Ten #3
He turned back with a soft smile. “Yeah,” he said. “You should.” And for just a moment, in the shadow of those words, I couldn’t breathe.
A theatrical knock sounded on the door like a dousing of ice-cold water and I spun in time to see Katie walk in, her eyes squeezed shut in overdramatic horror. “Is it safe yet?”
“Yes, sorry,” I said, as we both hastily tugged up shorts.
She opened her eyes and stared from me to Miles and back. “So . . . you were going to tell me about this when?”
“Uh, when you got here.”
“Words would have sufficed, Mat!” She laughed. “I didn’t need a demonstration!”
Clutching his dirty shirt against him like a shield, Miles made for the door. “I’m . . . gonna shower and leave y’all to it.”
With a bemused smile, Katie let him escape before folding her arms at me. “Care to explain?”
“What is there to explain?” I asked, though I couldn’t stop grinning.
“What is there to explain? How about why you’re fucking Miles Callahan? In our lounge room no less.”
“Well, it was the lounge room this time because I was impatient and didn’t realise how late it was. Sorry.”
Her eyes widened. “This time? How many times have—? Is this just a thing now?”
“A few? So, I guess?” I glanced to where her suitcases still sat in the hallway. “Here, let me wash my hands and I’ll help you with your bags.”
“Oh no, no touching my bags. Go shower. You stink of sweat and sex.”
She shooed me away, and by the time I’d showered and dressed and thrown my dirty clothes in the laundry bag, Katie was checking the contents of the fridge, notepad in hand.
“So, what is this?” she asked, the fridge door closing with a protesting squeal. “Are you two dating or—?”
“No!” I cried, lifting protective hands. “We’re just gay and horny and conveniently located! And it’s been handy having a training partner. And it turns out he’s not actually an arsehole.”
“I’m not the one who thought he was. He’s always seemed no more conceited than any other player on tour. Besides, it’s sweet that he travels with his sister.”
“So . . . you don’t mind if he hangs around?”
Katie’s brows flew up. “What? Of course not. First impression aside, I’m sure he’s lovely. And even if he wasn’t, I sure as hell won’t turn down the chance to pick Miles Callahan’s tennis brain.”
Dick Scrunchie
Want to have dinner with us?
only if you’re sure
Absolutely sure
katie hasn’t been put off meeting me?
are you sure she’s not used to this sort of thing with you?
Left over fingers, remember?
Besides I told you, no time even for blowjobs
just cute french guys
What?
what food does katie like?
i thought i might grab something as an apology
if you give me permission to spend outside the budget
Dude, you don’t need my permission, do what you want
But the answer is sushi
She’ll love you forever if you buy her good sushi
at least that’s a more interesting favorite food than steak
Oh that’s not my favourite, just what I wanted
what is then?
Not telling. A man’s got to have some secrets
idiot
Miles arrived a few hours later, all cleaned up, his hair soft and dry and styled to fall occasionally into his eyes in the tortured poet way I adored.
Dressed in a dark blue linen shirt and pale shorts, he looked like the Miles Callahan from the high tea at Queen’s, though all suggestion of formality was spoiled by his having walked over in bare feet.
“I’m going to pretend we’ve never seen each other before,” he said, holding out a hand to Katie. “And just say hi, I’m Miles.”
“It’s very nice to meet you properly, Miles,” Katie replied, shaking his hand with a grin, “but I’m afraid nothing will ever wipe your first impression from my memory.”
He winced theatrically. “While I know that I am objectively hot, no one should have my ass be the first part of me they see, so I’m . . . extremely sorry.” Miles held out the large paper bag he was carrying. “I’ve brought apology dinner.”
With a surprised glance my way, Katie pulled it open. “Oh my god,” she said giving a little squeak of excitement. “I might not have been thrilled by the welcome, but this is worth even having to see Mat’s arse.”
“Hey! My arse is delightful!”
She shot me a disdainful look, and carried the bag to the coffee table to unpack, leaving Miles stranded and unsure in the middle of our tiny apartment.
“Did this one come by private courier too?” I murmured as I joined him, leaning close enough to catch the poignant floral cologne he sometimes wore. I breathed deeply, wishing it was possible to capture and keep a smell. Or that I was brave enough to ask him what it was.
“No. For Katie, I braved the street,” he said, a smile twitching his lips. He’d shaved too, and though I had a weakness for lingering stubble, it turned out I also had a weakness for Miles Callahan’s perfectly smooth jawline. I wanted to bite it.
“Are you two joining me?” Katie said as she grabbed plates from the kitchen. “Or am I eating all this on my own?”
We gathered around the coffee table to eat, and Miles’s wariness soon melted away beneath good food and easy conversation.
We talked about the terrible apartments, about London, about Katie’s time in Ilkley, about our favourite players growing up and how we’d started playing as kids, and then a discussion of the worst tournaments we’d played became an attempt to rank the quality of courtside chairs.
It was companionable and nice, and occasionally Katie and Miles even went off on their own tangent, finding common ground without me.