“It’s a fact.”
“Oh,” he smirks, looking me up and down again.
Kyle’s lips brush mine and send shockwaves down my nerve endings.His hands roam under my shirt and find my erect nipples.I squirm into him, and he sweeps his thumb across them again.I moan into him.In one swift motion, he’s mounting me and placing kisses on my lips.I lean into them.I’m harder than I’ve ever been, and I can see his dick breaking free from his boxers.
“You should take those off,” I say to him, and I watch him shuffle out of them.I slide mine off too, and he mounts me again.He plants a kiss on my nipple, and I groan into it once more.
Knock knock.
“Fuck,” we both say in unison.
“You guys coming!?”says Rockwell from the other side of the door.
“Poor choice of words,” he says, and I put my hand across his mouth, and he licks it.
“Where?”I ask.
“To dinner, Boss is waiting for us all.”
“Okay, we’ll be down in ten,” I say.
“Fifteen,” Kyle retorts.
“Don’t be late, you know how Boss feels about lateness.”
We wait for him to go and then manage to bothfinishand get ourselves ready in under fifteen minutes.The hardest part was getting all of Kyle’s proof-of-excitement out of my hair.“If only the rest of the world knew how far you can shoot,” I say to him before slapping him on his suit clad ass.
He smirks at me, “You’re not so bad yourself.”
He kisses me, and I swear, each time he does, I’m on cloud nine.
“How do you manage to look so good in a suit?”I ask, taking him all in.
“I was thinking the same about you,” he coos back before planting another kiss on my lips.
Training is intense—more so it feels than at City—and I expected nothing less.I am playing with the very best that England has to offer, and somehow I’m part of it.And so is my best friend, myboyfriend?I still need to ask Kyle what we are to each other, but I don’t want to startle him.Sometimes he’s more skittish than a cat in a room full of cucumbers.
And sure, I’ve had some funny looks regarding my new hairstyle, but it’s mostly been in the form of banter.Rockwell did ask me, “What’s up with the queer nails?”I told him I was showing my patriotism, and it was a shame he wasn’t showing enough.That pissed him off, but he’s a homophobic prick, so I don’t care.
“AJ, Thurston, here,” the boss bellows from across the field, and I instantly get that feeling like I’m heading to the headmaster’s office again.
We trot over, and he has a tactics iPad out.
“Right, I want to see how you both play together,” he says, and we exchange a look.“Not like that.”
“First showing is free,” I say, feeling brave, and I see Kyle stiffen, but the boss laughs.He actually laughs.
“Look, you both are fine finishers, and I know you were a strike partnership when you were younger.The plan is to bring you both on in the second half, change most of the team around at half-time.AJ, you’ll be the focal point, due to your size.Kyle, you will play off him and be ready for anything.”
We nod in agreement.The typical “big man and little man” tactic.We are so much more than that, but I don’t dare say anything.We will show him.This is our chance to cement our names on the team sheet ready for the Global Cup.
“Get back to training.I want you both on shooting practice.I want you both sharp and I want you both ready.Focused only on the game.Do you understand me?”His eyes narrow at us, and the unsaid words hang between us.
We both nod in affirmation once again and head off for shooting practice—not that kind.
Somehow, we are behind at half-time, 2–1.The boss, despite it being a friendly match, is flipping his lid.He’s launched a football boot narrowly missing Jackson's face, and he’s going beetroot.
“How?”he asks, “how are we down 2–1?I’ll tell you how.You’re not hungry enough.The amount most of you are paid and you’re full!You need to feel that hunger again.Second half, we’re changing it up.AJ, Thurston, you’re going to be up top.”
