as I follow them toward the exit.
I listen intently, unable to stop myself from double checking when Connor suggests that Jack talks to Leo (his kids’ nanny).I feel my cheeks heat when Jack arches his eyebrows at me, but then Connor starts in on his assumptions about Leo and why he asked Jack for space after things between them got intense, and I’m all ears again.
“He’s also a guy whose life experiences to date have shown him that it’s easier to be the one to cut ties and control his own heartache.” We exit the building and my sweaty, heated skin cools in the evening breeze. Our shoes crunch on the gravel as I continue to follow them across the carpark, and Connor keeps talking, “I know you didn’t experience the sort of rejection that he has, but you didn’t date beyond casual hookups for a reason, Jack.”
Jack stops for a moment, clearly dumbstruck. “How’d you…”
Connor rolls his eyes. “Really? Because I don’t think commitment-phobes are afraid of the companionship or the sex on tap. I reckon they’re afraid of not having control of their feelings. They’re afraid of having their hearts hurt.”
“To be fair,” Brett adds, also following along, even though his car is parked in the opposite direction, “some people avoid commitment because they have FOMO and they feel like ‘settling’,” he emphasises the word with finger quotes, “means they’re missing out on God only knows what opportunities, or that they’re choosing the wrong person or whatever.” The derision and bitterness in his tone is out of character for him. “Relationships are mundane to them. Or they’re against the idea of any kind of responsibility and losing their independence.”
Connor nods and leans against the side of his SUV. “Yeah, well, do you think Jack’s like that?”
After Brett and I shake our heads, he nods again, his lips pulling up a little smugly. “Neither do I. So, that leaves my hypothesis…which was right, by the way.” He looks over at Jack. “Wasn’t it?”
As Jack agrees with him, I feel completely vindicated that Connor is the right choice to talk to about my issues. He’s pretty wise for a guy our age. I soak in every word he speaks to Jack, suddenly feeling less confused about my own feelings. Jack’s situation is more complicated than mine, really.
He’s still getting to know Leo, whereas I know James inside and out. We have a solid history, and we’ve never had an issue communicating…until now. And that’s my fault. I need to trust in that history. I need to trust that, if…no,whenI tell him that I want our fake relationship (which doesn’t feel fake) to become a real one, that he won’t laugh at me or destroy twenty-five years of friendship over my sudden revelation. Even if he turns me down, or tells me that he doesn’t reciprocate my feelings, I need to trust that he’ll still be my best mate. Yeah, things might be awkward for a while, but he’s a good guy. It’s part of what I love about him.
So, like Jack and Leo, I need to suck it up and communicate properly. That seems like common sense, the more I think about it.
Look at me being a grown up.
When Connor makes a crack about his age gap with Will being bigger than Jack and Leo’s, the weight on my shoulders has been removed, and I can’t help but teasingly ask, “Are we playing ‘yours is bigger than mine’ now?”
Connor waggles his eyebrows back at me, almost leering. “Don’t start a competition you’ll lose, man.”
It’s hard to pretend to be scandalised when all I want to do is laugh. Jack redirects the conversation again, and I —having received the advice I was searching for, even if via conversational osmosis— make plans to go and talk to my best friend.
Chapter Eleven
