Chapter Three
CHAPTER THREE
Mason
I fucking hated fitness drills. I’d take doing a thousand pull-ups with additional weight over the torture Gavin, our head of physical performance, had inflicted upon us this afternoon. My muscles ached, my lungs burned, and I just wanted to lie on a cold floor and not move for an hour. Maybe two.
I’d already stripped off my shirt and flopped onto the grass of the training pitch. Sweat dripped down my skin and I knew when I stood up I’d probably be covered in loose bits of grass, but I didn’t give a shit. I was too hot and tired for that.
“Here,” West said, handing me a bottle of electrolyte water before flopping down onto the grass beside me. He was still wearing his shirt, but it was stuck to his skin and drenched in sweat. West was our hooker and played in the front row alongside me. At one point, we’d played together in youth teams before I’d aged out, but eventually we’d wound up back together when we’d both been signed by the Knights, and he was one of the best mates I’d ever had.
We balanced each other out because we both had moments of thinking shit through and leaping first and asking questions later, but they tended to be about different things, so one of us was always there to keep an eye on the other and prevent us from getting in too deep. “I don’t know what’s got up Gavin’s ass today, but I’m sure he’s being more of a dick to us than usual.”
I nodded as I sat up and pulled the bottle open with my teeth, guzzling half of it down. “I heard him telling Clive that his aim was to get us the fittest we’ve ever been since we’re aiming for a top four finish.” I took another swig and then poured some of it over my head. It provided about two seconds of relief before it joined the river of sweat oozing down my spine. “Doesn’t mean he needs to be such a bastard, though.”
“Agreed,” West said with a nod as he took another drink from his own bottle. He glanced up at the August sky, which for once was filled with clouds rather than glorious sunshine, although it didn’t stop the temperature from reaching nearly thirty. The air was stifling thick and hot, and it felt like we were breathing soup. I kept hoping it would rain, but I doubted that’d make it any better. We’d just be hot and wet—like we were sitting in an outdoor steam room. “How’re you doing? Looked like those last few runs were getting to you.”
“And they weren’t to you?” I asked, draining the last of my drink as I tried to pretend it was just the drills that’d knocked the stuffing out of me.
“Yeah, but it seems like there’s something else going on.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged and stretched his legs out in front of him. “You’re pretty quiet today, though. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
I grimaced and toyed with the bottle in my hand. Of course West had noticed something was wrong, even if I’d tried to force myself to pretend everything was fine and that I hadn’t stayed up half the night having an existential crisis about my sexuality.
It wasn’t even the whole not being straight thing that was bothering me. Instead, my brain had started picking apart every glance, thought, interaction, and crush I’d had since I was twelve, wondering why the fuck I’d never realised before.
I mean, I’d thought everyone agreed that Angel from Buffy was hot. And sure, maybe he was the reason I’d sat and watched the show religiously with my older sister but Angel was cool and sexy and… yeah, if I was trying to prove a point to myself, that was not it. Or maybe it was.
Maybe I’d never really considered the whole being bi or pan thing—I still wasn’t sure on a label—because I’d been so immersed in the world of rugby union, and the idea of having a thing with someone I worked with felt like crossing a line. So even if I had thought someone was cool or maybe kind of hot, I’d immediately killed the idea because it would make everything so awkward .
Besides, I’d seen these guys do the stupidest shit imaginable and there was no way I wanted to fuck someone who’d played flaming asshole.
“I’m just thinking through some stuff,” I said as I twisted the bottle around like a tiny baton. “About myself.”
“Anything I can help with? You know you can talk to me about anything.”
“I know.” I shot him a small acknowledging smile. “You’re my best mate.”
“Exactly, which means I’m here for whatever you need.” He patted me on the thigh and then grimaced and wiped his hand on the grass. “Why the fuck are your thighs sweaty?”
“Everything is fucking sweaty! That’s what happens when you do bloody sprint and resistance running drills in the middle of sodding August,” I said, gesturing wildly with one hand. “Why the fuck are your thighs not sweaty? Do you just not sweat?”
West laughed. “Have you seen me? God, I can’t wait for a shower. I feel gross. It makes me almost miss playing in the rain.”
“I’ll take baking heat over rain that comes at us sideways any day. I like being able to feel my toes, and I don’t miss having mud wedged between my butt cheeks.”
West nodded because playing rugby in the mud always meant finding it in the worst places for days afterwards. I’d once found some stuck to my dick. “I mean it, Mason. If you want to talk about anything, I’m always around. And I’ll just listen if you’d rather talk at me.”
“Thanks,” I said, grateful that he hadn’t pushed. Mostly because I hadn’t thought of a way to say that the catalyst for me figuring this out was watching my housemate get off in front of me while I also jerked off because I’d been too turned on by the whole thing to wait until I got back to my room. I supposed I could be vague, but I could guarantee that West would know.
