The Fly-Half (Lincoln Knights #2)

Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

Devon

I shouldn’t have been thinking about sitting on Jonny’s thighs.

Not how broad they were, or how firm, or warm, or how right it had felt to straddle them. How much I loved the way it felt to stretch my thighs over his. Thank fuck the rest of my body had short-circuited because explaining why I was suddenly sporting a hard-on in the middle of training would have been a level of mortification I’d never have survived.

Even now, several hours later when I was at home and trying to get ready for my date with Peaches, all I could think about was sitting in Jonny’s lap.

I stared at the jeans, T-shirt, and jacket laid out across my bed, knowing I should get dressed if I didn’t want to be late but somehow unable to move. Was I really doing the right thing by going out with Peaches or was this only going to hurt more? Maybe I needed to cancel—feign an injury or some shit to give myself more time. Maybe I could even tell him the truth and apologise for wasting his time.

But then what? Was I going to spend the rest of my evening alone and wallowing in self-pity, jerking off to the memory of sitting on my best friend’s thighs? I couldn’t have sounded more pathetic if I’d tried.

“You’re going and you’re gonna have fun,” I muttered to myself as I grabbed my T-shirt and pulled it over my head. My French teammates had taught me how to dress over the years, and I’d tried to take their lessons about classic, effective styling to heart. Judging by some of Peaches’s pictures, I’d probably look a little underdressed, but I figured it was best to stick to what I knew.

And my body made a simple T-shirt, jeans, and jacket combination look really fucking good.

I did my best to try styling my hair before putting my watch on and the simple leather bracelet my sister, Courtney, had bought me a couple of years ago.

I checked my phone as I walked through to the kitchen in search of my wallet and keys, but there were no new messages and I wasn’t sure if I was glad or disappointed. Would it have killed Jonny to wish me well? Or would it have made me feel worse? Peaches hadn’t cancelled either, so I was definitely going. And if it all went to shit, then I’d have one drink, come home, and ring Jonny to tell him he was right. And maybe order a sharing box of chicken nuggets and fries.

Peaches had suggested we meet at a bar in town and it wasn’t too far, so with a deep breath, I opened my front door and headed out.

I stuck my headphones in as I walked, but nothing on any of my playlists was doing it for me and after spending five minutes skipping through songs, I eventually turned my music off and walked in silence. Being alone with my thoughts wasn’t the worst thing as long as I focused on things like rugby, so I lost myself in kicks, replaying ones I’d missed so I could work out what I’d done wrong.

Sometimes I missed because of things I couldn’t control, like the Great British Weather, but sometimes it was because I’d mistimed my steps by a fraction, angled my foot wrong, or not quite calculated exactly how steep the angle was. And every one of those things could be corrected with practice. Even the weather could be accounted for.

And while a perfect record was impossible, I was damn sure going to give it my best shot.

I got so lost in thought, I walked straight past the bar and had to double back. It was a place near the bottom of Steep Hill with a large front window, suggesting it’d once been a restaurant, and two bouncers in black on either side of the door. They didn’t even give me a second look as I walked past them, which meant the baby face I’d had throughout my early twenties had well and truly gone, and I resigned myself to never getting IDed again.

The bar was already busy with a mix of the last of after-work socials, friends hanging out to get them through the last bit of the week, a few dates, and a group of older women who looked to be in their sixties and seventies and who seemed to be having a wonderful time judging by the number of empty glasses and wine bottles on their table.

“Devon!” A voice called my name and I turned to see Peaches leaning against the bar, a warm smile on his face as he looked me up and down. He was every bit as beautiful as the pictures I’d seen online.

When Ryan had called him “tall, dark, and handsome,” he hadn’t been exaggerating.

His dark hair was perfectly styled and curled around the nape of his neck, and his dark eyes were like deep pools I could get lost in, the smoky make-up he was wearing accentuating their depths. His sharp jaw was dusted with neatly trimmed stubble, and his lips were full and shimmering slightly under the low lights. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

He was wearing a pair of low-waisted, wide-legged black trousers over a sheer skintight bodysuit that had swirling dark patterns across it that covered his nipples and twisted down his arms and across his abdomen. It was so achingly sexy and Peaches wore it so well that it looked like a second skin. His confidence radiated out of him and I had to admit it was attractive.

I’d never met anyone who gave off the impression of being that sure of who they were in less than ten seconds.

“Hey,” I said as I walked over to him, leaning in to kiss each cheek. French habits died hard but seeing the smile on Peaches’s face made me glad I’d found them hard to shake. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you! I try. You scrub up nicely yourself.”

I chuckled. “You can thank my ex-teammates from Marseille for that. Apparently, dressing badly is a criminal offence in the south of France.” I glanced at the bar and the staff behind it. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“That’d be lovely, thank you.”

Peaches ordered a cocktail and I went for a glass of red wine, even though I was pretty sure that living in France for so many years had ruined wine for me unless I bought it myself. But the bar had a French name, so maybe I’d get lucky.

