“Because when you lost your temper, I remembered the old Matteo and realised . . . I’d kind of missed him. And that maybe he was someone I’d like to know.”
I stared up at him, unable to breathe, those words absolutely fucking me up. They weren’t that momentous, I told myself, a mere statement of friendship, of a sort, yet I’d never been more grateful for the darkness that allowed me to hide in their wake.
“Of course, then you were a dick and I was a dick,” he went on with a shrug. “And that seemed par for the course, honestly. You were such a dick when we first met at that training camp. Not that it stopped me jerking off while thinking about you.”
My laugh was half shock, half relief at the change of subject. “Are you kidding me?” I said. “You mean if we’d gotten our shit together, we could have been doing this years ago?”
“Oh, you too?” He laughed back. “Well, that’s a hot thought. Not that I had any idea what I was doing back then. Probably would have been terrible.”
“Awful,” I agreed. “Though I don’t think it would have mattered.”
“Probably not. Everything is hot at that age. God, just imagine the look on Danny’s face if he’d walked in on that though.”
“No, thank you, I’ll pass!” I tried to push him off, and what started as a playful wrestle soon grew hot, leaving us gasping against each other’s mouths. And safely back in the shoals of mutual desire, I could breathe once more.
Twelve
KATIE AND I had shared accommodation often enough to develop traditions. Our biggest was that we always went sightseeing the weekend before a tournament. It helped to divert our minds, and was the only time we were sure to have in any city before packing up and moving on when we lost. The first year in London we’d seen the usual attractions—the Tower of London, Buckingham Palace, that park with the big dinosaur statues—and the second year we’d splurged on a day trip out to Stonehenge. This year we’d decided to be cultured and go to some museums, though after dinner on Friday, Katie had suggested we also walk around Hyde Park.
“Don’t all the characters in your romance books go there at some point?” had been her argument.
“Only in regency romances,” I’d said, “but I don’t read a lot of those. Not many are gay.”
From the couch, where he’d once again become deeply absorbed in my e-reader, Miles had said, “You’ve got a couple.”
And somehow that had been that.
In the end, we’d decided on laundry and Hyde Park on theSaturday, and a picnic and museums on the Sunday. Neither had seemed likely to interest Miles, but while we stood waiting for our laundry to finish the next day, Katie invited him anyway.
“Oh, I’m invited?” he said, flicking an amused look my way. “Mat said you were going sightseeing, but not that I was allowed to come.”
“I didn’t think you would want to!” I cried as Katie rolled her eyes. “I figured you would have far more important and interesting things to do with your weekend than wander around museums with us. You know, like sponsorship events and high teas. Things Tina will call you a thousand times to make sure you aren’t late for.”
Ignoring this, he shot his warmest, most charming centrefold-smile at Katie. “Thank you so much for inviting me. I would love to wander around museums with you.”
“You’re very welcome. And you,” she added, pointing a finger at me. “Are an idiot.”
While Miles and Katie might not have chosen to spend time together in other circumstances, they got along far better than I’d expected. Miles was relaxed and considerate, Katie cheerful and clever, and with a common desire to make fun of me, conversation never flagged.
Ambling around Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens was hardly thrilling on paper, but nothing could be boring in such company. We admired the plants, enjoyed what passed for sunshine in England, and marvelled at the sheer number of ducks. And whenever we saw a squirrel, Katie and I would point excitedly, leaving Miles shaking his head.
“I get you don’t have them in Australia,” he said when we stopped to watch a pair darting up and down a tree trunk. “But they’re just squirrels.”
“You mean squirrels,” I corrected as we moved on.
“That’s what I said.”
“Is it though? How many syllables does it have?”
Miles scowled at me, though his sunglasses reflected more of my grin. “Are you mocking my accent? Because that’s rich coming from a pair of Aussies.”
“How many syllables, Callahan?” I repeated.
“Two. What of it?”
Shaking her head and laughing, Katie patted my shoulder and walked on. “Leave the poor man alone, Mat.”
“No, this is important. For all squirrel kind.”
