Chapter 6
Huxley
The moment the lunch bell rings on Thursday, I hustle the students out of the classroom.
When did teenagers start moving so slowly?
Yesterday, Oliver and I exchanged a couple of casual messages, and only briefly ran into each other in the corridor while rushing between classes. Disappointing, to say the least.
Snatching up my lunch bag, I make my way towards Oliver’s office, dodging those slow fucking teenagers. When I reach the staffroom toilets, I detour, checking my face in the mirror, then doing a nervous pee.
Finally, with six minutes of the lunch break already lost, I knock on Oliver’s door before opening it and sticking my head inside.
“Huxley, you made it. Come in.” Oliver greets me with a smile as he flies out of his chair and rushes to meet me at the door. That’s the kind of speed I can appreciate.
But then the awkward hits. Do we shake hands? Hug? I never know what to do. Oliver decides for us both and pats me twice on the shoulder in the most heteronormative way possible.
“Huxley, have a seat,” he says, retreating to his desk chair.
“How was your morning?” I take a seat in the chair opposite Oliver and place my lunch down.
“Can’t complain. What about yours?”
“They were noisier than at the start of the week. Guess they’ve figured out I’m not very assertive.” I open my lunch bag and look at my sandwich. Oliver has a huge roll, fruit, a packet of chips, and a protein bar lined up in front of him.
“If you have any trouble, let me know and I’ll sort them out for you.
Honestly, it’s only day four of term and I already wish it was still holidays.
Relaxing at home is a lot less stressful.
” Oliver takes a huge mouthful of his roll.
It’s almost comical how much he fits in there.
I’m sure he’d be good at fitting a… Nope, not the time to think that.
“You like staying at home? I thought you’d be the going out type.”
“Hmm…” Oliver mumbles until he finishes chewing. “I do like going out sometimes, but I also like hanging out at home. What about you?”
I put my sandwich back down. Is it weird that I don’t really like eating in front of people? “I’m a total homebody,” I say. “I enjoy reading, and watching movies and TV shows and just recharging, I guess.”
“I get it. Teaching is like sensory overload. You need downtime or you burnout. I don’t tell many people this, but I like baking—it really relaxes me.”
Oliver’s cheeks flush and he focusses on his food. He really is a giant teddy bear, but with muscles. Feeling brave, I say, “Isn’t it unusual for a straight man who loves footy to be into baking?”
Oliver frowns, tilting his head to one side, but the corners of his mouth turn up into a little smile. “Are you questioning my masculinity, Huxley?”
A giggle slips from my lips. “No, not at all. I mean, you do have rather large muscles and you’re very tall…and…um…in the dictionary under masculine there’s probably a picture of you.” Did I really just say all that out loud! Oh, dear lord.
“You saying you like my muscular frame, Huxley?” Oliver’s eyes sparkle.
I resist the urge to loosen my tie and unbutton the collar. Why is it so fucking hot in here? Is Oliver even aware that he’s coming across as a flirt? “What’s not to like?” I say, heat creeping up my neck. “I’m sure everyone admires your muscles. They’re perfect for baking, really.”
Oliver laughs. “And what are you perfect for?”
“Ah…um…” I clear my throat, my face burning. There’s no way a straight man says that to a gay man. It would really suck if he’s a closet case or a DL guy.
For a split second, I almost answer his question with, “sucking your dick.” But that would be super inappropriate at work. Besides, I’m not game to say stuff like that out loud.
“Huxley? You okay? You’ve kinda zoned out.”
Oh fuck! “Sorry, I do that sometimes,” I say, smiling again. “Hey, I heard the boys talking about the footy tryouts after school tomorrow. They’re all pumped and ready to go.”
“Funny you brought that up, cos I was going to ask if you wanted to come along. I could do with a helping hand. You know, recording all the kids, that kind of thing. But only if you’re free. Don’t feel obligated or anything.”
“I’d love to. Maybe the kids will think I’m cool, rather than just a nerdy maths teacher.” Yes, yes, yes! I’ll gladly give Oliver a hand if it means I get to see him in action. Hopefully, he’ll wear those tiny footy shorts.
“What’s wrong with being a nerdy maths teacher?”
“Says the cool sports teacher.”
“It starts at 4:00," Oliver says smiling. "But I’ll be setting up after classes at 3:30.”
