Chapter Three
CHAPTER THREE
Devon
I groaned as I lowered the barbell to the gym floor, my legs burning from my third set of deadlifts. I’d already done four sets of leg presses, and I had kicking training that afternoon, so my legs were going to feel like jelly by the time I got home. It was all part of the job, though, and I hadn’t set the record as the best kicker in the French league last season by being sloppy.
So if that meant training and drilling over and over until my muscles cried and I was dreaming of try conversions in my sleep, then so be it.
There were just under three years until the next World Cup and I was not missing out on selection.
The next goal on my list was being part of a trophy-winning England team, whether that was the Six Nations or the World Cup. I’d already gotten my first couple of caps, and now I’d gotten a taste for international duty, I wanted more.
And in my dreams, Jonny would be there right beside me.
“That was good,” Jonny said from his seat on the bench nearby, two massive dumbbells sitting by his feet. I tried not to look at the way his gym shirt clung to his biceps or the way his sweat was making it stick to his pecs like it was made of fucking latex. “Did you put more weight on it?”
I shook my head. “No, and I don’t want any more either. As long as the form’s good, I’m happy.”
“You should be. You look great.”
“Thanks.” I smiled at him as I reached for my water, tilting my head slightly as I noticed him pulling at his bottom lip—a telltale sign that Jonny had something to say but didn’t know how to say it. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” he said, too quickly for it to be true.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
I took another swig of my water and waited for a couple of beats, wondering if he’d admit the truth or if I’d have to bully it out of him. Although pressuring him would likely make him clam up and then I’d get frustrated. Jonny didn’t keep much from me, and if he did it was normally because he was still working through whatever it was.
I put my water down and stretched, knowing I didn’t have much of my three-minute rest left.
“You’re single, right?” Jonny asked as I leant down to pick up the bar again. His question threw me so hard I nearly tripped over as my head spun round to look at him, my toes catching on the barbell. I hopped in place as pain radiated through my foot and I fought to keep my balance, because the last thing I needed was to fall on my ass in front of him.
“Yeah, why?”
“’Cos apparently Ryan’s friend Peaches was asking about you.”
Oh.
I schooled my face into something neutral as I gripped the bar, hoping doing my last set would stop me from saying something I shouldn’t. “Peaches?”
“Yeah, he’s one of the queens Ryan works with. Peachy Keen.”
“Oh, yeah, Peaches. Makes sense.”
“Yeah, I don’t know what his legal name is. Apparently, everyone just calls him Peaches,” Jonny said with a shrug. “Anyway, Ryan said he thinks you’re cute and, I don’t know… Ryan only asked if you were single. I said I wasn’t answering for you.”
“But did you say I was single?”
“Yeah, but it’s up to you if you want to do anything about it. You’re an adult. I’m not making that decision for you.”
I hummed as I bent my knees slightly and began my set, pulling the bar up to my abdomen and lowering it again. My muscles were already grumbling, but I was too busy watching Jonny’s face to pay attention to them.
There was a tension in his forehead, his mouth kept twitching, and his nostrils were flared. It was so obvious he was annoyed but I couldn’t figure out why. Was it talking about my dating life? Was it Ryan asking him and not me? Neither of those felt right but they were the only answers I had.
Unless… Jonny had always been protective of me, ever since we’d started in Under Fourteens and I’d been a scrawny kid throwing myself at boys twice my size and getting trampled. And that hadn’t gone away as we’d grown up except he’d always seemed to view it as his job to vet my boyfriends. Especially after all the shit with Alexandre. But we’d been in separate countries and it hadn’t been his fault the man had been a walking parade of red flags or that I’d convinced myself they were green.
And yes, maybe I should have recognised the gaslighting and narcissism and his toxic, self-centred attitude for what it was, but being that close had somehow made all the problems seem inconsequential. The only reason we’d broken up was because I’d gone away for a rugby tournament and been so busy I’d forgotten to message him. And by the time I’d checked my phone, I’d found dozens of messages, voice notes, and missed calls all telling me what a piece of shit I was for ignoring and abandoning him and how I didn’t deserve him.
I’d actually believed him too until I’d cried to Jonny and he’d gotten on a plane to Marseille to comfort me. It was only then I’d realised I had what I’d always wanted right in front of my eyes. But he didn’t want me back and never would.
That had been more painful than Alexandre dumping me, and when I’d cried on Jonny’s shoulders, it felt like I was grieving two relationships at once—the one I’d lost and the one I’d never have.
“So… what do you think?” I asked, pulling the bar in for another rep.
“About what?”
“Should I go for it? Send him a message?”
“I don’t know,” he said with a scowl. “Do whatever you want.”
I put the bar down more heavily than I’d planned, frustration rising in my chest. The plates clanked on the floor and made it shake, but I didn’t care. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, why would something be wrong?”
