Chapter 8
“SO, WE need to have that talk.”
And that was how it started. It was Tuesday, and I had just gotten in from work.
Monday night I had come home from having to endure a meal with the family to find Declan had left me a message on my answering machine. I was disappointed he hadn’t tried to reach me on my mobile, but it wouldn’t have been easy trying to field his call at my folks’ house either. I had thought it too late to call him back as he would probably be training the next morning, and he must have been because he didn’t call me at work.
“Hello to you too,” I said. “And that sounds really ominous. You might want to tone it down a little.”
“Sorry,” Declan replied. “I just wanted to clear up this… thing between us. And, uh, hi.”
I nestled the phone between my ear and shoulder awkwardly as I spooned Fancy Feast into Maggie’s bowl. “So you’ve noticed the… thing?”
“How could I not notice the thing?”
“Well, you were doing a good job of avoiding it.” I threw the can back into the fridge and made my way back into the lounge room.
“So were you.”
“I was the injured party. Of course I had to wait for you to bring it up.” I collapsed upon the couch and used the arm as a shoe lever to prise the sneakers off my feet. They fell noisily upon the carpet.
Declan was silent.
I sighed. “So talk to me, Dec.”
Somehow, all it took was this affectionate shortening of his name. “I just couldn’t do it right then.”
I hated myself for letting that part of me sneak through, but I guess like any human being I needed that reassurance. “Was it… me?”
He laughed, and I felt like he had just skewered me with a meat fork. “Wait,” he said quickly, “I wasn’t laughing at you. It’s just, I was going to say it’s me and realised how clichéd it sounded.”
Relieved, I agreed with him. “Yeah, it would’ve.”
“But it is me. It’s stupid, and I’m embarrassed to tell you.”
“Is that why you wouldn’t tell me on the night?”
Declan paused. “…it’s just that you want everything to go right on the first date—”
“I shouldn’t have been so stupid to—”
“No, shut up for a minute. We had a great night and believe me, I wanted things to go further.”
I wanted to scream Then why didn’t they? but I bit my tongue.
He stopped again, and I waited for him to continue. He didn’t.
“Dec? Are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Well, I’m listening.”
“I still feel bloody stupid.”
“Well,” I said, trying to sound wise. “We’re not going to get past it if you don’t tell me, are we?”
“It was the night before a match,” he said finally. As if that explained everything.
I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. “And?” I prodded him.
“Oh, come on! Surely you’ve heard about pregame superstitions.”
It finally dawned on me. And I burst out laughing.
Now it was his turn to be butt-hurt.
“Hey!” he protested weakly.
“It is a bit stupid,” I told him.
“You don’t get it.”
I tried to be fair. Hey, I’m that kind of guy. Sometimes. “No, I do. But it’s all a bit arbitrary, isn’t it? I mean, just because your coach tells you it probably builds up your stamina or something—”
“Well—”
“I mean, I’m sure I recently read somewhere that they did a study, and they proved that sex before a game has no effect upon your ability to play it—”
“Oh my God, will you stop?”
Cowed, I fell silent.
“Let me get a word in, huh?” Declan asked.
“Shoot,” I said. And couldn’t resist adding, “After all, you’re not playing tomorrow.”
He sighed. “Are you always like this?”
“Please don’t ever ask Roger and Fran that. They lie a lot.”
That elicited a chuckle out of him. “So the answer is yes. You’re impossible, you know that?”
“I thought you were about to defend yourself?”
Back to serious mode. I wondered how he was sitting. Was he lying down, like me? Or was he upright, perfectly postured, conditioned into being so after years of rigid sportsmanship? I wished I could see him right now. Talking over the phone was fun, but I would rather have been needling him in person.
“I know it’s got nothing to do with how you’ll play the game,” he said hesitantly. “It’s just that the very first coach I had told me that, and it became a superstition for me. Like the guys who wear the same socks every game and don’t wash them until the end of season.”
I winced. “At least yours is more hygienic.”
“Yeah, believe me, you don’t want to be around them when they pull those fuckers off after a game.”
“Can I ask you something?” I picked at a stray bit of fabric on the couch arm nervously. “Without you hating me?”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“You’re not playing at the moment, so why does the superstition still stand?”
There was a long pause before he answered. It seemed like days that we sat there in silence with me beginning to sweat thinking that once again I had crossed the line.
“I’m still part of the team, aren’t I?”
I nodded and remembered he couldn’t see me. “Of course you are.”
“Then, it still stands.”
“Then I apologise for jumping you.”
