Chapter 9
RHYS
“Want to come to my game tonight?” I asked as soon as Sev woke up and attached his processor. It was five thirty in the morning, and he somehow looked just as sexy as he did last night.
“Can you even play on that ankle?” Worry clouded his pretty eyes.
I kissed his temple, loving the things his concern did to my heart. “Nothing a little extra tape can’t fix.”
He grumbled something about crazy rugby boys, and I tightened my grip on him, loving how we were wrapped up in each other, a tangle of tattoos and muscles.
I couldn’t believe that he’d trusted me enough to go without his processor during sex last night. I could tell that he’d reveled in the deprivation and subsequent heightened senses. When he’d asked me to choke him, it was all I could do not to tell him that I loved him right then and there.
Obviously, that was ridiculous. I couldn’t be in love. We’d known each other for less than a month. If we kept going down this path, however, falling in love with him would be easy.
Not just easy. Inevitable. All I knew was that I didn’t want to be away from him for a single second that I didn’t have to be.
Kissing my shoulder, he answered, “I’d love to go to your game.”
Needing to hide how freaked out and excited I was for him to say yes, I pressed my face into his neck. That turned into more kisses, which turned into more time naked and cuddled up in bed, taking turns tasting each other.
“Sorry, Sev.” I gave a gentle squeeze to his spent balls before rolling to a sit. “If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for practice.”
“Shit, did I ruin your game?” he asked, wiping a bit of cum from his short beard. “Like, aren’t you supposed to abstain from sex before a match? Is that a thing?”
I smirked, way too cocky. “Maybe. Though, to be fair, you’ve only ruined, at worst, this morning’s practice. Either way, ask me if I give a damn.”
“Okay, but don’t send your rugby lads after me if it goes badly today. I can hold my own in a fight, but not against fifteen guys who look like you.”
Kissing his forehead—because tough-looking guys like us never got enough affection—I replied, “Don’t worry, I’ll get between you and anyone who tries to hurt you.”
Sev seemed equally pleased by my affection and words, like maybe no one had ever offered to snuggle and protect him before.
On the way over, I called the ticket office and had them set aside a seat in the team box for tonight.
I jogged into the locker room right on time, but since I was known to show up early, I got some raised eyebrows from the fellas.
Ruiz was sticking his tongue against the inside of his cheek, like he knew exactly what I’d been getting up to.
I sent him a friendly bird, then went to my locker and changed into my workout gear. The warmup was not too bad, considering how many times I’d come last night—this morning?— though I probably wouldn’t make a habit of it. Unless we won big tonight.
Like most athletes, I had my fair share of superstitions, and anything that led to a win had to be made part of my game day routine, regrettably. Heavy sarcasm on the regrettably.
By the time we were back in the locker room getting ready for the game, I was warmed up and ready to smash some heads on the pitch.
Pulling my jersey over my head, I noticed a new patch: a rugby ball done up in rainbow colors.
At first, I thought it was Ruiz pulling a kind of shitty prank on me, but then I realized that the same patch was on everyone’s arm.
I pulled Schultz to the side. “Did I miss something? Why do we have rainbow patches?”
“It’s Pride night.”
“How did I miss that?”
He shrugged, then chucked me on my shoulder. “Guess you were too busy gaying it up with your guy to notice.”
I grumped at him and finished getting ready.
I’d had some notion of coming out to the team but hadn’t yet figured out how to do it in a way that didn’t fuck with team cohesion.
We were very green still but had a few early wins and were filling the stands more and more now that we were in the regular season.
The team could do something special in Austin if I didn’t fuck it up.
Looking around the locker room, I discovered that nearly every member of the team was good-naturedly putting on the jersey. Perhaps I’d been worried about nothing. Then again, Taavi, the massive hooker we’d lured from New Zealand-Aotearoa, was sitting in a slump, snarling at his jersey.
We hadn’t been able to pay him shit, but Coach’s wife had found some lucrative endorsement deals that made him more than he could’ve back home. It was a big move, and he’d absolutely been the difference in a few of those wins.
It would suck if he were a homophobe.
Once it became obvious, though, that he was the only one not putting on the jersey, I approached him. Coach had put me through some leadership training when he’d made me captain, so I tried to remember what I was supposed to do in a situation like this.
“Hey, man. Something wrong with your jersey?”
He grumbled and reached for his regular jersey.
