Chapter 2
2
Ten and a half weeks later
“ D ude,” Ammy called from the living room. “Shit or get off the pot.”
Sal, who’d hoped Ammy wouldn’t notice them hovering in the doorway, swore under their breath. “I don’t know if I want to go on this stupid fucking date! How can I do something if I don’t know if I want to do it?”
“Yeah, I have no idea what you’re yapping about, but you’re letting all the aircon out, so fucking decide already.”
Still swearing, Sal closed their eyes and walked out of the apartment. The door snapped behind them, and they resisted the urge to unlock it and go right back inside, take off all their clothes, crawl into bed and stay there for a billion years.
“You’re such a puss-boy,” they muttered. “Just go .”
They headed for the stairs on legs that felt like ninety percent Vaseline. Curtis had booked them a table at some twat bar in the CBD. He’d wanted to go out for dinner, but Sal had bartered him down to drinks. They shouldn’t have been bartering at all, but after weeks of texting the guy every day, they were ready to admit that no, they weren’t magically going to get over this stupid thing with Curtis, and maybe they should meet up.
Sal’s ideal situation would have been sex—preferably in some dodgy motel on the other side of the city—but Curtis wasn’t having it.
Date or nothing, babe, he’d message whenever Sal was tipsy and ready to throw morality to the wind. I know you want back on this, so hurry up and do the smart thing.
He always accompanied said messages with a picture of his fist wrapped around his ridiculously hard cock. Sal had to throw their phone across the room to keep from agreeing to marry the asshole. They remembered what had happened in that mirrored box all too well. Dreamt about it. Wanked about it. Found themself Googling ‘Curtis Ingram’ with embarrassing frequency, and getting mad at the lack of photos and YouTube footage—the guy had played professional sport for years, and some people had masturbation routines to curate…
“Send a letter to the Football association,” Ammy said whenever Sal complained about the lack of digital footprint. “Or ask your brother to put a spy-cam in the locker room.”
Byron. Sal couldn’t let themself think about Byron. He'd hit the roof if he knew his baby sister was going on a date with one of the Sharks.
“Footy players are all dogs,” he’d said, the one time Sal had asked if his mate, Saxon was single. “Stay away from the lot of them.”
“You’re a footy player!”
“That’s how I know. Seriously, do you want them to pass around your nudes and talk about your stuff?”
By ‘stuff’ he’d meant Sal’s gender identity, which had still been up in the air at the time, but even if they were still calling themself a girl, Sal didn’t think Byron would approve of them having drinks with Curtis.
They headed to High Street and stood at the tram stop. A guy walked past, staring directly at their cans. Sal folded an arm over their tits and shrank into the glass shelter. After a dozen outfit changes, they’d settled on plaid shorts and a black tank top. Not too masc, but masc enough to leave the house. Or so they’d thought.
“What ya even doing, Sal?”
It was their destiny to be different. Not on purpose. Innately. To be the first openly pansexual person at their snotty school. To be the first femme in their family to get a tattoo. To realise the little sting they felt whenever someone called them a girl could be solved—if they had the nerve to say, ‘I don’t want you to say that anymore.’
Only tonight, Sal had stood in front of the mirror in a dress and heels and felt dysphoria kick like a mule. That had been bad, but what was worse was that they didn’t immediately take off the dress. Instead, they’d stood there, debating whether it was worth it to look pretty for Curtis.
Fucking Curtis.
Logically, Sal knew their panic wasn’t his fault, but it felt like his fault. He was just so fucking butch. It was terrifying to think he’d look at them and see some freak of nature he didn’t want to hook up with. At the same time, Sal knew they’d prefer he feel that way. It would be easier than managing all this stress. Yet it was impossible to stay away from Curtis; impossible to ignore him when he sent some reel or sexy photo.
When are you gonna give me a shot? he’d texted yesterday . I can’t stop thinking about you. I see you in my coffee. It’s driving me nuts.
It was driving Sal nuts too, and, exhausted from work and thoroughly in the mood to be complimented, they’d agreed to a date the very next day. And it was too late to back out now. The tram had arrived, and the bar Curtis had picked was three stops away. They found him waiting outside, one foot on the wall behind him, scrolling his phone. He was wearing a dark green sweater, pushed up to show his forearms, and looked so hetero-handsome it should have been illegal.