The warmth was evident in his voice. “If I remember rightly, I jumped you.”
“That’s right, you did.”
“You know, maybe I should come up a day earlier than usual next time.”
I squirmed with anticipation at the thought, my dick starting to feel heavy. “That could be good.”
“I’ll see what I can arrange.”
I couldn’t believe that was still almost two weeks away. That’s when it hit me. I was entering into long-distance relationship territory. As if it weren’t hard enough maintaining a relationship with someone in the same city, I had decided to throw in the towel and see someone who had an entire sea between us.
We said our good-byes, and promised to speak again soon. I should have been happy that everything had been sorted and things were right between us. But truth be told, I was now feeling a little… sad.
WHEN I had been to dinner at my parents’ on Monday night, Mum for some strange reason had decided to ask while serving the mashed potatoes whether I happened to be seeing anybody at the moment.
My dad’s fork clattered against the plate as he dropped it, and Tim leaned in wolfishly to take delight at whatever might happen next.
Even though my normal world was pretty much upside down and all over the place at that point of time, I played it safe. “No.”
Dad picked up his fork again, and Tim leaned back into his chair with a disappointed expression on his face.
I thought that would be the last mention of my love life for the evening, but for some reason Mum had a bee in her bonnet about the issue.
“But why not?” she asked as she sat herself back down.
“I’m too busy at the moment, Mum,” I said, using the same old excuse as always. “I can hardly fit in everything I have to do for work, to do anything else.”
“Got enough time to hang out with Roger and Fran twenty-four seven,” Tim grumbled, obviously hoping he could goad me into making this family time a controversial one. “Got enough time to go see Richmond play.”
I glared at his obvious attempt to remind Dad of another reason that I was a thorn in his side. “Yeah, doofus, they’re my best friends. I have to see them occasionally.”
“Are we going to eat?” Dad asked uncomfortably.
“So you have enough time to see friends, but not a boyfriend?” Tim asked deliberately. I wondered how many beers he’d had before I turned up.
I used my peripheral vision to see how Dad was taking this. His knuckles were kind of white as he clenched his fork and used it to shovel peas into his mouth.
“Why are you so interested?” I asked Tim.
“It’s what families do, they ask shit,” Tim replied.
“Timothy!” Mum cried, whacking him over the hand with her fork.
He winced and waved his fingers. I laughed.
“Boys,” Dad said. “Act like adults.”
“Tim has a new girlfriend,” Mum said, desperate to keep the conversation flowing.
“Another one?” I asked. “What happened to the last one?”
“Got bored,” was his laconic reply.
And they think my kind is promiscuous.
“We’re going to have her over for a barbecue in a couple of weeks,” Mum continued.
“Uh-huh,” I said, already trying to come up with an excuse for why I couldn’t attend.
“I just thought if you were seeing someone you could, you know, bring them.”
It’s funny how she resisted saying the word “him” like his gender could be mistaken for the other one by any listener. Still, you had to give her an A for effort, at least.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I said, really hoping this would be the end of it.
“I’m not disappointed,” Mum said kindly. “Just it would be nice if you did. Like your brother.” It was nice that she meant it. Or apparently meant to mean it. Or hoped to mean it, or was at least practising. Okay, that was a lot of “ors.”
But if my brother was meant to be the epitome of coupled bliss, I was glad I was… whatever I was at that point of time.
“No one will have him,” Tim sniggered over his meal.
I rolled my eyes, but kept silent. There was no use fighting it.
“I’m sure somebody will,” Mum said.
“Pass the gravy, please,” was Dad’s response.
I did so and tried to imagine Declan being exposed to this situation, having Mum’s earnest pawing at him to see if he was suitable husband material coupled with Dad steadfastly trying to ignore his gender and Tim trying to provoke any kind of reaction he could get out of him. Of course, it could be totally different as it would be Declan Tyler. Maybe they would just sit in openmouthed awe and express shock at his inclination to like dick, because that just wasn’t meant to be possible with people like him.
I couldn’t even begin to imagine Declan meeting my folks or me meeting his. It seemed even more impossible than me going out with Declan in the first place. So, really, stranger things had happened.
After dinner Tim sidled up next to me. “So you’re really not seeing anyone?”
This amount of interest in my love life was really unnerving me. “I said so, didn’t I?”
“Jesus, you’re the most boring gay guy I know.”
“Aren’t I the only gay guy you know?” I asked.
He started reciting a list, and I zoned out.
I came back to the real world just in time to hear him say, “I mean, you should be getting some action. It’s unnatural. You must have carpal tunnel just from jerking off.”
