Freddie is late.Of course he is; I shouldn’t be surprised. I love the guy, but he’s never been great at timekeeping. We’re not in a hurry, of course, but I am impatient to see him. Hold him. Finally have a place where I can do whatever I want with him without worrying about others.
I found a realtor basically as soon as Freddie walked out of the apartment after the first night we had together and she found me a flat within two weeks; close to the stadium and training facilities, close to our—now Clara's—apartment and, most, importantly, close to Freddie’s place. Many of my teammates have bigger places than this, but I don’t need more than the two bedrooms. One for me, one for guests. An open-plan living room and kitchen, a balcony, a bathroom with a tub.
Besides, I want to be realistic. I won't become a superstar in my football career and I don't want to spend money I might not earn going forwards. It's becoming clear Freddie and I will have different career paths; his appearance at the EUROs has catapulted him onto the world stage and he now has fans all the way in Australia and Japan. I doubt I'll ever have that. I doubt I'll become a household name, the way he surely will.
But I've realised I'm fine with it. I've thought about it a lot, those last few weeks. How will I handle the fact that Freddie—myboyfriend—will always outshine me in our shared career? What will I do when my contract doesn't get renewed, but Freddie continues to be celebrated?
The doorbell rings and I trot over to my apartment door to wait for Freddie.
Freddie Bloom, future captain of Westfield and the national team, I'm sure of it. But also Freddie Bloom, who looks at me like I'm the best thing in the world. Freddie, who worships my body with his every chance he gets.
I'll be fine, however our careers will turn out. I'm ambitious, yes, but my ambition has always been about doing the best I can. As long as I know I've given it everything, I'm content. Not everybody can be the best. I want to know I couldn't have done anything differently. Then I'll be happy.
Freddie appears on the stairs, red-faced and panting, lugging two six-packs of beer along with him.
I grin and cross my arms as I wait for him. The world knows the amazing footballer Freddie; I know the idiot he really is.
When he reaches me, he groans and bends over, dropping the cans instead of touching me. “Why the fuck do you live in a building with a broken lift?”
I pick up the beer and ignore him in favour of a condescending smile. “Aren’t you supposed to be a professional athlete?”
“Fuck you,” he wheezes, then straightens and grins at me. As soon as the door closes behind him, he grabs my t-shirt and pushes me against the door, slips his hands under the hem, and kisses me like we’ve been apart for months. In reality, I only left his place yesterday morning for a quick shower ahead of our training session. I saw him at work all day yesterday.
I love how keen he is for me, though.
“Mmmmmh.” He grins into the kiss. “Hi.”
I laugh and bury my nose in his hair. “Hi.” It’s tough, sometimes, seeing him every day and not being allowed to get close. The move and having to furnish the entire place has taken up lots of my free time, too, so I’m glad that’s over and we can go back to overindulging in each other’s presence. “Want the tour?” He’s seen it, of course, in photos when I’ve eagerly shared the process, but it’s so different now it’s ready to live in.
“Nuh-uh.” Freddie nuzzles his face into my neck. “First I need a closer look at you.” Already his hands are tugging at my shirt, trying to pull it over my head. I love this about him, the way he is so obviously into me and not too cool to show it. He touches me as soon as we’re alone, letting me know how much he wants me. His hands on me have become one of my favourite things in the world, and not just because it often leads to sex.
It’s a kind of intimacy I’ve never had before, never knew I needed. Like any good upper middle class family, we’ve never been the touchy-feely kind, feelings assumed but never spoken out loud. Freddie is so different, and I revel in it.
Still, I try to put on a stern face now and put my own hands on Freddie’s to hold them still. “You were going to help me paint the wall.”
Freddie grins, wild and beautiful. “Youwanted to paint a wall. I was just looking for an excuse to make out with you.” But he does take a step back.
I laugh again. It’s another thing I love about Freddie and being with him; he takes me out of my brain, makes me laugh. My life has been more joyful since he’s become a permanent part of it.
Still, somebody has to at least pretend to be responsible sometimes. “Come on.” I take his hand and pull him along. “I’ll show you the bedroom. If you’re a good little helper, you’ll get to join me here later.”
“Oh, sweet summer child.” Freddie cocks his head at me. “If you don’t know I’ll desecrate every single surface in this flat with you, you don’t know me at all. We don’t need a bedroom for that.”
I bop the back of his head as I drag him to the bedroom. “Idiot.” But I can’t hold back the grin—or the excited tingle—at those words. “Right. I want to get this done today, so let’s move.”
Freddie moves past me into the room, throws one glance at the furniture, then steps into my space, not-too-subtly pushing me back towards my new bed. “Here’s a better plan,” he says. “Let’s test your bed first and then get to work. Just to get warmed up. Then we can paint, and when we’re about halfway done, we can have a little break, and then?—”
I shut him up with a kiss and pull him with me, making both of us fall back onto the bed with tangled limbs. “The worst thing about you is you’re full of terrible ideas,” I murmur against his lips as I push up my hips up to meet his.
“False.” He bites down on my lower lip, just hard enough to make me gasp. “I’m full of wonderful ideas. And I’m a great influence on you.”
I can’t even disagree because he grinds against me and my cock goes from interested to semi-hard. God. He’s making me forget about all the discipline that I’ve worked so hard on. And I can’t be mad about it, not when he’s kissing his way down my neck, covering me in glorious shivers. “We don’t have time,” I gasp, while my body defies my words and rubs itself against Freddie.
Freddie pushes himself up over me and cocks his head. “I hear a challenge.”
“No,” I say hastily, “not a challenge, just a general bit of —”
“I love a good challenge.” Mischief sparkles in his dark brown eyes. “Bet I can make you come in less than five minutes.”
