Page 26 of The Player

“It’s like watching Jason Momoa get into a toy car,” I say. “He’d never fit his hair in here either.”

“I’m going to need a chiropractor to get out of the car.”

“Either that or a winch.”

I climb in and start the engine, pulling off with a flurry of gravel. “Here we come, lavender farm,” I cry, and he shakes his head.

“You can make this sound as exciting as you like, but we are still going to sit in a field while you drink and eat things that have been inexplicably flavoured with lavender, and I will get hay fever.”

“Well, we definitely don’t need the sun today when we already have your cheerful disposition.”

He chuckles, and I feel the tension in him ease. Unfortunately, it transfers to me. I’ve been in this car many times with Con, and I wonder how I ever missed how tight the confines are.

The road to the lavender farm is charming and one that I usually love. Honey-coloured dry stone walls bracket neat little fields while towering beech trees hang over the narrow winding road, sending dappled shadows over our faces. The windows are open, letting in a fresh, sweet smell. It usually makes my soul happy, but I can’t focus on any of it today.

All I can feel is how my arm brushes his as I change gear. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see his hands on his knees. They’rebig hands with prominent veins and long, thin fingers, and I swallow as I imagine them on me, caressing and stroking. To my horror, I feel my cock stiffen, and I shift position in my seat, drawing in a bolstering breath. Unfortunately, all I can smell is the scent of his skin. It’s a sweet smell, musky and warm and enhanced by the woodsy cologne that he’s worn all the time I’ve known him. I tug at my shirt collar.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Ohyes,” I say forcefully. Far too forcefully because he jumps.

“It’s like talking to a twenty-eight-year-old cheerleader.”

“Well, be thankful I’m not because if I’d had my pom-poms, I might have smothered you with them this morning.”

He chuckles, and the warm, infectious sound doesn’t help my current condition. I hunch slightly over to hide my erection, and silence falls, but this time, it’s easier. I knew it would be. Con finds it impossible to maintain a bad mood.

We zip down a lane that’s so narrow in parts you could reach out and touch the hedgerow on either side.

“And this is why my car is better than your big truck,” I say as I pull into a passing place so a tractor can go by. “He’d have had to take a field out to get past you.”

The driver pauses as he comes level with the car. “Morning, Con. Morning, Frankie.”

“Hi, Mick,” I say, smiling at the young farmhand. “Beautiful morning.”

He tuts. “Rain’s on the way.”

I look at the blue sky. “Really?”

He nods, and there’s an ancient knowledge in his eyes. I suppose it comes from generations of farmers looking to the sky to determine their day. “Yep. It’s coming. Hope it holds off for the summer hop.”

I’d forgotten about that. The village has an end-of-summer party every year. It’s held in a huge marquee on one of Mick’s family’s fields that abuts the village. It’s usually a wild and brilliant night that fuels gossip over the winter months that follow.

Mick peers at Con. “You still playing?”

“You’re playing?” I say in surprise. “Why didn’t I know that?”

Con shrugs. “Didn’t think to mention it.”

I wonder whether he’s discussed it with Tim, and my stomach twists. It’s jealousy I’m feeling, and I can’t deny it any longer. Somewhere along the journey from becoming a widower in my early twenties and now, Con has become mine in my mind. I wonder how long I’ve been attracted to him. I think, looking back, it’s been building for a long time. I was just completely oblivious to it.

I become aware that they’re both staring at me. “I can’t wait,” I say brightly.

Mick touches his fingers to his forehead in a salute. “See you there,” he says and sets the tractor in motion.

“You okay?” Con says carefully to me. “You seem a bit—” He pauses.

“A bit what?” I say, staring hard at the hedge to the side of the car. It’s very quiet here at the passing place. Not much traffic takes these narrow roads, and all I can hear is birdsong as the sun warms the inside of the car, bringing the scent of wildflowers and grass.

---