I went back to my happy place in which my brother refused to be so… so himself.
And not long after that I begged off coffee and dessert, citing work that needed to be done before the morning. As I drove home I wondered if I was being too hard on them. After all, I guess they were trying in their own way although Dad could afford to be a trifle more accommodating.
But in the end, they were what they were, and I was what I was. Somehow we would meet in the middle.
I’VE never done the long-distance relationship thing. I mean, I’ve found it hard enough doing the three-suburbs-away relationship thing. But it really hit me hard over the next couple of weeks what was what I was doing. Declan and I spoke every day, getting to know one another, but somehow it still didn’t seem real enough because we weren’t actually together. You can find out a hell of a lot about a person by speaking to them for hours on end, but without the added intimacy of being able to see their expression or touch them, all the subtle intricacies of contact and closeness were nonexistent. We may as well have been pen pals, and I wondered how it was that people could fall in love over the Internet. Maybe I just didn’t get it.
All I wanted to do was see him. But their next two games weren’t in Melbourne: one was a home match and one was in Darwin to try and popularise the game in the far north.
It felt like I was in a relationship, but with none of the advantages. And yet I was happy. I would have been happier if I could see him, but that’s what you get for falling for an interstater.
Luckily, work was busy. Nyssa seemed to calm down when she saw that I wasn’t going anywhere, especially when I commissioned a local documentary maker to film the events of the festival. Her name was Alice Provotna, and she took her work very seriously. She had started trailing around us with a camera to get some behind-the-scenes footage. I became more adept at hiding around corners and behind stacks of film and tape canisters while Nyssa treated it as if it was her audition reel for Neighbours. I was only too happy to push her in front of the camera and let her take the limelight, as I continually berated myself for thinking this was a good idea.
Fran had already become an on-air victim when she wandered over bored one day and found herself having to reenact a scene with Nyssa where we discovered one of our major sponsors had fallen through.
“Wow, that’s really… bad,” she said flatly, staring right at the camera.
“Bad?” Nyssa gasped like a Victorian heroine finding a ghostly nun upon the belltower of her Gothic mansion. “It is an abomination! This could well be the end of our festival!” She turned her back on Fran, now becoming a modern-day soap star, about to begin a lengthy monologue while not at all facing the person she was speaking to.
Fran looked at me, bewildered.
I said, “Oh, don’t worry. We will find someone else.”
Honestly, I don’t know who sounded more robotic.
“That’s going to be one exciting documentary,” Fran said as we fled to the safety of my office.
“I’m wondering if it’s too late to pull the plug.”
“It would be an abomination to do so,” she teased.
Luckily Alice wasn’t around all the time. We couldn’t afford to keep her on call, for one thing. We arranged a series of important dates for her, and the office returned to some sense of normalcy for a little while at least. Nyssa and I ran all over town in a series of endless meetings to pick up more sponsors. I don’t think there was one building on either Queen or Elizabeth streets that we weren’t in at some point, and we still had Collins and Bourke to cover. At least it meant the fortnight began to pass quickly, and Declan and I were soon making plans to meet in person once again.
“SO, THE Devils are in town this weekend,” Roger said nonchalantly as we drank beer on his back porch, waiting for Fran to get home from work.
“Yeah, I think so,” I replied, just as nonchalantly.
Roger’s eyes narrowed over the neck of his bottle. “So, you’re not seeing Declan, then?”
“Maybe. Depends if he has the time.” I’m such a liar.
“You fucking liar.”
He knows me too well.
“Well, his schedule is pretty tight,” I said defensively.
Roger smothered his laugh.
“Oh, grow up!” I glared at him, to no avail.
“Seriously, are you seeing him?” Roger asked, trying to contain himself.
“Yes.”
“Aha. So when are we going to see him?”
That was almost enough to make me panic. “You see him? Why would you be seeing him?”
“Well, you’re going to have to do the meeting-the-friends-thing sooner or later.”
I hesitated. “We haven’t discussed that.”
“At all?”
I shrugged. “It hasn’t come up.”
No repressed laughter at that line; Roger was now in serious mode. “Really?”
“That’s what I said.”
The thing was, we talked every day. But there were certain topics we navigated around. Like what we were going to do if this became really serious, how aspects of his life would affect what we could do together as a couple. We hadn’t even gotten to do the fun things new couples did yet, like spend days in bed with the only interruption being the delivery of pizza.
Okay, so I had a bit of a one-track mind at the moment, but how could I think any further about the heavy stuff?
“You don’t think you’ll ever introduce us to him properly?” Roger actually sounded a little hurt.
