Chapter 31
Aiden
“Thirty-seven Darcy Street,” Eggo says, reading the little glass sign fixed to the quoits on Abs’s new building. “That’s what Jody wanted to call Logan if he’d been a girl.”
“It’s a nice name,” I say. I could totally picture having a daughter named Darcy one day.
Assuming Eggs was referring to Darcy, of course, and not Street.
Or Thirty-Seven. Wait, Thirty-Seven Campbell .
. . Oh, no. Do I like that? It has a Seven-of-Nine ring to it.
I shake the thought and refocus on what we’re actually here for.
“But they are moving into the basement flat, thirty-seven D, so it’s just down these steps. ”
Eggo pretends to weep. “This is too much exercise for the off season. What the fuck is with all the hills in this city?!”
“Suck it up, man. Aren’t you a professional rugby player? Think of it as leg day.”
“But it’s the off season!” he whines. “Besides, I’m sure we can come up with more enjoyable ways to condition our quads, Captain.”
Captain. There’s something about the way he says it that just . . . gets me going. I’m still not used to the title, but I guess it’s one of those things that will take time, and encouragement from my vice.
Or maybe it’s just him. He could call me a filthy fucking animal and spit on me, and I’m sure that would also get me going. Not that we can act on any of our urges, though, not with—
“Alright, you crusty wank-sock?” Abs says opening his front door. “Alright, Eggs? Thanks for helping with this.”
“Hey, am I not a crusty wank-sock too? What’s with the favouritism?” Eggo says, barging into Abs’s new flat.
Trekkie runs in ahead. We find somewhere to dump his dog bed, his bowls, and the bag of toys, and Eggo plonks the box of kibbles and treats down beside it.
The place is otherwise empty. Wooden floors stretch throughout, and it smells of fresh paint and sun-warmed dust. Our voices and footsteps echo off the walls.
“This is everything you’ll need for two months,” I tell Abs, who’s already on the floor hugging my dog as though he belongs to him. “If you have to buy anything else for him, keep a tally, and I’ll give you the money when I get back.”
Abs hardly hears me. “Oh my gosh, you are so pretty. Who’s my pretty boy? It’s you. You’re the prettiest.”
I look at Eggo. He smiles, but it drops a second later.
“What time’s your flight to Australia?” Abs asks. “Is it tomorrow? Where’s your layover?”
“No, it’s Sunday. Six o’clock. So I don’t need to leave too early, and layover’s in Singapore,” I reply.
Eggo walks over to the window and peers out onto the tiny courtyard garden in the front. He hasn’t asked me about Cornwall since “Pink Pony Club,” but I can tell he wants to. I want to talk to him too, but . . .
“Are you flying from Heathrow?” Abs says. I nod. “Need a lift there?”
“Eggs is gonna pick me up and take me, but thanks.”
Eggo walks back into the centre of the room, completely ignoring the last two minutes of conversation. “We should go grab the rest of your shit, Abs.”
Harry pushes himself to his feet. He gives me an “Is he okay?” look.
I reply with an “I’ll tell you in a bit” glance.
“It’s only across the road,” Abs informs Eggo once my whippet is secured out the back.
Eggo nods, evidently pleased we don’t have to traipse up and down this godforsaken hill again, but when he learns that Abs’s old flat is on the fourth floor, up eight flights of stairs, he’s . . . less than thrilled.
“Fucking fuming, mate,” he hisses to me when we reach the penthouse.
The good news is that Abs doesn’t own any furniture larger than a couple of bean bags, and there aren’t that many boxes.
I’d spent most of the week helping him and Orlando pack their belongings into a labelled and highly organised system, so even if it’s a thigh-killer, it should be straightforward.
“Where’s your lanky streak of piss boyfriend?” Eggo asks, surveying the stacks with a narrowed gaze.
“He’s in town,” Abs replies. “He’s got a job interview in a while.”
“Bit convenient, isn’t it?” Eggo says.
I kick his runner. “Well, fingers crossed Lan gets it,” I say.
Over the past couple of years, I’ve spent a fair deal of time with both Abs and Orlando, and I’d never seen the latter nervous before.
He’s always been one of those guys who seems to cruise through life—designer clothes, brand new car, house the size of Greater London.
Nepotism scored him a job at his father’s firm, but as far as I know, he’s never truly worked a day in his life.
Yet to Orlando’s credit, he’s invested the last week preparing for an interview at a clothing shop in central Bath.
So whilst helping his boyfriend pack up the contents of his kitchen cupboards, I’ve been forced to sit through fashion show after fashion show until Orlando had selected his “most capable looking ensemble.”
Then came the am drams of the practice questions.
