Chapter Five
CHAPTER FIVE
Mason
I’d been thinking about Ryan’s offer in every spare second of the past four days but I still hadn’t told him yes.
I wasn’t sure what was stopping me from walking into his room and opening my mouth, but every time I went to go and find him, I found myself doing something else instead. I’d even resorted to cleaning out the fridge.
My reluctance was starting to frustrate the fuck out of me because I didn’t know why I was holding back.
Ryan was gorgeous and his offer was exactly what I needed to figure things out, and if I was going to explore with anyone, I’d rather it be with someone I trusted, who wasn’t going to get upset if I decided I wasn’t interested in going further, and who wasn’t going to take the piss out of me if I was awful in bed. I mean, none of the women I’d been with had ever complained but just because I was good at eating pussy didn’t mean I was going to be good at sucking dick.
Logically, hooking up with Ryan made perfect sense. But that didn’t mean shit if I couldn’t actually tell him what I wanted.
Was I afraid of something? Or was I just nervous about taking this step? For the past twenty-six years I’d been convinced I was straight and realising that might not be the case was definitely unnerving. Not because I was afraid of being bisexual… but more because I was kind of weirded out that I’d never noticed.
I’d spent most of my nights this week staring at the ceiling and going back over half the interactions I’d ever had with men, thinking about the guys I’d admired growing up and the people I’d noticed in clubs. I’d already admitted to myself that my obsession with Angel from Buffy hadn’t been platonic, but everything else was a blur. I didn’t even know why I needed to obsessively pick over my past and look for clues that my queerness had been there all along.
Maybe it was simply another way of my brain stalling.
Either way, I’d have to make a decision soon. It wasn’t fair of me to keep Ryan waiting forever.
“Mason, do you want another drink?” Jonny asked, tapping me on the shoulder and nearly making me jump out of my skin.
“Er, yeah, please,” I said and quickly downed the last of my drink so I could hand him the empty glass to take back. “Double rum and Coke, please. ”
“No worries,” Jonny said. “You okay? You seem a bit stressed.”
“I’m fine, just zoned out. It’s been a long week.”
Jonny nodded and wandered off towards the bar, but I didn’t know if he believed me. The three of us—Jonny, West, and I—had come down to The Court to watch Ryan and Rory perform. We tried to come down about once a month because it was a fun way to let off steam that didn’t involve drinking endless pints and getting involved in stupid games that were ninety-nine percent likely to end badly. Plus we got to support our friends, and it was a way to say thanks to Ryan for listening to our endless talk about rugby.
“Is it odd to say that I’m done with preseason?” West asked from his seat on my other side. “I just want to start playing matches again.” The three of us had clustered around our semi-regular table at the front of the room, not far away from the edge of the stage. West had chosen the table earlier this year, saying it meant Rory would be able to see him in the crowd, but I was pretty sure West’s real reason was because Rory tended to wear tiny tight dresses and huge shoes that showed off his long legs and round ass. And given the noises I’d heard coming from West’s room when he’d still lived with us, it was clear he really appreciated Rory’s ass.
I shook my head. “No, I feel the same. I think it’s always the way in the last few weeks. It feels like we’re waiting on the edge of a cliff.”
“Yeah, it does.” He looked across the room for a minute, taking in the crowd. “It’s going to be a tough season, though, especially if we want a top four finish.”
“Or a trophy.”
“I’m trying not to think about that,” West said. “I know it’s the end goal, but if I focus too much on it, I’ll forget about what’s in front of me. We can’t win anything if we don’t play the matches well. I know the first few games should be easier, but that doesn’t mean they won’t try and catch us off guard.”
I hummed in agreement. We only had one preseason fixture—a friendly with Nottingham, who were in the division below us, at the end of August—but our first few matches were in the Compass Premiership Rugby Union Cup, which was a knockout competition featuring Premiership clubs like the Knights and clubs from the RFU Championship, like Nottingham. We had two Championship teams in our pool, and on paper the matches should be easy for us. But the more we went in thinking we were going to walk it, the more likely we were to get our asses kicked.
And we’d all be pissed if we got knocked out in the pool stages because we’d have nobody to blame but ourselves.
“Nottingham and Southampton will definitely try to push us,” I said. “We just have to be careful and not make little mistakes.”
“Or do what Charlie did last year and try and catch the ball with his face,” West said with a wry smile.