“I’ll come straight over and help you set up.”
“Thanks, Huxley. Maybe we could grab a drink afterwards? Celebrate surviving your first week. My shout.”
Is this a date? No, don’t be stupid. I can almost hear Maddie telling me to calm down and not get carried away. “Yeah, I’d like that,” I say.
“Okay then. Now, I promised you I’d walk you through all the school events coming up. So let’s do it.” Oliver opens his laptop and takes another huge bite of his lunch.
Once he has the school calendar up on the screen, he starts explaining each event.
But I don’t really listen; I’m caught up in all that is Oliver Turner—the enthusiasm, the warmth, the cuddly bear energy inside the hot body.
He’s got this insane jawline, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s the sort of man that gets a five o’clock shadow.
I bet he’s got hair on his chest and his thick thighs, too.
My eyes drop to his mouth far too often, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
Oliver talks faster and faster, his voice rising in pitch as his cheeks bloom a rosy colour.
There’s something here. Between us. I’m sure of it.
I know it's stupid to get my hopes up, but I don’t think I’m reading it wrong. Not this time.
On Friday afternoon, I get held up with a student after class. She’s one of my favourites—a girl named Amber—who is shy and a little quirky. When she approached me, her eyes wide and chewing on her lip, saying she didn’t understand the homework, there was no way I could say no.
But now it’s almost four, and I need to get across to the football field ASAP. I’m sure Oliver will understand, but I’m disappointed I missed spending time with him before the students arrived. Hopefully, Oliver still wants to grab a drink afterwards—even though a noisy bar isn’t really my thing.
When I reach the field, Oliver is giving warm up instructions to the boys, his voice deep and commanding. He has their attention, and it’s obvious Oliver is a teacher they respect and admire.
I wait until he finishes speaking before moving closer. “Sorry I’m late,” I say. “I had a student who needed help after class. What do you need me to do?”
Oliver smiles back, his eyes flittering over my face. “No need to apologise. I just appreciate the moral support.”
“Well that I can do.”
I stay close to Oliver throughout the tryouts and help move the equipment around as the students practice various drills and skills. Watching Oliver demonstrate is the highlight, especially when he takes his hoodie off and reveals a skin-tight tank top.
Too tight for a straight man, if you ask me.
From that point onwards, the students fade into the background, my eyes roaming over every ripple of Oliver’s upper body. If I didn’t know better, I would think he’s showing off both his footy skills and his body. The hardest part is not getting hard!
Afterwards, we end up at a bar I didn’t even know existed. It’s small, intimate, and the music is relaxing rather than intrusive. When Oliver leads us to the corner booth away from the other patrons, I relax a little.
The wine Oliver suggests is about as nice as an alcoholic drink can be, me not being much of a drinker.
Oliver talks about which boys he thinks have talent and those who won’t make the cut, and I sip on my drink, my body warming as the alcohol takes effect.
Oliver has put on cologne after the tryouts and the scent is doing things to me.
It’s woodsy and manly and what I wouldn’t give to nuzzle into Oliver’s neck and feel the heat of his skin.
“Did you want to play AFL professionally?” I ask when Oliver stops speaking to gulp down his beer. “You look like you’re pretty good.”
Oliver looks down, but not before I catch the disappointment in his eyes.
“I wanted to. But I tore my ACL when I was sixteen and needed a full knee reconstruction. By the time I had fully recovered, I needed to focus on year twelve. My mum thought it was important to get a good ATAR so I would have other career options. She was right, of course. I still love footy though. I’m really looking forward to coaching the team this year. ”
“You can see those boys really look up to you. Especially Troy and Jake.”
“Oh yes, the star players. I’ll need to keep my eye on those two. Their egos are already out of control, and I don’t like the way they influence the other boys.”
I scrunch up my nose. “Yeah, all that alpha male bullshit. I remember the type well. They were the sort of boys who made my life a living hell in high school.”
Oliver shakes his head. “They wouldn’t have if I’d been there.”
I can’t help but smile at the irony of a man criticising toxic masculinity while also priding himself on his ability to exert dominance over others. But it makes me want to swoon. I’ll remember to chastise myself later. “Are you saying you would have protected me?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.