I could hope, but I wasn’t holding my breath.

It was funny because all my friends in France had always joked about how English I was, even after years of living there, but coming home had only emphasised how many things about me had changed while I’d been away and how much of French culture I’d absorbed. Sometimes it felt like I was stuck between the two and I was never sure whether to lean into things or pretend the differences didn’t exist.

We carried our drinks over to a table in the corner that had suddenly become free. It was tucked away from the hustle and bustle and the group of women, who’d moved on to champagne, which meant I’d actually be able to hear Peaches talk.

A strange feeling fluttered in my stomach as we sat down, not quite butterflies but definitely nerves.

“So, did you grow up in France?” Peaches asked, his foot brushing against my calf as he crossed his legs.

“No, but I lived there for eight years while playing rugby. I moved back at the start of June. I actually grew up just outside London.”

“Marseille sounds so much nicer, not going to lie.”

“Yeah, I definitely miss the weather. I’m so fucking cold here.”

Peaches chuckled and leant closer. “Same. I spend half my time in the most ridiculously unsexy amount of layers at the moment. I’ve even got one of those giant Oodies. Although I don’t always wear much underneath it.”

My stomach twisted and I reached for my wine. I’d never minded guys being so direct before, but after everything that had happened in the last twelve hours, I wasn’t feeling it. And I knew right then that I had to say something.

“Look, er, I think you’re gorgeous as fuck but I have to be honest and tell you I’m not up for having sex tonight. And it’s nothing on you. It’s just I—”

“Hey,” Peaches said, taking my hand and squeezing it. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s not you.” I sighed and took a long drink of my wine. As predicted, it was horrifically average and overpriced. “I am hopelessly and irredeemably in love with someone else, who’s straight, and apparently my brain has decided that pathetically pining over him is better than trying to move on and find someone who actually wants to be with me.”

Peaches winced. “Shit, honey, I’m sorry. How long?”

“Have I been in love with him? I don’t know. Since we were about sixteen? I only realised it a few years ago, though, and it’s been getting worse since I moved back. If I wasn’t under contract, I’d almost be tempted to fuck off back to France just to get away from him.”

“I know that feeling. They always follow you,” Peaches said with a knowing look as he reached for his cocktail and sucked half of it down in one gulp. “Fuck it, we’re going to need more drinks.”

I squeezed his hand and tried to pull away. “You don’t have to. Seriously, this was meant to be a date and I’ve completely fucked it up.”

“Yes, I do. It sounds like you definitely need to vent if you ever want to move on.”

“I’ve been trying. It’s not worked yet.”

Peaches raised one perfectly pencilled eyebrow at me and shot me the most withering look I’d ever been on the end of. “Darling, do you spend ninety percent of your time with this man?”

“Yes…”

“Then how’re you ever going to get over him?”

“I haven’t got that far,” I said with a hollow laugh. “Fuck, we really do need more drinks.”

“We do.” Peaches downed the last of his and stood up. “Do you drink cocktails? If so, they’ve got two for one on until ten and I’m going to get four.”

“Sure. Go wild.”

“Don’t say that, darling. It’ll only get messy.”

I snorted and watched him walk away. His ass looked so fucking sweet and peachy, but it was still nothing compared to Jonny’s, and I almost hated how that was my first thought. In another life, I’d have gone straight back to Peaches’s house and fucked him senseless. But in this world, I couldn’t even bring myself to contemplate meaningless sex.

Maybe Peaches was right about spending too much time with Jonny.

But I also knew I wasn’t ready to rip that plaster off because doing so would break my fucking heart.

Peaches came back a couple of minutes later with four tall glasses filled to the brim with colourful drinks. “It was mix and match, so I got a random selection. I thought we could just drink, bitch, and spill some tea.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it. I’m pretty sure I ruined your night.”

“You’re fine,” he said. “Truth is, I don’t think my head is in the right place for anything more than meaningless, anonymous sex at the moment either.”

“Want to talk about it?” I asked as he sat down and slid one of the drinks over to me, which was a thick, creamy yellow-orange colour and smelled vaguely tropical. And when I took a sip, I was pretty sure it was just a blended Solero ice lolly with added booze.

“Maybe.” He sighed. “Don’t get married. At least, don’t get married unless you’ve worked through your horrific levels of internalized homophobia. And then make sure you actually get divorced.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. What happened?”

“Long story, which I really don’t want to talk about because it makes me look like an absolute cunt.” Peaches smiled but the pain behind his eyes was clear.

“Well, I think you’re very sweet.” I leant over and kissed his cheek, because whatever had happened, I liked Peaches and I wanted us to remain friends. Maybe he could be the first friend I’d made by myself since I’d moved back.

“Thank you.” He picked up his glass and tapped it against mine. “Now tell me all about this man you’re pining over. Want me to find all his red flags and put you off for life? I’m pretty good at spotting them.”

I chuckled. This night might not have gone how either of us had expected, but it was turning out more fun than I’d imagined.

And right now, I needed fun.