Chapter 21
AJ
The sheer fact that the boss is accepting of us makes me want to accelerate my plan, but I don’t want to rush Kyle.
No one should ever be forced to “come out.” I’ve always hated that term anyway.
Why on earth should anyone need to “come out?” If you’re born a little extra fabulous, that should be applauded, not ostracized.
People who are different are always looked at with disdain.
Kyle is fast asleep on my lap. The world is good.
I am the happiest I’ve been in a long time.
I think we can make this work, and that makes my heart go pitter patter.
I shift Kyle further up the bed and plant a kiss on his forehead before heading into the bathroom. I take out my hair dye and start applying it.
Halfway through, I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I turn to see Kyle, all sleepy eyed.
“Hey, handsome,” I say to him, and he kisses me on the cheek.
“Hey yourself. What are you up to?”
“Giving myself a makeover for tomorrow’s game. Do you think eyelashes and nail varnish would be a step too far?”
Kyle laughs, and I swear it’s the most beautiful sound on earth. He’s not one to show emotion, but here he is, with me, and laughing and showing me his perfect smile. God, I adore him.
“Depends on the color you’re thinking of. If you do your nails in the England colors, you could pass it off as Patriotism.”
“Or Gay-triotic!”
Kyle doubles over with laughter, “Could you imagine all the Alpha males donning this look. It would be epic! You have to do it now!”
“Well, if you’re behind me, I have to do it.” I smirk at him.
“You want me behind you?” he asks, smirking back.
“Always. And you know, you’re as much a mouthful as I am.”
His cheeks flush red, and he closes the distance between us. Our lips collide, and our hands are roaming each other’s bodies. Kyle’s warm fingers sweep lightly under the waistband of my boxers, gently caressing my cheeks. I groan into his ear softly, and he grabs my cheeks harder.
And speaking of harder. I feel his length against my own.
“As much as I want to do this, again, I currently have hair dye in my hair and I don’t want to burn my scalp. But I want to pick this up later.”
“Good,” he purrs.
And so help me god, I want to pin him against the wall and plough into him. Instead, I resist and say, “Hey, have you ever painted nails?”
“There’s a first time for everything,” he says, once again flashing me that Hollywood smile.
“Look at us, full of firsts! I’ll get it out of the bag. Good job I bought plenty!”
Lying on top of a luxurious bed that the England squad has paid for, next to my boyfriend?, while my purple-tipped hair sets in and my England-colored nails dry, is not something I expected to happen but had always, in a roundabout way, dreamed of.
His head is on my chest, and I’m twirling strands of his hair with my fingers. I hold my free hand up to the light and inspect his great work once again.
“You know, if this whole football protégé thing doesn't work out, you can always be my stylist.”
“Fuck off,” he says, chuckling. “Then again, if I stop playing, at least you’d get the Golden Boot.”
“I’m getting it anyway, don’t worry about that.”
He sits up and looks me up and down. The nerve. “We’ll see,” I say. “Look, all I’m saying is, anything you can do, I will make it my mission to do it better.”
“Is that so?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s a fact.”
“Oh,” he smirks, looking me up and down again.
Kyle’s lips brush mine and send shockwaves down my nerve endings.
His hands roam under my shirt and find my erect nipples.
I squirm into him, and he sweeps his thumb across them again.
I moan into him. In one swift motion, he’s mounting me and placing kisses on my lips.
I lean into them. I’m harder than I’ve ever been, and I can see his dick breaking free from his boxers.
“You should take those off,” I say to him, and I watch him shuffle out of them. I slide mine off too, and he mounts me again. He plants a kiss on my nipple, and I groan into it once more.
Knock knock.
“Fuck,” we both say in unison.
“You guys coming!?” says Rockwell from the other side of the door.
“Poor choice of words,” he says, and I put my hand across his mouth, and he licks it.
“Where?” I ask.
“To dinner, Boss is waiting for us all.”
“Okay, we’ll be down in ten,” I say.
“Fifteen,” Kyle retorts.
“Don’t be late, you know how Boss feels about lateness.”
We wait for him to go and then manage to both finish and get ourselves ready in under fifteen minutes. The hardest part was getting all of Kyle’s proof-of-excitement out of my hair. “If only the rest of the world knew how far you can shoot,” I say to him before slapping him on his suit clad ass.
He smirks at me, “You’re not so bad yourself.”
He kisses me, and I swear, each time he does, I’m on cloud nine.
“How do you manage to look so good in a suit?” I ask, taking him all in.
“I was thinking the same about you,” he coos back before planting another kiss on my lips.
Training is intense—more so it feels than at City—and I expected nothing less.
I am playing with the very best that England has to offer, and somehow I’m part of it.
And so is my best friend, my boyfriend? I still need to ask Kyle what we are to each other, but I don’t want to startle him.
Sometimes he’s more skittish than a cat in a room full of cucumbers.
And sure, I’ve had some funny looks regarding my new hairstyle, but it’s mostly been in the form of banter.
Rockwell did ask me, “What’s up with the queer nails?
” I told him I was showing my patriotism, and it was a shame he wasn’t showing enough.
That pissed him off, but he’s a homophobic prick, so I don’t care.
“AJ, Thurston, here,” the boss bellows from across the field, and I instantly get that feeling like I’m heading to the headmaster’s office again.
We trot over, and he has a tactics iPad out.
“Right, I want to see how you both play together,” he says, and we exchange a look. “Not like that.”
“First showing is free,” I say, feeling brave, and I see Kyle stiffen, but the boss laughs. He actually laughs.