He grinned when he spotted them, pushing off the wall with the kind of manly, effortless grace Sal always envied. They weren’t clumsy, exactly, but no one had ever called them graceful. ‘Bombastic’ was the word their first dance teacher had used.
“Hey,” Curtis said. “You look amazing.”
Sal looked down to make sure they hadn’t accidentally worn the dress.
“Don’t start that,” he laughed. “You know I think you’re stunning.”
Sal wanted to say something funny, or perhaps dissolve, but Curtis was already in front of them, bending down and kissing their cheek. Sparks shot across their face and down their back, and speaking became impossible.
“Let’s go inside,” he said, taking Sal’s hand. The bar was cuter than they expected, dark with low tables and blue velvet booths. The kind of place that could have been a burlesque theatre in another life. A dude in a bow tie directed them to a candlelit corner and brought them menus.
“You like old fashioneds?” Curtis asked.
Sal loved old fashioneds, but it felt too simpy to just agree, especially when the candle glow made Curtis look even more chiselled and irritatingly sexy. “They’re alright. I might have a beer, though.”
Curtis gave every appearance of not giving a damn. “Sure. Whatever you like.”
The waiter returned, and Sal chose the first beer they spotted on the menu—a chocolate stout from Norway.
“Heavy hitter,” he said when the waiter left.
“Come again?”
“The beer. It’s eight percent.”
“Shit.” Sal had intended to pace themself, not get too wasted and make even more Curtis-related mistakes. “Is that a lot?”
He consulted the menu. “It’s a five hundred mil bottle. About four and a half standard drinks, I’d reckon.”
“Jesus! I just saw the word chocolate and assumed it was soft. Why don’t I read things?”
Curtis laughed. “The devil shouldn’t DJ.”
“What?”
“The devil shouldn’t DJ,” he repeated, as though Sal was missing an obvious point.
“I heard you, I just… have no fucking idea what you’re talking about?”
“It’s when, like… you think something’s easy, but only because you didn’t look closely?”
Recognition dawned on Sal. “Do you mean, ‘the devil’s in the details?’”
Curtis beamed. “Yeah. That.”
Sal envisioned Byron’s expression if he ever heard Curtis’ devil-DJing metaphor. From his texts, they’d gotten the impression that the dude was kind of a himbo, but hearing him goof expressions in real time was something else.
“Sorry.” Curtis flashed a rueful smile. “I get stuff like that mixed up all the time.”
“It’s fine.”
“Nah, it must seem pretty stupid, hey? Especially since you’re a teacher.”
Sal felt a wave of affection for the man. “Teaching assistant. So, you got that hot dumb guy brain?”
“Probably. Didn’t do great at school.”
“Who cares?”
He made a face. “People. You, obviously. From the look you gave me when I said… I can’t even remember what I said. Something about the devil.”
“I thought it was good clean fun! Besides, you can tell how many drinks are in a bottle from a percentage.”
“Yeah, my special skill. Practice makes perfect.”
They smiled at one another, and Sal looked away. Curtis might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but those baby blues were no fucking joke. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t know metaphors. You make mega bank kicking balls around.”
“For now. We’ll see what happens in the next couple years.”
Sal had forgotten how short the shelf lives of footballers could be. Byron had bombed out of the league his first year from injuries, severing a lot of Sal’s connections to the game. “Do you, uh, have plans? For after?”
“Nothing concrete.”
“What would you be doing if you weren’t playing football?”
“Welding, probably.”
Sal tried and failed not to picture Curtis Ingram shirtless, a tool belt strapped to his tanned hips and sparks flying everywhere. “That’s cool.”
“It’s really not.”
“I dunno, people probably need stuff welded.”
“They do.” He smiled. “What about you? You wanna get bigger with the whole dancing thing?”
“I don’t think so; it’s more like a hobby.”
“You had an OnlyFans, yeah?”
Sal blanched. “Who told you?”
“Google.”
As Sal continued to stare, horrified, he explained. “There’s an expired page under your drag name. I’m man enough to admit I went looking.”
“It wasn’t porn,” Sal blurted out, and was instantly embarrassed. They weren’t supposed to be someone who got shy about this kind of shit.
Curtis didn’t bat an eye. “So, what was it?”
“Dominatrix stuff. A couple of topless pics.”
He grinned. “Any chance I can get ‘em off ya?”
Sal gave him a look.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying. I don’t care, by the way. About you doing OnlyFans. Just in case you were worried.”