“Yeah, I would’ve,” Oliver says. “I would’ve beaten their asses. Hey, do you want another drink?”
“Sure, why not? It is the weekend, and I did survive my first week.”
Oliver heads up to the bar to order while I finish my current glass. The wine is making my muscles loosen and my mind is floating a little. I wish I’d eaten something first.
When Oliver returns, our legs briefly brush under the table.
We chat about some of the teachers; Oliver fills me in on all the school gossip as we slowly make our way to the bottom of our second glasses.
It might be my imagination, but Oliver’s eyes seem to linger longer and longer on mine, and I find myself leaning forward, desperate to get closer.
Why is this bloody table between us anyway?
The alcohol has my defences down, and I stare at his mouth as he speaks. His lips are so pretty for someone so masculine.
When Oliver’s leg connects with mine once again, it remains. I inhale sharply. Our eyes lock and the conversation stops. My heart thuds because this feels like something. Interest? Attraction? Curiosity at the very least.
Oliver finally speaks, his voice soft and low. “How did you know you were gay? And how old were you when you realised?”
I try and gather my thoughts. “Looking back, it was always boys. It wasn’t obvious at the time, but, with the benefit of hindsight, all the signs were there, even before high school.
I’ve never been attracted to a girl. Never been with a girl, not even to experiment.
My first kiss was with a boy at fourteen and.
..” I raise my palms. “I knew for sure after that. What about you? I don’t know what it’s like to grow up and just fit in with the rest of the world.
Did you just always know you were straight? ”
Oliver takes two gulps of beer before answering. “Are you just gonna assume I’m straight? It is 2026.”
Oliver smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He seems nervous and I don’t know what to say. Is he messing with me? “Are you saying you’re not straight?” I ask slowly, my heart taking off at a sprint.
“Maybe I’m not into labels.” Oliver’s smile drops and he casts his eyes down onto the table.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” Shit, this is going sideways fast.
Oliver leans back in the booth, looking away. “It’s not that. Fuck, I’m sorry too. I sound like a complete dick. I, um…I kissed a guy once. When I was pissed at a party. I was at uni.”
“Oh!” My eyes widen at this new information. So Oliver has been attracted to a guy before. “What was it like? I’m guessing you hated it?”
Oliver fidgets with his beer mug, looking like he wants the floor to swallow him up. “Don’t really remember it. I was like, really, really, pissed. I don’t remember his name or why I even did it. It was stupid, really.”
My stomach drops. “I don’t think a drunken kiss is anything to stress about. One kiss doesn’t make you gay, Oliver.”
“I’ve always been sure of who I am. What I am. But—”
I’ve heard enough. “That’s good, Oliver.
I’m glad.” I cut him off, unable to keep the annoyance out of my voice.
“I’m going to the bathroom.” I stand abruptly and head towards the restrooms. Why did Oliver even tell me that story?
Why tease me in the beginning with all that maybe-I’m-not-into-labels bullshit?
Locking myself in a stall, I pull out my phone and call Maddie.
“Hey, Hux.”
“I’m such a fucking idiot.”
“Boy trouble then, is it?”
I sigh dramatically. “Am I that predictable?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Don’t tell me, it’s Oliver.”
I lean back against the stall door and explain what just happened.
I wait for Maddie to answer but am met with silence. “Mads? Are you still there?”
“Oh my God, Hux. Can you even hear what you’re saying? He’s obviously confused and scared and most likely questioning. You should be more understanding.”
Now it’s my turn to be silent. That certainly might explain the weird flirty vibe. “Do you really think so? But he said he’s always been sure of who he is.”
“Did it ever occur to you he said that because now he’s not so sure? Hux, what does your gut say? Do you think he likes you?”
I run my hand through my curls, then tug a little. “Maybe.”
“Then trust your instincts.”
I can almost see Maddie rolling her eyes. “But you always tell me my instincts suck and never to trust them.”
She laughs. “Well maybe I’m wrong this time. Where are you, anyway? Are you still at the bar?”
“I’m locked in the toilet.”
“Huxley! Get out there and make sure he’s okay. And give it some time; he’ll tell you when he’s ready. I gotta go. Bye.”
The phone clicks off before I can answer. “Sassy bitch,” I say, sliding my phone back into my pocket.
Shit, I think I fucked up.