“Why do you want this job?”
“Daddy dearest cut me off and I need money to fuel my expensive addiction to staying alive?”
“What would you bring to this workplace?”
“Brutal honesty, mean-gay vibes, and IBS jokes.”
“What are your strengths and weaknesses?”
“I have excellent taste in movies. As for weaknesses . . . how long have you got?”
Despite Orlando’s self-imposed granite exterior, once you get to know him, he’s actually a joy to be around. Even if I’m convinced he says horrible things about me when I’m not there.
We bring the boxes down the stairs and across the street, but realise how much easier our lives would be if we brought everything into the foyer first and then took it over the road in one go.
After about an hour into our mission, Abs has to leave to meet Orlando following his interview. Well, he doesn’t have to leave, but I shoo him away because I see how important this is to him, and I want to spend some time alone with Eggo.
We haven’t seen each other since the awards ceremony last week. I’ve been too busy helping Abs pack, and Eggo’s been moving shit out of Megs and Georgia’s house and getting things ready for his big trip to Newquay.
I haven’t told him about Cornwall yet. Partly because I’m terrified he’s changed his mind, and partly because I can’t seem to find the right moment. But the further I reach out to grasp that moment, the more it seems to edge away. Maybe it’ll never be the right moment.
Or maybe I’m fucking overthinking it as always.
I should tell him right now.
I place a box marked KITCHEN STUFF on the counter, and Eggo drops one with JUST RANDOM BITS to the floor. Thank god Abs isn’t a big reader and there aren’t any boxes with BOOKS written on the side.
“Eggs, I need to tell you something.”
“Wasson, Captain?”
I giggle.
Eggo crowds up to me, sandwiching me against the worktop. “You like that.” He kisses my jaw. “Captain.”
An involuntary moan escapes my throat.
“Oh, I am going to have so much fun with this, Cap—”
His text message ringtone sounds and something vibrates against my hip. He’s still smiling as he takes his phone out of his pocket, but as he looks at his screen, his smile drops. Now he’s frowning.
“What the fuck? Why?” he says.
“What is it?” I ask.
He half shows me the screen, and I glimpse an old photo of him and Megan taken at last year’s awards function. “Why is it anybody’s business but our own?” He puffs out a sigh. “Here, I’ll send it to you.”
My phone buzzes and I check the link Eggo’s just sent. It’s a news article on the local sports blog. The headline reads:
“Cents’ lock Finn Eggington splits with long-term girlfriend ahead of off-season break.”
I’m in the background of the picture. Obviously, I’m staring straight at him.
Megan’s looking at him too, but Eggo’s smirking at something just out of frame, and the way the photo’s been captured and presented with this story, it almost makes him look guilty.
And okay, maybe he is, but his breakup with his ex was amicable.
I skim read the article.
“Sources close to the couple cite irreconcilable differences for the split.”
“Finn has been spotted in Bath with a mysterious blonde.”
“Jody,” he says, answering my question before I voice it. “Also not mysterious since she’s the mother of my fucking child.”
“Finn has reportedly been spending a lot of time with his teammates. In particular, newly appointed captain, Aiden Campbell (25). The pair have made several public appearances together.”
“The news of the split follows Eggington’s vice captaincy appointment.”
He switches his phone to lock-screen and tosses it onto the counter. Then he runs a hand through his hair and paces the remaining four feet of free space in the kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s none of their business. I wish they would—”
Eggo doesn’t let me finish my sentence. In one swift movement, he pulls his T-shirt over his head, squashes me against the worktop, and brings his mouth down to mine.
“Fuck, Pi. I can’t . . . Why . . . Urgh!” he says between kisses. He rubs his hand over my crotch to gauge my arousal, steps away, shakes his head, then drops to his knees. “Let’s do this once more . . . before I don’t get to see you for two months.”
I need to ask him about Cornwall, but my cock is already in his mouth and my balls are in his palm and the thoughts just puff out of my brain. I can tell him later, it’s fine.
Suddenly, we hear voices. They’re coming from the front of the building.
“Shit! Abs and Orlando!” I say, pushing him off me.
“Fuck!” He wipes his face and tugs on his shirt as I push my aching wet dick back inside my shorts and try to steady my breaths.
I let Trekkie in—Abs and Orlando have those lovely bi-folding doors that haunt my daydreams—because if anything is going to give us a decent distraction, it’s my dog’s manic hello. As predicted, he charges straight to the front of the flat. Eggo and I split apart like the same poles of a magnet.
Shit, his T-shirt is inside out.
“Eggs!” I hiss and motion to his shirt. He looks down, spots the seam, and his eyes grow wide.