You’re not worried because you don’t actually think we’ll be together , Sal thought. You don’t want this to be serious. You’re just fucking around.
But their own memories instantly contradicted them. Since they’d met Curtis, he’d been determined to make this romantic. They were the one who’d been trying to keep things surface level and sex related. Their drinks arrived and Sal took a massive gulp of beer, praying it would make their mind slow the fuck down. It was uncomfortable to bump up against their assumptions. To realise they didn’t really believe a guy like Curtis Ingram could be into them.
“Good?” Curtis asked, gesturing at Sal’s drink.
Sal had been too in their own head to taste anything. They took another sip, and the peppery cacao taste slapped them upside the head. “Oof.”
“Bad?”
“No, just strong.”
Curtis pushed his cocktail across the table. “We can share if you want?”
Goddamn him. Goddamn him for being nice. Goddamn him for being hot. Goddamn all of this. Sal could feel themself warming up to him and they’d already been plenty fucking warm. They reached for the old fashioned, tensing to hide their shaking hands. The bar wasn’t busy, but the few patrons Sal could see made them nervous. They kept looking over, and while it was probably just because Curtis was hot as breakfast, it was hard not to feel it was because of them. They were starting to wish they’d just worn the stupid dress and stilettos and gone full bimbo for this thing, after all.
“Thanks for meeting me,” Curtis said, picking up Sal’s beer. “I’m glad you finally said you’d come out.”
They drank way too much old fashioned, considering it wasn’t theirs. “That’s ‘kay.”
“Finish that if you want. I’m happy to have…” Curtis took a swig from the stout, and the look of absolute horror on his face made Sal burst out laughing.
“No backsies!”
He shook his head. “Christ, that’s strong. I finish this, I’m gonna get fucked up for the first time in ages.”
“Not a big drinker?”
“I don’t love the feeling, y’know? When you’re all out of control?”
It was a sweet answer. More vulnerable than Sal was expecting when the excuse of ‘I’m a professional sports guy’ was on the table. “I get it, but I love that feeling.”
“Ah, well, you’re a rebel, aren’t you, babe?”
Goddamn you , Sal thought as a delight buzzed through them. Time to change the subject. “When was the last time you got wasted?”
“Last year’s end of season do.” He made a face similar to the stout-drinking one. “It was a rough night.”
Sal sensed an embarrassing story waiting in the wings. “What happened?”
“Ahh… it’s not a first-date convo.”
“Tell me,” Sal demanded. No matter how bad it was, they’d rather hear it than sit across from Curtis thinking drooly thoughts about how sexy he was. Some gross-out story might even help him seem more human…
“It just got real sloppy.”
“Like, you did man-hugging and stuff?”
He let out a sigh. “Like—Patrick Normal—had a race climbing these pine trees, and all the other boys were standing at the bottom saying they’d catch us if we fell. Only, I did fall, and I took out two other blokes.”
Sal, who knew Psycho through Beth and their whole group of mates, giggled at the thought of the usually serious Patrick participating in a tree-climbing race. “That’s just charming. As long as no one was seriously hurt?”
“Nah, but all three of us scraped ourselves to shit. And Normal couldn’t find a way down, so we were all chucking pinecones at him?—”
“Naturally.”
“—until the cops rolled up.”
Sal’s mouth fell open.
“Yeah,” Curtis said grimly. “The neighbours dogged us in. Half the boys booked it. The other half were yelling at Normal to hide, and there I was, wasted, trying to talk to the cops. Saying all this shit about how Normal’s an arborist and he’s meant to be up there.”
“Oh my God!”
“It was real dumb. I could hardly fucking talk. Psycho does this voice all the time now, ‘essuse me, offisarssss, but me mate’sss suposss to be doin thaaaaaa…’ ”
Sal laughed so hard everyone turned to stare, but they found they didn’t mind. It was nice to laugh. “How’d you get away with that?”
“Didn’t. Almost got Psycho banged up for the night. But someone was smart enough to call the coach, and he talked to the cops until Psycho found his way down.”
“So, you did get away with it?”
“If you don’t count the fine and the weeks shovelling shit around the club, and me getting home and pissing all over my bedroom floor.”
Sal clutched their chest, half-afraid they’d crack, they were laughing so hard.
“Glad you’re having a good time, babe. I totally fucked the carpet.”
He was grinning, though, and Sal couldn’t help wanting to reciprocate. “I drunk peed the bed for the first time a couple of years ago.”