“Especially not if it means taking three weeks out because you can’t see out of one eye.”
West shrugged. “We’ve played with black eyes before. ”
“True, but that’s part of the game for us. The backs are a bit more delicate.”
“That’s because we do all the hard work for them,” West said, chuckling softly. He glanced at his watch, then said, “Are you going to invite Ryan to watch this year? I’ve got Rory a season ticket, and I think his family are gonna come to a few games too, but I wasn’t sure if you’d asked Ryan.”
“No,” I said, suddenly feeling foolish and wondering if I should have mentioned it. “I don’t know if it’s his thing but if Rory’s going…”
West gave me an unreadable look but there was something about it that firmly said I’d missed the point. Only I wasn’t sure what the point was. Did West know something I didn’t?
“Ryan’s your friend, right? You get on well,” West said.
“Yes…”
“Then did you ever think he might want to come along to support you?”
“I guess,” I said. “But Ryan’s not a big fan of sport. I don’t want him to feel obligated, like just because I come to his drag shows, he has to come to my matches.”
West shot me a flat, unimpressed look. “Just ask him. Please?”
“Okay, fine.” I didn’t know why it was so important, but West looked pleased and I was left feeling like I’d definitely missed something. Had Ryan said something to Rory? I didn’t think Ryan was the sort of guy to go around me, though. Our conversation on Tuesday night was proof he could be direct .
No, I was definitely missing something here. But I didn’t know where to start looking for whatever it was.
“Here you go,” Jonny said as he put a new glass of rum and Coke down in front of me, interrupting my thoughts. He slid around me and back into his seat, his own glass in hand. “I was thinking. How would you feel if we invited Devon along next time?”
“Sure,” West said, glancing at me to check I wasn’t totally opposed. “He seems nice. I haven’t really spoken to him much, though. Do you think he’d enjoy it?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Jonny said as he casually sipped his sunset-coloured cocktail, the glass looking almost comically small in his hand. “He’s not really been out a lot since he moved here, and I think he’s looking for a bit of community. I mean, it’s nice to have him back again but I think he probably needs more friends than just me.”
I frowned. Jonny was a pretty private person most of the time, but then he’d do shit like this where he’d randomly drop in a ton of things about himself all at once with no context, and I had to try and pick them all apart. “Jonny, is Devon…”
“Gay? Yeah, I thought you guys knew? He doesn’t exactly try and hide it,” he said, looking at us like we’d grown three heads. I’d spoken to Devon a bit since he’d joined us at the start of preseason but nothing more than pleasantries and work. I’d never considered myself oblivious but given all the things I seemed to have missed lately, I was starting to reconsider that notion.
“Uh-huh. And you two… used to play together?”
“Yeah, from like under-thirteens until we were about seventeen? Then he moved to France when he was eighteen to play for Marseille.”
“Cool,” West said, sipping his gin and lemonade. “Bring him along. It’d be nice to get to know him a bit more.”
“Did you know Devon was gay?” I asked in a hushed voice, leaning close to West as the lights started to dim, sweeping music echoing through the speakers around us.
“Yeah,” West said with a wry smile. “He’s got the Pride flag on his boots.”
Son of a bitch.
The red velvet curtains on the stage drew back and a spotlight shone onto the faded wooden boards as a drag queen in glittering floral dress trimmed with feathers swept onto the stage. The whole room burst into applause and cheers because we all knew who she was: Violet Bucket, the hostess and owner of The Court, whose camp style and acerbic wit always made me feel like I was spending time with a glamorous older auntie who kept a flask of gin in her handbag, would tell you exactly what she thought about everyone in the family, and would casually drop in the most outrageous stories about her youth.
And, in homage to Patricia Routledge, insisted her name was pronounced bouquet .
“Hello, my darlings,” she said as she reached the middle of the stage, waving at the crowd like the queen she was. She had an enormous fan in one hand that she was wafting back and forth. “I say, it’s a bit hot, isn’t it? Think I’m going to melt before we even get started. I thought about coming on in my new bikini this evening, but I don’t think you lot are ready for that level of glamour. Or style, judging by what some of you are wearing.” She peered out at the audience and pointed at someone at the next table. “Is that a polo shirt? With a popped collar?” She rolled her eyes and sighed. “It’s not the eighties and it’s not 2005… You don’t even look like you were born in 2005.”
