Chapter Twenty-One
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Ryan
Despite my general disdain for sport, I was starting to fall in love with rugby.
It helped I knew people on the team, but there were other factors involved too… like the fact that rugby was basically just watching giant muscly men in tiny shorts wrestle each other. If I’d have known that, I’d have started watching it a lot sooner.
I was currently sitting in the stands next to Rory, watching the Knights opening league match against York and admiring the way Mason’s shorts hugged his thighs, especially right now when they were forming a scrum.
The rules of the scrum were still a bit of a mystery to me, but I knew it involved Mason, West, and Jaden forming a solid interlocking wall of muscle supported by a number of other players behind them—and no, I wasn’t jealous of the men who basically got to hug Mason’s thighs, honestly— and together they all pushed up against an equally solid wall of muscle from the opposition. There was a ball in there somewhere too, but mostly I was focused on what I could see of Mason’s broad shoulders, thick thighs, and round ass.
God, that man’s body was a true work of art.
And considering how much time, effort, and punishment he put himself through, I thought it was only right that I admired the results of his hard work.
The crowd around us cheered and I saw someone from the Knights grab the ball from between Jonny’s legs and pass it backwards into a waiting pair of hands. I felt a little bad because I still hadn’t learnt who everyone on the team was by sight, but considering there were nearly forty guys on the team and at least twenty-three of them turned up for each game, I figured I wasn’t totally failing. After all, I struggled to remember the names of some of the drag artists I’d worked with in the past and I doubted I’d recognise many of them outside of drag.
Fuck, if Rory hadn’t come to our house to play D&D regularly, I would’ve walked straight past him outside the stadium because I was so used to seeing him in sparkly dresses, huge wigs, and lashes so big they’d cause a fucking hurricane if he batted them too hard.
I watched as the Knights slowly moved the ball forward, getting ever closer to the try line, but their opponents weren’t going to let them through without a fight.
“Come on,” I hissed under my breath as I watched Matty, who I knew because of his giant ginger beard, get taken out at the knee. West grabbed the ball and ploughed forward a few steps, his sheer size allowing him to push through the oncoming wall of muscle like he was wading across a river. West turned as three guys piled onto him and passed the ball back to Mason, who surged forward into the mass of men in front of him.
“Fucking hit them!” I said, louder than I’d intended as my hands flexed. “Yes! That’s it!” Mason made a little bit of headway before he went down under a pile and I tried not to squeak at the sight of him disappearing. I knew he’d be fine—well, I was, like, ninety-nine percent sure—but it still worried me to see him being crushed by around fifty stone of man. Because while the idea of being piled on by three huge men sounded hot in fantasy, in reality it could do some serious damage.
“You okay?” Rory asked as I let out a sigh of relief as Mason emerged. There was cheering from the rest of the crowd around us and I realised the team was now only a couple of feet from the try line. I hadn’t even noticed.
“Yeah,” I said, watching as the Knights drove the ball forward again. “I just, er, when Mason gets hit like that, it’s always just a bit worrying even though I know it’s part of the game.”
“I’d say you’ll get used to it, but you won’t. Not really,” Rory said, turning to me with a warm smile as he applauded with the crowd. “I mean, you do and you’ll learn which tackles are good and which are bad, and then you’ll get really fucking mad about the bad ones, but there’s always that niggling worry.”
“Have you seen a lot of bad ones?”
“A few. The worst was back in March when someone took Bailey out by basically grabbing him round the neck and pulling him down backwards. It was nearly as bad as when someone tried to throw Charlie over their shoulder and onto his head.”
I winced. Mason had explained several times about where players could and couldn’t tackle and how the rules were constantly being updated to protect players’ heads and necks, so the idea of someone trying to bring Bailey down by the neck sounded horrific as fuck. “Jesus, that’s fucked up.”
“Yup and…” Rory trailed off as we all rose to our feet, the stadium cheering and roaring as Charlie passed the ball to Danny, who danced through the melee of players around him to dive across the line, putting the ball down to score and skidding across the dry grass. It was not far from the touch line, so it would be difficult to convert, but so far Devon hadn’t missed a kick since the season had started.
Although thinking that had probably jinxed it.
Everyone was congratulating Danny and I smiled as I watched Mason clap him on the shoulder. Sweat and dirt clung to Mason’s skin, but nothing could dim the joy radiating out of him. As much as Mason moaned about the pains of training, it was obvious how much he loved playing. He was completely in his element on the pitch, and I couldn’t imagine him doing anything else, even if, realistically, his career would only last for as long as his body held out.
“Hey, can I ask you something?” Rory asked as we watched Devon placing the ball, ready to kick the conversion that would take the try from scoring five points to seven. The concentration on the fly-half’s face was obvious, even from this distance. According to Jonny, Devon had one of the best conversion records in the French league and he was hoping to replicate it here.
“Yeah,” I said in a hushed voice as the entire stadium went quiet, all of us watching as Devon took a few steps back, paused, then ran forward and booted the ball. It curled through the air, making the steep angle look non-existent, and dropped over the bar. The whistle sounded and the stadium burst into cheers and applause.
There wasn’t much time left on the clock before half-time, but the Knights had put in a solid first half and now led with seventeen points to seven. But Mason had said York would be tough to beat, so I wasn’t counting my chickens before they’d hatched.
I’d never been much of a superstitious person, but I did believe in putting out the energy into the universe that I wanted to see reflected. So positive thinking led to positive outcomes. At least, that was the idea.
The universe didn’t always get the message.