Curtis’s smile got bigger. “Nice.”
“I didn’t even know vagina people could do that. It was actually after Cheryl’s bachelorette party. You know, Psycho’s missus?”
“They’re trouble, those Normals. We should stay away from them.”
“Yeah, it’s definitely their fault and not our own stupid decisions.”
They smiled at each other, and Sal felt that hot zing again. Even more ridiculous now they were talking about such silly things.
“Anyway,” they said. “Byron’s got me beat a million times, piss-wise, so I don’t care.”
Curtis raised a brow. “Like, he pissed the bed when he was a kid?”
“Like, when he played footy. Dude used to involuntary bathroom all the time. And not in bed. He had this thing where he’d get up and piss and forget about it, and then it’d be like a fun game trying to figure out why the couch was wet.”
“Jesus,” Curtis choked. “Good one, B-boy.”
“Yeah, I called it ‘Unsolved Pissteries.’”
It was Curtis’s turn to laugh so loud that all the bar patrons stared, but again, Sal didn’t mind. They decided no one knew anything except that two people were having a fun date.
“Well,” Curtis said, wiping his eyes. “Thanks for the dirt, babe. I’ll remember that next time your brother’s up my ass about something.”
Sal licked their lips. They’d enjoyed laughing with Curtis, but they probably shouldn’t have shit-talked Byron to one of his players.
“Hey,” Curtis said, his smile fading. “I’m joking. I’m not gonna tell him anything.”
That would have been reassuring, but then he reached out and wove his big fingers through Sal’s. Sparks like metal on metal flashed up their arm, and they thought about welding. Curtis, in his toolbelt fantasy outfit, fusing the two of them together. They squeezed his hand, then let go, picking up the old fashioned and draining it. “Do you wanna get another drink, or are you gonna stick with the murder beer? Maybe soak the floor later?”
It was a cheap joke, and Sal regretted saying it as soon as it left their mouth. But Curtis just shook his head. “I’ll get another fashioned when the waiter comes back.”
“Cool, I might join you.”
“Sounds good.” He squinted at her. “So, are we ever gonna talk about it?”
“I have zero clue what you’re on about,” Sal lied. They very much knew where this conversation was going.
“You don’t wanna hold my hand in public, and you don’t want your brother to know you’re here, do you?” he asked, confirming their suspicions.
“I just… I dunno.”
“Dunno what?”
Sal tried to hold Curtis’s gaze, but it was like staring into a supernova or something. “I’m self-conscious, okay?”
“Because I tried to touch you?”
“Yes. No. I’m not sure.”
Curtis licked his lips. “Do you know why I asked you here?”
“You wanna bang it out?”
“Obviously…” He stared Sal up and down in a way that made their pussy flutter.
“… but that’s not all I want.”
Sal wasn’t ready to give up the flirting. They leaned forward, allowing their cleavage to swell onto the table. “What do you want?”
“I wanna date you. Get together, I mean.” He swallowed. “Can you, uh, stop doing that? It’s hard to concentrate.”
Good , Sal thought, pushing their elbows into their sides so the problem intensified. “I don’t think I’m ready to date.”
“Anyone? Or me?”
Goddammit. “Do you even want a partner? Like a serious one?”
“Yeah, of course.”
Goddammit again. “Then why don’t you, like, go find someone on your vibe?”
He leaned closer, his cheekbones bathed in candlelight. “Because you’re on my vibe.”
Triple fucking goddammit. “I don’t know?—”
“If you weren’t into me, I’d fuck off. But unless I’m reading this wrong, you are into me. So, I don’t see the problem.”
You. You are my problem: you and your football player archetypal manliness.
“There’s no problem,” Sal lied again.
“So, you’ll go out with me? Be my girlfriend, or whatever it’s called when a non-binary person dates a guy?”
His words slashed at Sal’s heart. How were they supposed to explain all this stuff to a guy who couldn’t even suggest ‘partner’ as a nice neutral couple term? “I just don’t think you know what going out with me will be like.”
“Then tell me.”
“Why don’t you tell me why you want to go out with me ?”
He frowned, his eyes crinkling adorably at the corners. “Because you’re awesome. You’re so funny and cute, and I could listen to you talk forever, and I like how your skin feels and think you’re hot. Is that enough?”
“Uh…”
He moved closer, his mouth now inches from Sal’s. “Also, I pull off to your photos, like, twice a night. It’s a fucking problem how sexy you are.”
