Chapter 29
Ethan
‘You’re going where?’
‘To the Goldbeck Theatre. It’s this real big building, kind of a yellow colour, been around for a couple hundred years? You can’t miss it.’
Assad squints at me like I’ve been replaced by a pod person. Maybe I have.
‘You’re truly telling me you’d rather go and watch a load of boffs play Beethoven than raise a jar with your teammates?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you call yourself our captain.’
If he wasn’t standing in the middle of the locker room completely naked, maybe I’d be able to take him more seriously. Maybe.
‘I’m not the only one trying to improve my cultural diet,’ I say, pointing at Michael as he strips in front of his locker. ‘My dude is going too.’
‘Yeah, but Michael is a weirdo.’ Assad looks over at our goalkeeper who continues peeling off his sweaty practice kit. ‘No offence, mate.’
‘It’s a compliment coming from you.’
‘Then you’re welcome,’ Assad says before turning back to me. ‘Come on, ditch that bollocks and come to Members. It’s team building, we need you there.’
‘On the topic of bollocks, you should get yours looked at.’
I can’t help but chuckle when Michael whips Assad’s bare ass with a towel as he strolls towards the showers. ‘Is it my imagination or is one much bigger than the other?’
‘Didn’t bother your mum last night,’ Assad quips back but Michael keeps on walking, satisfied smirk on his face, his work here complete.
‘I’m going to the concert.’ I fish my washbag out of my locker, mind made up. ‘Sorry, dude. Next time.’
Assad is still pouting and yes, still naked, in spite of the fact he was in and out of the shower before I’d even finished my five-minute catch-up with Clive.
‘Didn’t realize you were such a big classical music guy.’
‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me.’
‘Wait a minute, is this a girl thing?’ A flicker of interest crosses his face when I flinch. ‘It is! Go on then, tell me everything. Who is it? Hot cellist? Sexy saxophonist?’
‘I’m not trying to fuck any of the girls in the orchestra,’ I tell him. ‘This guy, Bryn, he’s playing with them. He’s friends with my roommate—’
‘So it’s a guy thing? Are you coming out to me?’
‘I’m not trying to fuck Bryn either.’ I shake my head, smiling. ‘But I could do worse, he’s pretty good-looking. I’m going with my roommate, Mia.’
He pulls his head back in a long, slow nod, dick still swinging in the wind.
‘Going with your roommate, I see.’ Then the corner of his mouth crooks upwards. ‘Is she hot?’
‘Yes.’
The same answer comes from Cieran, Josh and one of the Riches all at the same time and a knife of jealousy cuts me to the bone. Bouncing my wash bag from hand to hand, I make a non-committal noise in the back of my throat.
‘I told Mia I would be there, so I’m going to be there. And I like classical music so there’s that. Any other questions?’
‘You still haven’t answered the first one,’ he replies. ‘Is she hot?’
I baulk because I really don’t want to answer, and the moment of hesitation is all he needs.
‘Oh, Ethan, pal.’ Assad presses his hands to his chest, head to one side. ‘Will we all be invited to the wedding?’
‘You’re braver than me,’ Josh crows across the locker room. ‘I never shit where I eat.’
It’s gross but I’ve said worse. A bunch of men showering after sports are rarely considered amongst the world’s leading forward thinkers.
Individually, I’ve had incredible conversations with some of my teammates over the years, taken on whole new perspectives from different walks of life I couldn’t possibly have experienced otherwise.
But together, as one big sweaty mass, truly some of the worst people on the planet. And I still love them.
‘As co-captain, it is my duty to warn you, shagging your roommate could get messy,’ Assad says with genuine concern while Josh attempts to get into his locker without touching his bare ass. ‘Especially this early into the term. You’re sure you wouldn’t rather save it for an end of year treat?’
‘It’s not like that.’
I’m gruff and unimpressed and I really need to get into the shower.
I have to eat before the show or my stomach will be louder than any damn instrument on the stage.
Tossing my shorts in the laundry box, I grab a towel, shampoo in hand, and head for the showers.
Only for Assad to follow, his eyes lit up.
‘Didn’t you go to the same uni at home?’ he asks.
Stepping under the shower head, I turn on the water, letting the first frigid blast wake me up.
‘Sure did.’
