Page 2 of The Fly-Half

I was used to mild, wet winters, not frozen ones with bitter winds that came straight off the North Sea. Jonny had already teased me about the number of blankets piled up on my sofa, but I’d be the one laughing when the cold sank its teeth into us and I could snuggle up in my blanket fortress.

The British weather was one thing I’d forgotten while living in France, and it was the only thing that made me doubt my decision to move back—the lack of air con in August had been one thing, but the miserable winters were another altogether.

If we didn’t have so many matches to play over Christmas, I’d have been trying to find a midwinter escape to soak up some sunshine.

For someone who hated the cold, wet, and dark, I really was playing the wrong sport.

“Do you still fancy a movie on Friday night?” Jonny asked as he scooped up the last of his omelette, chasing some escaped chunks of pepper across the plate.

“Yeah, of course,” I said, noting the way his eyes lingered on my plate. I put my fork into the last bit of my eggs, claiming it. If he wanted another, he could go and get one. “Do you want to come to mine or do you want to see what’s on at the Odeon?”

“Let’s stay in. I don’t want to be up late, especially not since we’ve gotta go all the way to bloody Devon on Saturday morning.”

“It won’t be that bad. You can sleep on the bus,” I said, shooting him a smile across the table. “I’ll make sure Danny doesn’t sing.”

“Even you can’t work that miracle.”

I snorted. Danny was one of the Knights wingers and had a reputation for being fast, mouthy, and nosy. Mason had said Danny had the worst case of foot-in-mouth he’d ever met, and I had to agree. In the short time I’d played for the Knights, he’d asked me if I really spoke French, asked Mason if being bisexual was really a thing—Mason had nearly punched him—and why didn’t some women take dating him seriously even if he wasn’t taking dating them seriously.

The last one had resulted in at least three members of the team, who were all happily married to some incredible women, taking him aside and making him explain himself until Danny had dug such a hole for himself one of them had offered him a shovel.

I didn’t think Danny meant what he said maliciously; he simply didn’t think things through and had a habit of winding people up.

He also liked singing, but like his questions, nothing that came out of his mouth was good.

But if Jonny was tired and hungry like he was today, then it wasn’t going to end well. Jonny might be sweeter than sugar half the time, but even he had his limits.

“Sorry,” he said with a half smile before pursing his lips. “I know I’m being a grumpy bastard this morning.”

“You’re fine.”

“Don’t do that. You shouldn’t put up with my shit.”

“Trust me, if you were being an arsehole, I’d tell you.”

“Would you?”

“Yeah, of course.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smile spreading and turning devilish. “I don’t believe you.”

“You should.” I had no other defence or way to prove it to him, especially not with that smile. It was ridiculous, but there were so many things that smile could make me do.

In a split second, Jonny reached for the edge of my plate, his fork lunging for the last bit of my omelette, which still had my fork in. For the briefest of moments, I was stunned as he stabbed my food, but then I grabbed the plate back. “Fuck off, you wanker,” I said, grinning as I put my elbow around the cheap crockery. “Get another one if you’re still hungry.”

“But I don’t want another one! I just want a little bit.”

“Tough fucking luck! It’s mine.” I laughed as he tried to go over my elbow but I blocked with my fork, the metal utensils clanging loudly against each other.

“But I want it,” he said in a wheedling tone, clearly trying not to laugh. “Devon, give it to me.”

“You’re being a dick! I’m not giving you my breakfast!”

“You haven’t finished it, though.”

“Yeah, because not all of us inhale our food at the speed of light.”

“Fine,” he said, putting his fork down. A bright smile lit up his face and if I hadn’t been sitting down, it would have dropped me to my knees. “Maybe you would tell me.”

---