Sal turned away, trying to keep the massive shit-eating smile from spreading across their face. “You are taking off, my friend, and I dunno where you’re gonna land...”
“In your pussy,” he whispered. “If you let me, I’ll stay there for hours.”
Jesus Christ…
Sal picked up the orange slice from the old fashioned and pinched it between their fingers. “I’m not saying I don’t want that?—”
“Good.”
“But you don’t get it. There are days where I completely feel like I’m a guy.” They looked into Curtis’ face, fully expecting to see disgust and only finding the same intense attraction.
“I don’t give a fuck,” he said.
“So, I go into boy mode and wear massive death metal t-shirts and baseball hats for a week, and you’re fine with that?”
“That sounds cute.”
Sal rolled their eyes. “You’re just saying that.”
“I dunno, I’m pretty into those photos of Kristen Stewart where she’s in the jockstrap.”
Sal rolled their eyes harder. “Everyone is.”
“You’re hotter than her.”
“Thanks, Curtis, I really believe you...”
“You are.” His voice was low and sweet as honey. “You’re, like, sharp and soft and pretty, and all your clothes are cool. You’ve got a great look. I’m into it.”
Sal decided to go for gold. “You realise being with me when I feel like a guy kind of makes you gay?”
He shrugged. “Then you’ll be the only guy I’m gay for.”
“Which would make you the first openly gay player in the AFL…?”
“Someone has to be first. Might as well be me.”
Jesus fuck, what was wrong with this saint of an asshole? “You don’t mean that.”
“I dunno. Maybe I’m bi?”
“You are not fucking bi!”
“I made out with a guy at school.”
Sal felt like the floor had opened up and swallowed them whole. “Really?”
“Yeah, my mate, Marc. We were pissed at a house party, and it just happened.”
Sal gaped at him. “Did you like making out with a guy?”
He shrugged again. “Not really. But I don’t care that it happened. And I don’t care if people think I’m gay. I know who I am.”
Sal weighed this statement in near disbelief. “God, that’s actually… way hot.”
He grinned. “Me kissing a bloke or me saying I know who I am?”
“Both.”
“Cheers. So, try me. Be my girlfriend, or whatever it’s called, and see if I don’t mean everything I say.”
Again, that sharp, slashing feeling. Sal shook their head. “It won’t work.”
“Why? I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“And that’s great. Kind of. But I don’t think I’m ready.”
“You do still date guys, right? Straight guys?”
“My last boyfriend was straight. We were together for three years.”
Curtis’s jaw tightened. “Right…”
It was so petty, the joy Sal felt at his obvious jealousy. But the thrill was too fun to resist. “We’re still friends. He helped me a lot when I was first coming out as an enbie.”
A muscle flicked in Curtis’s cheek. “What’s his name?”
“Klaus. He’s a tattoo artist. He’s really cool.”
“You wanna fuck him more than you wanna fuck me?”
Sal squeezed the orange peel, embarrassed to have given in to their own hetro cringe. “There’s nothing between me and Klaus anymore. We’re literally just friends. His new partner is really nice.”
Curtis softened. “Sorry for getting all green. I just… it’s hard for me to understand why you could be with another straight bloke and not me.”
“I know,” Sal said miserably. “I don’t want to be a dick, but right now, I can’t handle this whole ‘dating a footballer’ thing.”
To their surprise, Curtis smiled. “Then gimme some time. We don’t have to, like, tell everyone. We can keep things just between us. I wanna see you on the reg. Keep going on dates.”
Sal looked into his handsome face. He was offering the cop-out to end all cop-outs. But did they want to take it? “You mean it?”
“Hundred percent. I just want a shot.” Curtis’s light blue eyes dropped to Sal’s cleavage. “And I’m not tryna bribe you or anything, but if you give me that shot, I’m done holding off. You can come back to mine and do whatever the fuck you want to me, whenever the fuck you wanna do it.”
Sal’s body heated like the candles burning around them. “What if I say I am willing… to become willing… to think about going out with you. Is that enough?”
He nodded, his lips curving into the sexiest smile Sal had ever witnessed. “So, okay, um, what now?”
“We can stay for another drink.” Curtis glanced at the door. “Or you can come back to mine and have a bath?”
Sal dropped the orange peel. Curtis Ingram’s bath was very much a place to which they wanted to go.