“Dude, we have to wear the same kit or the league will fine us. You know that. Sorry if you don’t agree with the theme, but—”
“The fuck do you mean, Cap?” Taavi asked, standing to his full height.
There aren’t many people in the world who can make me look small. Taavi is one of them.
“It’s Pride night, and maybe you’re not down with that, but—”
“Cap, I’m gay. This—” He shoved the jersey into my hands. “—is bullshit. It’s, like, three sizes too small and doesn’t even have my name on it. This? Is fucking disrespectful. This is bad, even for Texas.”
The locker room went silent and I felt my throat catch. I took a few deep breaths until the muscles released. I inhaled, then started on the exhale.
“Y—ou’re right. That’s not acceptable. I’ll t—alk to Coach, see what happened with your jersey. Th—ank you for saying something.”
I took a few more breaths, placing my hand on my chest.
“So-sorry, guys. I—” Breathe, Rhys. “I have a stu—tter that comes out when I am nervous, or when I need to say so—mething important.”
Looking around the room, I only saw brothers.
“So. Yeah. I’m g—ay, too. And tonight means a lot to me. My boyfriend is in the stands tonight, and I don’t want to pretend he’s just my friend.”
Silence.
Then Ruiz shouted, “Fuck yeah! I’m bi and I refuse to hide it.”
That got the locker room going, massive rugby guys laughing and hugging each other, right as Coach walked in with a Taavi-sized jersey in his hands.
Giving us major eyebrow, he asked, “Do I want to know?”
“We’re just celebrating the fact that a bunch of us are queer, Coach,” Ruiz said, his eyes bright with excitement.
Coach shook his head. “Knew I should’ve had HR down here before practice.” Holding the jersey out to Taavi, he said, “Here, looks like they gave you the wrong kit.”
Taavi, still scowling, got up and took the jersey from coach’s hands. His scowl instantly gave way to a massive grin as he held it in the air.
“Yes! I’m a triple-x f—” He cut himself off. “Uh. Sorry, Coach.”
Coach palmed his forehead. “Definitely having HR talk to y’all tonight after the game.” Looking at me, he asked, “We good?”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Then let’s fucking win this game. Some of the guys on the other team have Sharpied out the pride patch, and I’d love to make them regret it.”
Taavi up-nodded him with a wicked smile. “Sure, Coach. I’ll make sure those assholes know it was a big ol’ bottom who just ground their shit into the turf.”
A roar of laughter went up in the locker room and Coach turned to me. “I don’t know how to respond to that.”
“I’m vers, Coach, so I can’t help you. Maybe start with a good boy and see where that gets you.”
Taavi developed quite the flush on his pretty brown skin, which did not go unnoticed. Ruiz, being Ruiz, stood in front of Taavi with his arms crossed and an appreciative lust in his eyes. I gestured to the tragedy unfolding before us and Coach’s chin hit his chest.
Ruiz was relatively scrawny in comparison, but I had the feeling he was going to be having Kiwi for dinner.
Scrunching his eyes closed, Coach muttered, “HR. I’m sending HR after every single one of you. Just… fucking win.”
We headed out to the pitch with something to prove; the entire team, queer or not, took Coach’s words to heart. We put those assholes on notice, scoring on the first drive. Every time the Dallas team said something about our jerseys, we chirped back with our favorite things to do in bed.
“I dunno about you,” Taavi said to the hooker on their team as he ground his cheek into the dirt, “but I’m a missionary girlie, through and through.”
Ruiz, post-tackle and unable to help himself, replied, “I’ve got a sex wedge that’s clutch in missionary.”
“Don’t you have a latex allergy?” Schultz asked as he tossed the ball backward to Lane.
“Yeah, but I found the perfect condoms for anal, and they feel like nothing.”
By the end of it, the Dallas team was red-faced and spitting mad, having been shut out by a team full of queer and allied athletes. It was the best night ever.
Coach kept his word about having HR visit us, but the guy who showed up was a super-femme twinky fellow in sharp glasses and a bow tie. I was pretty sure by the end of it he was going to be the meat in a Ruiz-Taavi sandwich.
After everyone showered and exited the locker room, I chatted up Coach on my thoughts for the game against DC coming up next week. When we made it out to the parking lot, Sev was hanging by my car, trying to look casual.
Given the fact that my team was good and that anyone who saw my face already knew how I felt about this man, I gestured for him to join us.