I snorted into my drink because it was a fair comment. The guy did look about twelve.
“Who’ve we got over here then?” Violet continued and I heard the clack of her heels on the stage. “Now I know why it’s so hot in here. We’ve got three rugby union players sitting in the front row.”
I grinned as I looked up at her. This wasn’t the first time Violet had picked us out and it wouldn’t be the last, but it was always good-natured and I didn’t mind having a laugh with her. The crowd around us whistled and whooped, a few people cheering. “You know,” Violet continued. “If you three fancied putting your muscles to work, I could do with some stage crew. I think we’d all appreciate that. You might have to lose the shirts, though.”
“For you, Violet, anything,” I called, shooting her a cheeky wink, and she laughed.
“Don’t say that, young man. I’m old enough to be your mother,” she said. “Although you’re only as young as the men you feel and I could do with losing a few years. My Botox is wearing off.” The audience laughed again. “Now, how do you feel about getting things started? We’ve got a cracking show for you tonight and we’re going to kick things off in style with our very own goddess of glitter, Miss Bubblegum Galaxy.”
We all cheered and clapped as Rory, in all her sparkly drag glory, bounced onto the stage. Bubblegum Galaxy was a vision in baby blue, with a chequered minidress, platform sandals with ribbon ties that went all the way up to her knees, and a blonde wig with a vintage pompadour and enormous ponytail with a huge bow.
West was totally transfixed, utterly in awe of his partner. It was almost sickeningly sweet but in a way that made me long for something similar. I’d had relationships in the past, but nothing had ever stuck for one reason or another. My longest relationship had reached nearly three years, but we’d broken up when we’d realised we wanted totally different things; she’d been ready to get married and settle down, and I hadn’t felt nearly ready enough to do that. I still wasn’t convinced I ever wanted to have kids.
Bubblegum’s routine was perky and precise, every wink, twist, and turn perfectly coordinated. I could see why West loved her so much. And while I thought she was fucking amazing—there was no way I could even do a tenth of what she did without breaking something—it didn’t make me feel the same way Ryan’s performances did.
Up until now, I’d thought it was because I preferred the bold, dramatic style of show that Ryan, aka Legs Luthor, put on. But maybe there were other factors involved. I mean, Legs always looked hot as fuck. And Legs was also the reason I’d started considering I might not be totally straight.
But ridiculously, I’d never put everything together and considered that maybe I found both Legs and Ryan attractive. Because Ryan was just as hot out of drag as he was in it. Even if he was usually wearing more clothes.
Which wasn’t hard when Legs usually wore a latex catsuit and thigh-high boots.
Although… Ryan had been making props for a new routine. So maybe his outfit would be different too…
Bubblegum finished up by blowing a kiss at West and I felt my foot tapping anxiously on the floor. The Court usually switched the artists’ running order up to give people varied performance times since they had such an experienced roster, so I had no idea when Legs would be on.
Two more artists took to the stage, each one amazing but neither one the person I needed. The urge to see Legs perform, to see Ryan doing what he did best, was clawing its way up my chest, making me dizzy and desperate. I didn’t know what’d suddenly possessed me and I had no idea how to make it stop.
And then Violet said their name and my heart stopped.
Soaring, epic music filled my ears as an enormous twenty-sided dice rolled across the stage, making the whole audience cheer with delight. It was followed by a burst of flashing light and some smoke and then Legs Luthor strolled onto the stage in all her geeky glory, and I thought I was going to choke.
Legs’s bald head glittered under the lights, her skin covered in tiny gemstones, and a pair of bejewelled elf ears elongated her own. She was wearing a bikini top and briefs styled to look like silver armour with golden accents, along with faux-metal epaulettes, hip guards, and gauntlets. Her customary thigh-high boots had the same design and she was carrying a giant foam sword, looking every inch the over-the-top sexy anime princess come to life.
She was fucking incredible and everything I’d never known I needed in my life.
Legs Luthor strutted across the stage like she owned it and I couldn’t stop staring. The artistry, the passion, the power… fuck, it was like Ryan had taken everything to the next level. And when Legs reached the middle of the stage, she locked eyes with me, smirked, and winked.
And I was completely and utterly done.
I didn’t know what the hell I was doing or what the hell I was feeling. All I knew was that Ryan was the only one who might be able to give me some answers.