I raised an eyebrow and gestured vaguely with one hand. “You look like you want to punch someone.”
Jonny’s scowl deepened as he began doing his next set, like he was trying to ignore me. Seriously, what was his fucking problem? “I don’t want to punch anyone.”
“Okay, then can you tell that to your face?”
He let out a deep exhale, but I couldn’t tell if he was trying to relax or just breathing his way through the set. Then he put the weights down and looked up at me. “Sorry, I’m being a dick.”
“Yeah, you kinda are.” I picked up my water bottle, walked over to the empty bench next to him, and sat down. “I don’t even know why. Is this about Alexandre?”
Jonny’s expression darkened at the mention of his name. “Maybe? I just don’t want to see you get hurt again. But you’re an adult and you can make your own damn decisions.”
“I mean, unless I am totally celibate for the rest of my life, there’s a good chance I’m going to get hurt,” I said softly, shooting him a little smile. “You can’t protect me forever.”
Jonny muttered something under his breath that sounded like “can,” but then he pursed his lips and looked at me. “I know. And Ryan says he’s a good guy, so maybe… if you’re interested? I don’t know how this shit works.”
“You’ve never slid into a girl’s DMs?”
“No, why would I?” He looked so confused I burst out laughing. “What?”
“Wow, okay, well, not all of us are that smooth that we just have to go out in public and have people throwing themselves at us.”
“It’s not like that,” he said. “Anyway, last time we went to The Court you practically caused a riot.”
I smirked, remembering the looks I’d gotten. Those shorts had paid for themselves a million times over. Jonny had told me to go home with someone but we’d been there together and I hadn’t wanted to abandon him because that felt rude, especially since he’d willingly dragged himself to a gay bar for me so I could dance and be myself.
And thinking about the way he’d looked in his tight T-shirt and jeans with his lips wrapped around the straw of the cocktail I’d bought him had been enough to fuel my fantasies for days. I’d had to blame my soreness on the brutal match we’d played the day before because there was no way in hell I was explaining to anyone that I’d spent so much time riding a giant dildo my ass hurt.
I was taking that secret to my fucking grave and I’d taken the mandatory sports massage without a hint of complaining, trying to hide my blush when Donna had mentioned how tight my glutes and hamstrings were.
“Obviously, have you seen me?” I asked with a wink.
Jonny grinned. “Yeah, yeah. You’re a ten. Now stop distracting me and get back to work.”
“Says the man who started this!”
“And now I’m finishing it. Grab your weights and do your bloody chest presses before Gavin spots you slacking.”
Later that evening, after I’d finally showered and crawled into bed with my phone, I scrolled through Ryan’s Instagram to find Peaches.
Technically everything I’d heard about Peaches being interested was second-hand, but Jonny had never lied to me and given how damn grumpy he’d been about the whole thing, I didn’t expect him to start now.
The thought of going out with anyone other than Jonny still hurt, but I was used to that. The pain would always be there, lingering like an injury that never fully healed, a raised scar on my heart I’d be able to feel for the rest of my life. But it had never stopped me from dating, even if I’d always struggled to invest myself.
Maybe that was why I’d never had a good relationship. How could I commit to someone I’d never truly love? But Jonny didn’t want me the way I wanted him, and maybe this was his way of giving me a push. After all, he couldn’t keep taking me out dancing and I couldn’t keep coming home to an empty bed and jerking off to fantasies.
Well, I could. But it probably wasn’t good for me.
I pulled up Peaches’s profile and scrolled lazily through, looking at all the pictures of him in drag and pausing now and then to tap on a few of them. There was no doubt that he was gorgeous and an incredibly talented artist. I’d seen him at The Court a few times and always loved his performances as Peachy Keen.
I stopped on one photo from the summer of him out of drag in a sparkling mesh shirt with glitter eyeshadow and glossed lips, a pair of wide leg white trousers riding low on his hips, his dark eyes dancing in the sunlight. He was fucking gorgeous and I could barely tear my eyes away to find the message button at the top of his profile.
Devon Barre
Hey, I saw you at The Court last weekend and you were amazing. I loved the dress you were wearing and your lip sync was on point.
Being charismatic was not the highest thing on my list of skills, and my French teammates had tried their best to teach me over the past few years, mostly because they felt sorry for me and were appalled by my lack of game. I didn’t know whether their lessons had stuck, though. At least I hadn’t started with a dick pic, which simply meant I’d stepped over the bar that was already on the floor.
Peachy Keen
Haha thanks. It’s not my favourite dress to perform in because I flash people if I move too quickly. Also hey, I like your shorts.
Devon Barre
My kit ones? They’re okay but I have better ones.
Devon Barre
And what’s your favourite dress then?
I grinned to myself as I waited to see what Peaches would send through. There weren’t instant butterflies but there didn’t need to be.
All I needed was a distraction from my loneliness.