The Fly-Half (Lincoln Knights #2)

Chapter Twenty-One

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Jonny

I stewed for the entire journey back to Lincoln, leaning against the window with my headphones in, my thigh pressed against Devon’s as I tried to ignore everyone else’s singing by pretending I’d fallen asleep.

I didn’t feel any better when we arrived, and as we drove back to mine, I seriously wished Devon and I hadn’t agreed to having dinner with Mason since Ryan was working. But I felt bad about blowing him off and maybe he’d have some random insight to offer about the horrible mix of emotions currently swirling inside my chest.

As much as I hated it, Clive was right. I couldn’t keep letting my temper get the better of me whenever someone put their hands on Devon. It might have worked out okay today, but we all knew I’d gotten lucky and the fact I’d spiked someone a couple of weeks ago when I’d been unable to figure my shit out loomed large in my mind.

I was unpredictable, aggressive, and a danger to myself and the team.

And if I didn’t want to lose my job, I was going to have to get it under control.

“You okay?” Devon asked as we pulled up outside my house behind Mason’s ridiculous Range Rover. “Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” I said, shooting him a fake smile I knew he’d see straight through. “Maybe later.”

Devon put his hand on my thigh and squeezed gently. “We don’t have to go in, you know. We can go back to mine. Mason will understand.”

I chuckled. “No, he’ll call me out for wallowing.”

“I don’t think he will. You’re allowed to have mixed feelings over all this,” he said. “You’re dealing with a lot all at once and it has to come out one way or another.”

“I know.” And I did. But that didn’t stop me from brooding.

Logically, I knew Devon was also right. The last few weeks had been a hurricane of self-discovery and I was trying to wade through the new emotions flooding my brain and my body. And despite the fact I was twenty-seven, I didn’t have the bandwidth or ability to actually deal with them.

If it had just been my new attraction to Devon, I’d probably have been fine. It was a different step in our relationship, but it didn’t feel weird. In fact, I felt more comfortable and relaxed than I had in a long time. I was filled with a sense of awe that this man wanted me, and everything he did amazed me in some way. It was like someone had put our friendship under a microscope, and I could see, in crystal clear clarity, all the things I’d forgotten, taken for granted, or had simply never noticed.

In fact, suddenly being overwhelmed with awe was the least of my problems.

Being continuously horny was starting to bug me a little because it seemed like my brain was devoting every spare waking moment to thinking about Devon. Specifically, what he looked like naked and how pretty he sounded when I played with him. I didn’t know if everyone else felt like this, but it explained a lot about the behaviour of my friends. If I could, I’d have dragged Devon into my bedroom and kept him there until I’d exhausted both of us and my imagination.

The biggest issue was the jealousy and the dark, possessive need burning a hole in my chest and festering away like an infected wound.

The idea of anyone else touching him made me want to destroy everything in my path and rip the person who’d dared to put their fingers on him limb from limb. And then I wanted to drag Devon into a quiet corner and claim him, marking him up so everyone knew he was mine.

It was fucking terrifying.

And I had no idea how to deal with such intense emotions.

“Come on,” Devon said, gently patting my leg. “If we’re going to go in, we should get out the car.”

I nodded and tried to smile again before unbuckling my seat belt and climbing out, grabbing my bag off the back seat and digging my keys out of the front pocket. Devon followed me up the front steps and through the door, which led straight into the kitchen. The smell of something rich, meaty, and delicious wrapped itself around my senses as soon as we stepped inside, and I inhaled deeply.

“Oh my God,” Devon said from behind me. “That smells incredible. Is that b?uf bourguignon?”

“Good nose,” Mason said, emerging from behind the open fridge door with a couple of cans of beer. “Ryan got the recipe from a guy called Orlando who does a load of wigs for people at The Court. Apparently, one of his partners makes it, and Ryan wanted to try it.”

“And they’re not even here to try it,” Devon said almost sadly. “You’re going to save him some, right?”

“Of course,” Mason said with a chuckle. “There’s mashed potato to go with it too, and some greens.”

“Sounds great,” I said as I slipped my shoes off, hoping Mason couldn’t tell how in my head I was. But as soon as I looked across the kitchen, I saw him frown at me. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, popping open a can of some craft beer he’d bought recently. He took a sip and offered me the other can, which I gratefully accepted. “Does Clive know about you two then?”

“Yeah,” Devon said as Mason grabbed a bottle of red wine off the counter. “He figured it out.”

“Is it going to be a problem?” Mason asked. “Also, I don’t know if this is any good, but I was told you like red. So if you want it, you’re welcome to a glass. We’ve even got some wine glasses around here somewhere.”

“Do we?”

“Yes, Jonny, we’re not animals.”

Devon chuckled. “Sounds great, thank you.”

“Sure? You don’t have to drink it to be polite. If you think it’s gonna be horse piss, then say so.”

“It can’t be any worse than the glass I had at Bisou the other week.”

I huffed and opened my can of beer to take a long sip.

“What the fuck was that?” Mason asked, looking around from where he’d been rummaging in one of the cupboards.

“What was what?” I asked as I took another sip and feigned ignorance. “This is nice, thanks. Where’s it from?”

“North Yorkshire,” Mason said as he pulled a large wine glass free, holding it up to the light before taking it over to the sink to wash. “And don’t pretend I didn’t hear you. What the hell was that noise? Are you seriously annoyed because poor Devon mentioned the bar he and Peaches went to?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“Give me a break,” I said. “It’s been a long day.”

“Oh piss off, it’s been a long day for all of us. You’re not special.”

“See? I told you he’d be a bastard,” I said to Devon with a flat look, my mouth pulling at the corners as I tried not to smile. “Maybe we’ll just go back to yours.”

