How was the steak?
Honestly, it was the best steak I’ve ever had
There’s now almost a whole chocolate mousse cake in our fridge too
Wow, you should shout at people more often
I didn’t shout at him! I just told him he hadn’t earned his wins
Which, when I say it like that, sounds worse than shouting
Yup
I would say you’re not making any friends like that, but he bought you steak and chocolate cake so I guess I’m wrong
I’m sure it was a one off. He’s probably already on his way to a nice hotel
I checked the clock. Five more minutes, then I could make use of the restlessness gathering in my limbs. I might have lost mytouch at tennis, might have a terrible record of bad-idea kisses, but training I could do.
And then Miles walked in, sending my heartrate through the roof. He paused in the doorway to look around, his dark-maroon shirt a surprisingly good colour on him. The hint of a frown only added to the tortured poet look that absolutely, definitely wasn’t entirely my thing. Catching sight of me, he strode over.
“Morning,” he said, dropping his bag at the next bike. “Getting an early start working off all the cake?”
Ah, so we were going to play the pretend-it-didn’t-happen game. “It’s not that early,” I replied, keeping my tone light. “I’ve been up for a while.”
“At least you weren’t woken by that damn cat scratching at your door.”
I grinned. “Yeah, we took that apartment once and never again. Between the cat and the water pressure, it was hell.”
“Are you telling me your shower actually works?”
“Like a charm.”
“Fuck, you’re cruel,” he laughed. It was a cheerful enough sound, but it soon faded into the ambient symphony of clinking weights and feet thumping on treadmills. And in its wake, an awkward tension grew, plucking at my ribs. He leaned folded arms on my bike’s display. “Hey, so about last night, I—”
“You drank too much and weren’t thinking and it really doesn’t mean anything because you’re straight,” I said, a familiar knot tightening in my gut. “I know.”
His brows twitched into a frown beneath the fall of his hair. “Why do you think I was going to say that?”
“Because I hear it a lot.” I went on pedalling, wishing I could ride away from this conversation. “Do you remember Lukas Ibsen?Pretty decent junior who went off to become a lawyer or something within a year of going pro?”
“Yeah?”
“I was his ten-second gay panic. Also Oliver Hruška. And Ryan Alling, although that was more like a whole gay minute in a dingy bar somewhere in Paris. Oh, and I was Maria Adamo-Forza’s straight panic before she gave up and dated Elena Hammond. And,” I went on when he said nothing. “There’s a very respected coach on tour, who shall remain nameless, who once took me out with a bunch of his friends, bought me lots of drinks and expected me to be very,verygrateful for the attention.”
Those expressive brows dropped into a scowl. “Who?”
“Nameless,” I repeated. “It’s fine, I handled it. My point is just that as the only openly gay player on tour, I’ve gotten used to being the guy people have a quick, experimental thing with and make excuses to afterwards. So, this is not new territory for me and I assure you I didn’t think anything of it.”
Much.
Miles tilted his head, considering me as I went on pedalling past the end of my warm-up because stopping now would leave me no outlet for the nervous energy this conversation was producing. “And if that wasn’t what I was going to say?”
“Then I’ll be very surprised and shall attempt to prise my foot out of my mouth. Though it wouldn’t make what I said untrue.”
I met his gaze, silently daring him to prove me wrong but too world-weary to hope. After a few seconds, he looked away. “All right, fine, yes, I was going to say something like that but not for the reason you think.”
“Sure.” I laughed softly. “Look, it’s fine, Miles, really. It’s just . . . one of those things. Although, it hasn’t happened for a while. I guess being a nobody isn’t as attractive to people.”