“Is there something going on with you and Mason?” Rory asked, his question catching me totally off guard because I’d forgotten he was even going to ask one. All I could do was stare at him, my hands floating randomly in mid-air somewhere between clapping and hanging down by my sides.
The whistle sounded again and I knew that meant the first half had ended, but I was still frozen in place.
For someone who usually had a lot to say, I was suddenly devoid of words .
Rory smiled at me as people around us began to move, pouring out of the stands towards the various bars and food vendors in search of refreshment. “Do you want to get a drink? Maybe some chips? I really fancy some chips now.”
“I’m always down for some chips,” I said, the idea of food breaking the ice and bringing me back to reality.
We followed the crowd out and joined a queue, trying to peer at the board over people’s heads to see what was on offer. I’d had some lunch before I’d come out, but it hadn’t been more than a few picky bits I could eat on the go that I’d dug out of the fridge because I’d been running late.
Rory stood quietly beside me, glancing at me every so often like he couldn’t decide whether to give me space or gently prod me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to put my foot in it,” he said after five minutes of awkward silence as the queue shuffled forward.
“You’re fine,” I said, shooting him a smile. “I just didn’t expect you to come right out and ask.”
“Was it supposed to be a secret?”
I chuckled weakly, hoping like fuck I wasn’t blushing. “Yes? We’re not dating, though. It’s just a casual thing. Did West tell you?”
“No,” Rory said and frowned. “Does he know?”
“I don’t think so.” If he did, Mason hadn’t said anything to me but maybe he’d confided in his best friend the same way I’d confided in mine. If he had, I wasn’t going to hold it over him. Everyone deserved to have people they trusted to talk about this sort of shit with. But if West did know and hadn’t even told Rory, the man who he shared everything with, then that said a lot about West, and I was impressed.
Rory hummed but then said, “Don’t worry, I won’t mention it to him.”
We shuffled forward another couple of feet. “Is it that obvious?” I asked, suddenly wondering if everyone knew and that our efforts to be subtle had been as effective as a glass door.
“Not really, it’s only because I spend a lot of time with the two of you. And because West said that seeing you at The Court last year might have been the first time Mason started really questioning his sexuality.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, it was the first time West came to see me. Like, last November.”
“Interesting,” I said, a smile playing across my lips. I was storing that little nugget away for later because I definitely wanted to ask Mason about it. I just had to find a smooth, subtle way to ask that wasn’t, Hey, was I your queer awakening ? Whether it was true or not, though, it was still a bit of an ego boost.
“West and I haven’t said anything to him, but we’ve been waiting for him to figure stuff out.”
“This is kind of what we’ve been doing,” I said quietly. “Just… having some fun so he can see how he feels about it.”
Rory raised an eyebrow, a playful smile on his face. “I bet you’re having a lot of fun. If he’s built anything like West… mmm!” He laughed and winked at me and I snorted .
“You’re such a size queen.”
“Yes, and? I know what I like. And bigger is always better.”
“Unless we’re talking about spots and credit card debt.”
“Ugh, true!” He put his arm around my waist and pulled me into a side hug as we walked forward again. “If you ever want to talk about shit, though, I’m here. And I don’t just mean like sex and relationship stuff. If you want to talk about being with an athlete and watching them get bulldozed for a living or the truly ridiculous amount of food they eat—honestly, I’m so glad the club feeds them half the time—or the injuries and the fact that literally everything during the season revolves around them, and that no matter how much they love it, rugby isn’t going to be forever. I know a lot of them have financial advisers to plan for the future and West already has some ideas of what he might do once he retires, but it’s still hard knowing that you can only do the thing you love more than anything until your body gives out. Like, imagine us being told we can only do drag until we’re, like, thirty and then we’re too old and haggard.”
I laughed. “I’d only have until December then, and I’m definitely not ready to give up!”
“See? It’s so different for them,” Rory said. “Also, I didn’t know you were nearly thirty. I thought you were, like, I don’t know twenty-six, twenty-seven at most.”
“Thanks, Sparkles,” I said, because that was sweet. I knew some queens really worried about their age and how it would affect their looks, but I’d never been fussed about getting older. If anything, I was looking forward to my thirties and giving so much less of a fuck about certain things—like what people thought about me.
As we shuffled forward, my mind turned back to everything Rory had said. It didn’t surprise me that he’d just rolled with the idea of us being together and gone beyond Mason and me having fun to Mason and me having a future together, but maybe it should have. The whole conversation had slightly thrown me, but I couldn’t put my finger on why.
“What do you want?” I asked as we reached the front of the queue and I pulled my phone out of my pocket. “This one’s on me.”
We ordered two Diet Cokes and two portions of cheesy chips, with gravy for Rory and curry sauce for me because chip shop curry sauce was like the fucking lifeblood of the universe. Once we had our food, we headed back to our seats, managing to sit down just as the teams were starting to come back out for the second half. I hadn’t realised how long we’d queued for.
I smiled to myself as I watched Mason jogging onto the pitch in a fresh shirt. If I took the leap with Mason, this was what my life would look like for at least the next few years and while I knew Mason wouldn’t expect me to be at every game, especially if I had a performance, I didn’t know how many I’d want to miss.
Because if there was cheesy chips with curry sauce and laughs with Rory and cheering on Mason in his tight shorts, then I’d be happy with that.
Unless it was pissing with freezing rain and blowing a gale. Then I’d be watching from some sort of box or clubhouse or the comfort of my own sofa.
Because even if the stands were partially covered, I didn’t think I’d ever love anyone enough to spend eighty plus minutes getting soaked to the skin for them.
No matter how good Mason would look with his kit clinging to his skin…