Chapter 2 #2
Freddie leans forward, conspiratorially, and I lean in, too. “This is not the right place to explain,” he says quietly. “But let’s just say we’re not...together together. She’s great and all, but I don’t—we don’t—” He shrugs. “You know.”
I don’t, actually.
It must show on my face, because he shakes his head and laughs quietly—a sound that has never sounded this appealing before—and gestures for me to get even closer.
His lips graze my ear when he speaks again and I almost don’t catch what he says because of the shiver that races down my spine. “We can both sleep with other people.”
He could sleep with me.
The thought bubbles up and I immediately push it down again. Where the heck did that come from? The thought of sleeping with another man—with Freddie, of all people—has never crossed my mind before. Absolutely never.
My mouth is dry. I lean back hastily and take another sip of my coke. “So she’s cool with this?” I croak.
His smile is so tender. I’ve never seen him like this before. It transforms his face and for the first time I don’t see the gangly teen I grew up alongside—I see the man he’s become. One with a sharp jawline and a dusting of dark stubble, an athletic body and the stamina to go with it.
Ooookay, whoa. Nope.
Nuh-uh. Not going there.
My brain has taken a wrong turn and I need to course-correct immediately. I fold my arms across my chest and lean back.
“Yeah,” he says and I know he’s looking at me, even though I’m looking at the old Guiness ad behind his left shoulder.
“She knows how much I—well. She knows I swing both ways. So does she. We’re not—” He sighs.
“This isn’t the time or the place. Look up lavender marriage later.
But trust me, she knows and encourages it. ”
There’s an inexplicable tension in my spine when he says both ways. It makes me think of the threesome videos I jerk off too. Freddie does that in real life, just…without the woman.
And I’ve seen a video or two like that, too, but by accident. Auto play when my initial selection was finished. It’s not something I want to see. Obviously.
Freddie does, though. He does things with other men. Kisses them. Touches them. I can’t look at him as heat floods my body, like all my veins are suddenly on fire. I’m trying to piece together a sentence, staring at the chipped wood of the table in front of him.
To his credit, Freddie stays quiet—maybe for the first time since I’ve known him. It must be obvious I’m going through something and that’s embarrassing. Not as embarrassing as the erection that’s growing in my underwear though.
“You’re a gorgeous man,” Freddie says eventually, like that’s helpful in any way. “I think maybe you don’t realise, but you are. All angles and muscles and strong hands. Nice, too. All a guy can ask for.”
I take a deep breath and look up to meet Freddie’s gaze. It’s no longer warm; instead there’s a heat in it that makes my cock pulse, unbidden. He clearly means what he says.
“But I’ve never been attracted to another man.”
Freddie grins. “That’s what I’m here for.”
His cocky response shocks me out of the thought spiral I was caught up in and I gasp out a short laugh. “Seriously. I’m … not into guys.” It comes out so weak. So hard to believe. How is that possible when I’ve lived my life convinced of that fact? Mostly, anyway.
“How do you know if you’ve never tried?” Freddie watches me and I’m sure he can see the heat rising in my cheeks.
Because I know, I want to say. Because the thought has never crossed my mind and I don’t think it’s for me.
But … that’s not true.
I’ve never gone there, because I didn’t want to. Because I thought of my parents, who would never understand, and my career, which would be over, and ignored the random urges whenever they came up.
I clear my throat. “So,” I say, inelegantly dodging his question. “You’re … bi?” My knowledge of queer topics is limited because I’ve made a point of staying away from it, but I know what the letters in the acronym stand for. I simply had no idea they applied to anyone I knew.
Freddie shrugs, utterly unbothered. “Yeah, I guess. If you want to put a label on it. Though I’m not a label guy, I like who I like. I don’t want to limit myself by being put in a box, you know?”
I open my mouth, then close it. Because I like being in boxes.
I like knowing what’s ahead of me, what I’m doing, where I belong.
But clearly that’s not something I can say to Freddie, who, it’s becoming increasingly obvious by the second, is much cooler than I could ever be.
And so, because I have no idea how to respond to that or how to be cool about it all, I blurt out, “Must be exhausting?”
He quirks a brow in question, and I continue hastily.