“Look, you both are fine finishers, and I know you were a strike partnership when you were younger. The plan is to bring you both on in the second half, change most of the team around at half-time. AJ, you’ll be the focal point, due to your size.
Kyle, you will play off him and be ready for anything. ”
We nod in agreement. The typical “big man and little man” tactic. We are so much more than that, but I don’t dare say anything. We will show him. This is our chance to cement our names on the team sheet ready for the Global Cup.
“Get back to training. I want you both on shooting practice. I want you both sharp and I want you both ready. Focused only on the game. Do you understand me?” His eyes narrow at us, and the unsaid words hang between us.
We both nod in affirmation once again and head off for shooting practice—not that kind.
Somehow, we are behind at half-time, 2–1. The boss, despite it being a friendly match, is flipping his lid. He’s launched a football boot narrowly missing Jackson's face, and he’s going beetroot.
“How?” he asks, “how are we down 2–1? I’ll tell you how. You’re not hungry enough. The amount most of you are paid and you’re full! You need to feel that hunger again. Second half, we’re changing it up. AJ, Thurston, you’re going to be up top.”
I knew this was happening, but I thought with us losing, he would change his tactic, but it doesn't seem to be the case, and I’m glad for it. I want to prove that I…we belong with the rest of the squad.
“No fuck-ups. Play as a team. Protect each other. We are former European Champions and the media are touting some of you as Global Cup Champions. Prove it. And to the ones they’re saying are past it—prove them wrong!”
As impassioned speeches go, I’m not going to run through a wall, but I do feel inclined to run up a few sets of stairs.
I’m jumping up and down on the touchline, Kyle next to me. The Wembley crowd roaring us on once they see us. England expects, as the saying goes. The weight of a nation on our shoulders. Yeah—England expects, all right. They expect us to hit the ground running. I’m ready for it.
Our numbers go up, and the crowd serenades us with cheers. They’ve been clamoring for us. The typical media fan fair has helped whip up a storm, but I know we can match the hype.
“You ready?” I shout over to Kyle, trying to be heard over the noise. He smiles at me and nods. I give myself a moment to take him all in, and then my head gets in the game. I step out onto the lush green grass, and a smile blooms on my face like wildflowers in a meadow.
The ball is hoofed toward me, and I head it down into Kyle’s path.
He’s getting his shirt pulled by a defender, but he shakes him off.
I try to keep pace with him, ready to expect the unexpected, as I watch him nutmeg an oncoming defender.
The crowd are off their seats. He’s lining up to shoot, but he’s tackled from the side and goes down clutching his knee. Fuck.
I run over to him, “Are you all right?” I ask him, his face etched in agony.
I signal to the bench, and the physio comes running over, bag in hand.
The ref has stopped the play while he receives treatment.
My heart is beating out of my chest. How can his dreams be taken away so quickly?
So maliciously? I watch as the ref has a word with the offending player, and much to the chagrin of Wembley, he walks off without so much as a yellow card.
I want to scream at the ref, but I know that will only end up with my name in the book.
Everything is happening too fast. I want to go over and hold his hand, but, well, that would look sus as fuck.
So instead, I watch. I watch as they help Kyle up and walk him toward the touchline.
My heart is still in my chest. This isn’t fair.
The ref blows the whistle for play to resume.
Not even a free kick? What the hell is this?
I glance over to Kyle, and to my relief—and that of the whole of Wembley—he is asking the ref to come back on, to which the ref waves him on.
My adrenaline is still coursing through my veins, but I can’t hide the relief on my face.
“I’m all good, clash of knees,” he says as he trots over to me.
“Had me worried for a moment.”
“Aww, you were worried about me?” he says, putting a hand to his chest.
“Yep, I was afraid after I got my hat trick you’d be long forgotten and you’d have to be my stylist after all.”
“You’re funny,” he says, smiling at me.
“I know,” I say, winking back.
The ball comes out to him, and he chips the ball over the midfielder, into my path. I look to lay him off again with a dip of my shoulder, sending the defender the wrong way. Kyle is waiting on the edge of the box; the goal is clear. I’m of two minds.
I pass the ball to him. The keeper rushes out to him, but Kyle is too quick and dinks it over his outstretched hands and into the back of the net.
Euphoria.
It might only be a friendly, but Wembley has come unglued. I race over to him with the rest of the squad, and we mob him. Not even five minutes into our England debut and, we have made an impact. Together.
I watch as the cameraman follows the movement of Kyle and myself. I smile for the camera, and he does his usual “I’m far too serious for this shit” look, and I melt inside each time he does it. I know how much this means to him.
Fifteen minutes later, and this time, it’s Kyle feeding me the ball. He sweeps a beautiful inswinging left footed cross into the area. I’m the quickest to react to it, rising above everyone to meet the ball with my head. I watch as it hits the back of the net with a satisfying swish.
The feeling is electric. The crowd is buzzing. I don’t care that this is a friendly match that means little to nothing in the grand scheme of things. I’m in the England squad with my best friend, and we’ve set each other up, scoring the equalizer and the winner. This is the stuff of dreams.
We’re mobbed by our teammates again, and I could get used to this.
I flash my nails to the camera and point to the badge.
“Together,” I say instinctively, before heading back to my starting position.
The whistle blows for the final time, and we head back victorious.
What a game, what a feeling. The boss’ team talk is drastically different this time, heaping praise on the team and then signaling both Kyle and myself out, telling us we looked starving—in the most complimentary way.
The best part of this? We have another game, and I get to go back to the hotel room with Kyle and sleep in the same bed.