‘Isn’t that a bit like going on holiday to Spain and ordering chicken and chips at the British pub? Shouldn’t you be sampling local delicacies?’
‘Chicken and chips sounds good to me.’
He holds his hand under the water then snatches it back when he feels the temperature.
‘Oh dear, he’s done for. It’s true love then?’
‘Hey, before I forget,’ I say, changing the subject. ‘Has Clive said anything to you about the Harchester scouts?’
‘Not a word.’
Turning off the shower, I move back to my locker, slides slapping against the wet tile floor, towel wrapped around my waist. It’s impossible to get dressed fast enough in this place.
I have no idea why it’s so cold – Hemden’s training facilities are state of the art, nicer than a lot of top-tier clubs from what I hear, mostly thanks to some generous donations from former students who went pro.
Could be Clive trying to keep electricity costs down, but more likely he thinks it’s fun to make us suffer.
‘Most likely, he won’t tell us at all,’ Assad says with a frown as I pull a pair of old Abercrombie jeans and a blue henley sweater over still damp skin.
‘I’ve heard some coaches do that, so you don’t get distracted or too in your head, and it’s not like he’s the chattiest man on the planet, is it? ’
‘Have you tried asking him?’
He looks at me like I’ve lost it.
‘Ethan, captain or not, you do not simply walk into a room and ask Clive Woods a question. When he has information to share with you, he will share it.’
‘Let’s go ask him right now.’
But Assad isn’t going anywhere right now because he’s still naked.
‘You go and ask him,’ he mutters. ‘I need to get in the shower.’
‘Damn straight, you fucking stink, dude.’
Wincing, I walk around him, making a wide circle, and head out of the locker room, straight to Clive’s office.
Despite the fact he’s a man of few words, Clive’s office is packed with personality.
I swear I’ve learned more about his life from the photos on the wall and the items on his shelves than I have from all our conversations, and we talk almost every day.
Unlike the rest of Hemden, the sports centre is brand new, every part of it less than ten years old.
We all share the gym and there are general locker rooms anyone can use, but the football team, rugby team and boat club have their own dedicated spaces, our own locker rooms and common rooms. It’s a perk of being the most successful teams at one of the best universities in the world, but Clive makes us work for it.
Hemden has cleaning crews, but they’re barred from touching our common room.
Instead, we take care of it ourselves, everyone assigned different duties according to a rota drawn up by the boss.
In theory, it splits all the chores evenly, but I’m fairly certain there are ways to find yourself assigned to the shitty tasks more often.
For example, if Clive doesn’t like the way you look at him or the way you’ve styled your hair.
But he’s not a total tyrant, at least not according to the photos on the shelf right behind his desk.
Two toothy kids with his nose, hair colour and not much else.
They’re both beaming from ear to ear for one thing.
Everything else they got from his wife, who I can admit, is crazy beautiful.
In the wedding photo that sits next to the portraits of his son and daughter she looks like a model or something.
It’s not that he isn’t a decent-looking guy and I know he played pro but it’s not like he was ever in the David Beckham league when it came to success.
When Clive looks up and sees me staring, I wonder if I’ll be on cleaning duty in the common room next week.
‘Taylor?’
‘Hey, Clive.’ I raise an awkward hand, pretending he didn’t just catch me ogling his hot wife. ‘Me and the guys were talking about the Harchester academy thing. You hear anything about which games the scouts are coming to?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can you tell me?’
‘Yes.’
I wait for him to finish the sentence, but he doesn’t so I amend my question.
‘Are you going to tell me?’
‘No.’
And really, I should’ve seen that coming.
‘That all?’ he asks.
‘That’s all.’
‘Then shut the door on your way out. I’m trying to concentrate, and I can hear you soft bastards all the way down here.’
‘You got it.’
It’s about as good a conversation as anyone is likely to get out of Clive Woods. I close the door, careful not to slam it, when he shouts me back.
‘Taylor!’
‘Yes, boss?’
Raising his chin, he locks his eyes on mine and even though I’m younger, taller and in better shape, I am literally quaking in my boots.
‘Next time I see your tongue hanging out your mouth when you’re staring at photos of my missus, you’ll be using it to clean the toilets. Understood?’
‘Yes, boss. Thanks, boss.’
I tap two fingers to my temple in a salute as I let myself out and breathe a sigh of relief. Honestly could’ve gone worse.