Page 19 of After the Siren
Jake scrambled for the ball and grabbed it, spinning to the right. He felt a hand on his shoulder and leaned in, bending his knees just enough that the hand slipped up, catching the side of his neck.
Kat’s whistle shrilled. ‘High!’
Jake turned, grinning.
Bestavros did not grin back. ‘He ducked.’
Kat gave Bestavros a look over her sunglasses. ‘Then tackle him lower.’
Jake winked at Bestavros, paced back and took the kick. They both jogged after the play, and Bestavros gave him a nudge with his shoulder as they ran. From Xen or Paddy it would have felt friendly. It did not feel friendly.
It wasn’t yet ahotday, but it was warm enough that everyone had worked up a sweat early in the session. There was a damp sheen on Bestavros’ neck, and he reached up to shove his hair out of his eyes.
‘You need a headband,’ Jake said.
Bestavros glanced across at him. ‘I think I’m good.’
Things with Bestavros had been weird in the few days since Jake had overheard the phone call. Jake had tried to make itclear, without actually saying anything, that Bestavros’ secret was safe with him. That he was chill about bisexuality.
He was also trying to be chill about Bestavros thinking he was a showboating hack. Getting into it with him about wearing a headband wouldn’t help with that.
His dick, however, was not being chill. Mainly, Jake blamed the yoga. Bestavros was good at yoga.Reallygood at yoga. He practised every morning, before breakfast, in a corner of the courtyard clearly visible from where Jake liked to eat. Xen had nearly had to call an ambulance when Bestavros moved into some sort of pretzel position just as Jake took a sip of coffee.
Knowing Bestavros was queer made it trickier, somehow. Jake had learned a long time ago that other athletes were treats you didn’t look at, because you weren’t going to get to eat them. But then there was Bestavros. A treat who, in different circumstances, might have been interested in being eaten by Jake. Or whatever. They didn’t pay Jake because he was good with words.
Bestavros didn’t practise shirtless – it was worse than that. He practised in trackies and a t-shirt that slipped to show his flat stomach every time he was in a position that put his head below his hips. Whenever he moved into something like a lunge, his track pants pulled tight across his thighs and glutes, and – well, Jake had to avert his eyes for his own good.
It wasn’t as though he’d never had queer teammates before. He had queer teammatesright now. But the generalyou’re hotsensation he’d experienced when he’d seen Bestavros on the bus had changed into a specific and inconvenientI wonder, which was definitely not going to become anI know, because: (a) Bestavros didn’t like him; (b) Bestavros didn’t seem as though he’d be into hate sex; and (c) Jake wasn’t that much of a fucking idiot.
Jake refused to think of it as a crush. He wasn’t twelve. But he was keeping out of their room as much as possible. Being in close quarters with Bestavros had tipped from awkward intoget me out of hereat the point when Bestavros glaring and nudging Jake’s things back onto Jake’s side of the room had started to be a turn on.
It wasn’t Jake’s best training session. He just couldn’t quite get his head into it. Bestavros took him high again – Jake was pretty sure it was an accident – and then they got tangled up in a tackle and the studs on Jake’s boot left indents on Bestavros’ calf. Bestavros scowled at Jake as though he’d done it deliberately, which was fucking rich coming from someone who’d nearly ripped his head off intraining. Then they had a little tussle for the ball during a marking drill and Bestavros’ elbow got Jake in the ribs in a way that definitelywasn’taccidental, and which was definitely going to bruise.
The animosity only made the situation worse.
His dick had issues.
Theo knew he shouldn’t have jammed his elbow into Cunningham’s ribs. It was not the sort of thing you did in training. But Cunningham had spent the whole session getting in his face and Theo wasdone.
The chat with Kat had made Theo feel better – right up until he’d seen the pile of balls at the end of the first day and known it was goal-kicking time. By the time he’d picked up a ball, he felt a bit clammy.
He’d missed three of the four shots he took that day and the pattern had continued. He wastrying, and he was still fucking it up. He was being supported, and given time, and itwasn’t working.The Falcons weren’t running a charity for washed-upsecond-round draft picks; if he didn’t get his shit together, he wasn’t going to get within cooee of a game.
Cunningham had slotted all four that first day, and the second day, and the third, and so on, and here was Cunningham again: always talking, always grinning, always acting as if everything was one big joke. So, yeah, Theo shouldn’t have rammed his elbow into Cunningham’s ribs, but nobody could prove it hadn’t been accidental.
And it had wiped the grin off Cunningham’s face.
‘You good, bro?’ Xen asked, as Cunningham poked an exploratory finger into his side.
‘Just a flesh wound.’
‘Try not to fuck anyone up in training, Stavs,’ Xen told Theo. Theo had wanted to be wary with Xen – he was too close to Cunningham – but it was very hard not to be friendly with someone who was just sonice. He’d noticed Theo liked to have a banana before their gym sessions, and had actively prevented Cunningham from getting the last one earlier that day so Theo could grab it.
Theo nodded. ‘My bad.’
Cunningham’s eyes flicked up at that. He’d noticed the lack of an actual apology. Shoe was on the other foot, then.
They finished the session with a friendly shots-on-goal competition. Again. Theo shanked a kick so badly that Cunningham wolf-whistled. He would have done it to anyone, but the jibe dropped like a stone down Theo’s throat and settled in his churning stomach.
