Page 75 of We Were Never Lovers
Under the video was a laughing emoji and an eggplant.
Jack didn’t know how to take it. It felt like Sean was mocking him. What felt like? He was. But Jack hadn’t intended that, and honesty was the best policy.
Shit, he wrote,I didn’t notice that. Should I take it down?
The text bubble popped up, disappeared.
Jack bit his lip and itched to go and take the damn thing down. How embarrassing. No wonder Sean was ripping into him.
The message bubble popped up again. Jack held his breath.
Ya should invest in a jock strap, was the reply.
Jack bounced his leg as shame washed through him. He was going to take it down. Another message popped up.
But nah, it’s a good tip.
And that might’ve been the nicest thing Sean had said to him since they were seventeen. It gave Jack the push to talk like they did then too.
Yeah, but, it’s kinda pornographic, he wrote and hit send.
He got an eye roll for his efforts.
Then:leave it.
And well, Jack couldn’t take it down now. But he could defend himself.
I’m not trying to post thirst traps.
He got a swift reply,none of my business what u do.
Jack frowned. He wanted it to be Sean’s business. And even though there was no good way to reply to that message, he didn’t want to leave the exchange without leaving the door open.
Okay, he typed,thanks for the heads up anyway.
The locker room was empty by the time Jack got up after waiting for a reply. He never got one.
He didn’t hear from Sean for about a month and he was too scared to initiate the contact even though he started and deleted several messages. Nothing special, just every time he saw a film and had a thought, or something happened in the footy news, or his sisters gave him shit for his workout videos like Sean did. Except not like Sean did because they didn’t suggest he was trying to get laid with them, they just said he was showing off. He really wasn’t doing any of the above and he knew, like Finnknew better than anyone else, that it was important to create a profile beyond footy if they wanted any sort of career after it. Jack had his business degree from the University of Melbourne, but unlike most graduates, he didn’t have the years of experience in an actual business. He was going to be leaving footy at some point in his thirties with nothing but the degree and his history as a player. He needed to leverage what he had.
He’d posted more videos, careful not to make his bouncing dick and balls the star of the show again (he was drenched in shame every time he thought of it), but he found himself trying to tailor the videos in ways that might draw Sean out without creating, well, semi-pornographic content.
A close-up of his face while he bench-pressed, followed by a sweeping shot down his body. Nothing from Sean.
A video of him plunging into the ice bath, re-emerging with a shocked gasp, his face, shoulders and chest launching out of the water. He’d even tested that one in slow motion, but posted it in normal time, a laughing emoji next to it and a detailed explanation of the benefits of ice baths. Still nothing.
More weight training. A quick conversation reel with Callahan about beating the wall with interval training. A rock-climbing video at the place in Cockburn. Nothing.
It was the simplest thing that prompted a response. A mirror selfie. He was in tracksuit pants and a white singlet, exhausted after a day of training, a throwaway comment about the importance of sleep.
His phone beeped when he got into bed. He expected one of his sisters, but sat upright and hit the lamp when he saw Sean’s name.
Come on. Ur literally mentioning ur BED.
Jack laughed—incredulous, hysterical, fond—and read the message again.
Not everyone has such a dirty mind, he wrote, giddy with it.
It wasn’t until Sean didn’t immediately reply that he’d thought maybe that’d been a step too far. He sat forward, cradled his phone in his hands, started to type a recant when Sean’s typing bubble popped up.