“You know. Constantly, I guess, being open. With your relationship and yourself. But also, uh, probably hiding a big part of it, right? Because of all the—” I wave my hand in the air and hope Freddie correctly interprets it as the homophobic world of professional football.
His happy, almost smug expression slips for the first time and I get a glimpse of a darker, more solemn version of him.
“Yup,” he says without looking at me. “Wish it were different, but here we are.” There’s a bitterness in his voice I’ve never heard from him before. It’s so unlike the Freddie I know.
Before I can think about what I’m doing, I lean forward and grip his fingers in mine.
His skin is so rough. His fingernails are clipped, hair peeking out from under the sleeve of his hoodie.
So very different from all the women I’ve met.
The only one who’s ever elicited something in me.
I clear my throat again, like that can get rid of all the strange thoughts.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “That must be hard.”
“Guess what else is hard?” His grin is still a little skewed, but yep, that’s the Freddie I know. He shakes his head though and holds up a hand. “Sorry. Instinct. Thanks, Mar, I appreciate it.”
I snort, which makes Freddie’s grin more genuine, a flash of white teeth amid his dark stubble.
I’m still holding his hand.
“It’s not,” he says, and gestures at his groin. “Just to clarify. Not yet, anyway.”
“I … okay. Thanks, I guess. For that bit of info.” I give him a wry smile and he smiles back, then traces a small circle on my skin with his thumb. My breath hitches in my throat.
Maybe this is the point where I bolt.
Before I can, though, Freddie sighs and pulls away. “We probably shouldn’t,” he says, nodding at our no longer entwined fingers. “Never know who’s taking pictures and all that, now that we’re famous and newsworthy.” Again, the crooked grin.
“Yeah,” I croak. My head is spinning.
There’s a beat of silence and I don’t know what to say. It’s not comfortable; if anything, it’s … expectant. Like we’re both waiting for something to happen. Like we’re both itching for him to hold my hand again. Or to have him draw circles on my skin again, but maybe on my stomach. Or my chest.
I’ve never let thoughts like these linger; always pushed them aside; always told myself my brain must have gone haywire.
Now, though, I allow myself to look at Freddie for the first time. Really look.
In a way I’ve never done before, because what if I liked what I saw? His messy hair, strong jaw, slim but undeniably athletic body.
He’s offering it all to me. He’s giving me permission to touch him.
Kiss him.
Wind my hands into his hair and pull him close. Feel those hands slip under my jeans and touch me roughly.
I don’t know what’s happening to me. Why my cock is so achingly hard over nothing—a few thoughts. Ideas in my mind I didn’t know I needed. Wanted.
Or maybe I did know, and never let that knowledge go anywhere.
Either way, a barrier inside me has broken down that has always held tight before.
I focus my gaze, look into Freddie’s eyes. Whatever he sees there has him swallowing hard and a muscle in his face tightens. “Mar.” It’s barely a whisper. “Holy shit, man, you should see yourself.”
My teeth dig into my lower lip, but now that I’ve started, I can’t stop the images flooding my brain. It’s too much to hold back. I want to try. I want to feel it.
Feel everything.
Give in and let it happen. Just once.
“The hotel down the road has rooms available,” Freddie says quietly.
“I checked before I came here, just in case. We could—I mean, if you wanted to—” For the first time, his unflappable confidence falters.
“But,” he hurries on, “no pressure, obviously. I can’t believe Clara didn’t tell you about this, she’s unbelievable.
So I fully understand if this is too much and you want to slap me and get on your way. ”
He pauses for breath and I jump in before I can talk myself out of it. “Yeah.”
“Yeah to the slapping, or—?”
I snort. “Or.”
A smile lights up his entire face and my stomach tingles. “Yeah?”
“It’s—” I bite my lip again, embarrassed. “We’ll have to wait a bit. I can’t—I shouldn’t get up right now.”
It only takes him a second to understand, then he laughs. Not a malicious laugh, more … delighted. “You and me both, mate.”
I grip my glass of coke with shaky fingers, glad for its coolness against my skin, and down the rest of it. I can’t believe what I’m doing here. What I’ve agreed to.
I can’t believe Clara figured me out before I did.
But I can’t deny I’m excited. Scared, but so excited for the rest of the night.
For Freddie.