I looked at the rest of the team, who were all stood and sat around in various states of exhaustion and undress. Off to the side, I saw Gavin chatting with Clive and Tommy, our head coach and assistant head coach, and pointing at something on his clipboard. Probably thinking of new ways to torture us like the bastard he was.
“Can I ask you something?” I asked, realising we didn’t have much time until our next round of drills and suddenly needing to know West’s answer to the question burning itself into my brain.
“Sure.”
“When did you know you were bisexual? And how?”
If West was caught out by my questions, it didn’t show on his face. He drained the last of his drink and sat back slightly, resting one of his hands on the grass and looking up at the sky. “I’m not sure I ever had that super definitive moment? Or maybe I did, but it wasn’t really a grand realisation and more of a yeah, that makes sense . I’d always kinda thought men were just as hot as women, and I was a bit too obsessed with Sam Warburton as a teenager. And then when I was sixteen, I ended up making out with this guy on my team—I’d gone to stay at his house one weekend and we were just chatting and then, yeah… it just kinda happened. We made out and then ended up with our hands in each other’s boxers. And afterwards I didn’t feel bad or weird, more like I wanted to do it again. He actually became my first boyfriend and we dated in secret for like, six months before he moved to play in Wales.”
“Cool,” I said as my thoughts swirled. It was weird to think that West might have gone through the same process as me, only he’d realised ten years earlier and had been comfortable enough to let himself quietly explore without questioning every thought he’d ever had. “That, er, yeah, that makes sense. I guess sometimes you’ve just gotta try it.”
“Sometimes,” West said, his expression still softly neutral. The man had one hell of a poker face. “If that’s what you want. There’s no right or wrong way to figure out who you are really as long as you’re being safe and nobody is getting hurt. At least, not without their consent.”
I snorted and stretched my legs out, flexing my feet and feeling my muscles burn. “Don’t worry, I’m not really into pain. I get enough of that shit here.”
“You’re about to get more,” West said as Gavin blew his whistle and summoned us all back for what I hoped was the last drill of the day. At least he couldn’t give me shit for being shirtless because at least ten other guys were including Jonny and Devon, one of our new fly-halves who’d recently joined from Marseille.
I groaned as I climbed to my feet and brushed the worst of the grass off me. I loved playing rugby and I had for as long as I could remember, but I’d never fallen in love with the harder parts of the sport: the bruising, the blood, and the pain. Training was a necessary evil, one I’d suffer through to achieve my goals, but I’d never love it the same way I loved playing the game. “If I can move tomorrow, it’ll be a bloody miracle.”
“All right,” Gavin said as we gathered around, his large moustache bristling as he spoke. He always reminded me of one of those stereotypical World War I generals. “Let’s finish off with something fun. Everyone get into pairs.”
“Dibs,” West said, putting his hand on my shoulder as the squad split up around us. I frowned because there had to be a catch.
“Line up with your partner by those cones,” Gavin said, pointing to the line of colourful markers on the goal line. “You’re going to then carry your partner as fast as you can all the way down to the halfway line. Then you’re going to do a wheelbarrow walk all the way back. Once you hit the goal line again, you’re going to swap. First pair to complete wins.”
I groaned, a smile crossing my face when I realised what that meant. “Oh, for fuck’s sake! This isn’t fair. Why couldn’t you tell us that first? Then I’d have picked bloody Danny!”
“You snooze, you lose,” Danny said, high-fiving Hunter, who’d probably snagged the winger before Gavin had opened his mouth. Danny was one of the smallest guys on the team while West and I were two of the biggest, since we both played in the front row where being built like a brick shithouse was part of the job.
Although there was a good chance Danny would struggle since Hunter was six-foot fucking seven. So maybe the match-up wasn’t as good as I’d first thought. And it wasn’t like I couldn’t carry West’s eighteen stone ass up to the halfway line, but Danny would have been easier. But then I’d have to put up with Danny’s constant chatter, which never seemed to end no matter how fucking tired he was. It was like he’d drunk sixteen shots of espresso before he’d even gotten out of bed.
Maybe this was a situation where there were no good options, just the least worst. Bloody team-building exercises.
“Hey! What’s wrong with me?” West asked with a laugh.
“Nothing, I just pity you having to drag my ass up to the halfway line.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you. We’ll show them.”
I laughed as we all walked over to the line of cones. “Fuck it, let’s do it!”
This was probably going to end with West and me sprawled out on the grass, especially since we both already had jelly legs, but it was better than more drills. West stood in front of me, bending his legs slightly to make it easier for me to hop onto his back. I bounced up and down a few times, preparing to spring into action.
I smiled to myself as I waited.
Ryan was going to get such a kick out of this when I told him later.