“No, I want b?uf bourguignon,” Devon said, accepting the glass of wine that Mason handed him, sniffing it before taking a slow, appraising sip. It must have been good because he smiled and took another.

“Why am I a bastard this time? Is it for calling you out on your shit?” Mason asked as he walked over to flick the gas burner on under a large saucepan, which I presumed had peeled potatoes in ready for us to boil. We really didn’t deserve Ryan and the amount of shit they did for us. Coming home to their cooking had become one of my post-match highlights, and I needed to ask Mason what to get them for both their upcoming birthday and Christmas because if anyone in our house deserved spoiling it was Ryan.

“Maybe,” I said with a sigh, putting my arm out to find Devon’s waist and pulling him into me, resting my head on top of his. “I’m just… struggling with a lot at the moment.”

“Is this about you being possessive as fuck?” Mason asked, leaning against the counter and looking at me. His words were direct but not unkind.

“Yeah, a bit.” I thought for a second then put my drink on the nearby counter so I could put both arms around Devon and kiss the top of his head, breathing in the smell of his shampoo. He hadn’t said anything, but he put one hand on top of mine where I’d interlaced them around his middle. It was such a small thing, but it soothed the surging storm of emotions that had been threatening to overwhelm me again. “There’s a lot going on in my head at the moment and I don’t know how to deal with it.”

“Is it because of what we’re doing?” Devon asked, and although his voice was level, I could picture the worried look in his dark eyes as he spoke.

“Yeah, but it’s not your fault,” I said. I kissed the top of his head again as I tried to find the words. Maybe this should have been a conversation we’d had by ourselves, but it was too late now. “I’m feeling a lot of new things all at once, and it’s not all good. Like, I love what we’re doing and I’ve never felt this way about anyone. But it’s so fucking overwhelming and I don’t know how to deal with any of it. I hate the idea of anyone touching you… That’s probably the worst of it.”

“I’m sorry,” Devon said as he twisted his head and leant in to kiss me softly.

“Don’t be, please.”

“I’ve encouraged you, though. I like it.”

“Me too,” I said quietly, kissing him again. “I just don’t know how to get it out of my head when we’re not…”

“If I may,” Mason said, looking between the two of us with a strange fondness, like he was both amused and frustrated by my antics. It felt like I was missing something again. “You can totally be possessive as fuck in private—go wild, do whatever the hell you want as long as you’re both consenting and safe—but you’ve got to figure out why you’re possessive outside of it and then you’ve gotta fucking deal with it.”

“I know, but it’s the why I’m struggling with.”

“All right.” Mason put his beer down, glanced at the potatoes, walked across the kitchen, and pulled Devon out of my arms. I stood there, shocked, as Mason led him away. “Jealous now?”

“No,” I said. “Why would I be?”

Mason hummed and pulled Devon into a hug, squeezing him tightly. “What about now?”

“No, I don’t think so.” It was a bit strange seeing them together, but I didn’t have any weird feelings about it.

Mason hummed again, like he was ticking things off on some mental list I couldn’t see. “What if I was someone else?”

“How do you mean?”

“Oh, I think I know,” Devon said with a knowing smile. Only I had no fucking clue what he knew. “What about if Mason was West?”

I thought for a second and tried to picture it. “No, nothing. Why would it? Mason and West have got boyfriends.”

“There you go,” Mason said, kissing Devon loudly on the cheek and walking back to his beer. “First reason solved.”

“I don’t…” I looked between them as Devon took a long sip of his wine, the dark colour slightly staining his lips. It made me desperately want to kiss him. “Wait, is it because…” I trailed off, the reason I’d hoped would come to mind failing to materialise.

“Come on, think about this,” Mason said. “You’re not jealous of me and West because…”

“You have boyfriends?”

“And? Come on, man. It’s not that hard!”

“Because you love them? Oh! And I know you’re not going to try anything.”

“There we go! Halle-fucking-lujah!” Mason threw his hands up in the air and grinned. “It’s a miracle.”

“But I trust Devon,” I said with a frown. “I know he wouldn’t do anything.”

“You don’t trust anyone else, though,” Devon said softly as he walked back over to me and leant up to kiss me. It made me very aware of the height difference between us and heat blossomed in my gut as all sorts of filthy ideas appeared in my mind. “You’re not worried about me; you’re worried about them.”

“Yeah, well, the bar for men in general isn’t exactly very high,” I said with a disdainful grunt. “It’s on the fucking floor and a lot of us still manage to go under it.”

“True, but you have to figure out how to deal with that,” Mason said. “Because you can’t go around punching people for daring to talk to your boyfriend. And I’m not bailing you out of jail if you try.”

I opened my mouth and then snapped it shut. Another idea had floated to the top of the pile, but I wasn’t sharing with the class. It could wait until Devon and I were alone with a closed door between Mason and us.

“All right,” I said.

“Good,” Mason said with a nod, picking up his beer again. “What about on the pitch?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think I do,” Devon said, leaning against me again. “You’re worried I’ll get hurt.”

“Maybe? But I never worried about that before.” I thought his words through as I spoke. I didn’t think it was the case, but maybe it was? I’d never wanted him to get hurt, but my reaction today was more extreme than anything I’d ever experienced.

“Yes, but I wasn’t yours before.”

His words were soft but the blow they dealt was a hammer to my heart.

My feelings were entirely selfish, my violence fuelled by a possessive need to protect him. But that would be impossible unless he stopped playing rugby, and I’d never ask him to do that.

I was trapped.

And the only way out would be to deal with my feelings.

Or embrace them.