“Of course I will,” I said to assuage him.
“But will he do the same with his friends?”
I frowned and couldn’t disguise it before Roger noticed.
“He won’t?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”
“But—”
“Rog,” I said calmly. “Drop it for now.”
“But—”
“Please.” My tone was firm.
He wasn’t happy, but he nodded. I wondered how long it would be until he brought up this potentially painful subject again. Somehow I didn’t think it was that far away.
Fran emerged from behind us with a quiet tread that she often used to her own advantage. “Okay, who died?”
Roger accepted her kiss and rubbed the small of her back. “What?”
“You two are being very quiet. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” we replied in unison.
Fran shook her head. “Fucking liars, I hate it when you do that. I need a beer.”
“Make that two,” I said, shaking my bottle at her.
I could see the concern in her eyes, but I smiled slightly to try and alleviate it.
It didn’t work, of course, but Roger stuck to his word for the rest of the evening, and as a consequence, the subject of Declan Tyler was not referred to at all.
“GOOD news,” Declan said.
He was talking to me on his Bluetooth as he drove himself to the Hobart airport for his flight to Melbourne.
“I could use some,” I said gloomily, remembering the strained atmosphere at Roger and Fran’s the night before.
“Why, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly.
“Come on.”
“Just work. So tell me the good news.”
“I’ve arranged to go back later than the rest of the team, so I have a couple of extra days in Melbourne.”
That was good news. If I was involved, of course. But I had to play it cool. “Do you have a party or something?”
“Or something,” he replied. I could hear the gentle prodding in his voice. “I thought you might have liked to see me a bit more.”
“Yeah, it’d be cool.”
“You’re a cold bastard, you know that?” he asked, although once again there was laughter hidden behind his angst.
“You know I want to see you, so don’t play dumb.”
“Why not? Aren’t footballers dumb?”
“Only to wanky arseholes.”
There was a pause as I heard his indicator activate and then switch off. “Look, I’m almost at the airport. I have training, but I should be done by six again. Mind if I come over at about seven?”
“Sounds good.”
“Do you have food in your house?”
“No, I don’t eat. Of course I have food in my house.”
“Well, I could bring food. Save you from cooking?”
“Who said I was cooking?”
“That’s why I said—”
I laughed. “I could try subjecting you to what passes for cooking from me.”
“Shall I bring takeaway, just in case?” he asked.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Gotta go, Simon. I look forward to both you and your attempt at cooking.”
I grinned and closed my mobile. Then I immediately rang Fran at work to gain ideas of what would be both palatable and easy enough to make so that I couldn’t possibly fuck it up.
FRAN had suggested pesto; I didn’t want to admit I was uncomfortable with the idea of garlicky morning breath just in case something happened. And Fran being extremely smart and prescient, guessed it without me having to try and arse about bringing it up indirectly and moved on to Indian. Then she discounted Indian in case of unwanted effects upon the gastric system.
And not once did she tease me for my attention to every detail and possible scenario.
“You do know once you’ve gone out for a while, you stop caring about all this stuff, right?” she asked me.
“Yes, but in my defence, I remind you how much Roger tried to hide all his faults from you when he first started going out with you.”
“He didn’t hide them well.” She snorted. “Hey, Simon, you going to let me in on whatever you two were fighting about before I came home yesterday?”
“We weren’t fighting.”
“Well, something happened.”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“No, and he was remarkably resilient at refusing to let me get it out of him.”
I wondered if he was actually worried that she might have told him off for trying to pierce my temporary shield of obliviousness.
“It was nothing, really.”
“One of you will crack sooner or later and tell me.”
She was right about that.
In the end, it was decided I would make stir-fried veggies and tofu with rice.
“It’s nice and simple,” Fran said. “And you’ve made it before, so you can’t possibly screw it up. Plus it probably fits in with whatever crazy football diet the coach makes them stick to during the season.”
I hadn’t even thought of that. It was a good point.
“It’s just going to add to him thinking that I am a crazy, wanky, greenie, hybrid-driving hippie,” I complained.
“Has he seen your bomb of a car?” Fran asked in disbelief. “Greenpeace arranges a protest every time it leaves your driveway.”
She had a point. I would have to make sure Declan took a drive in it soon enough.
I LEFT work early again. It’s good to be the boss sometimes. Nyssa was past suspecting me of going for interviews although she tried to grill me for details once more about what I was up to. I told her to be grateful she was also leaving early, and she wisely collected her coat in silence and followed me out the door at a quarter to four.
“Fran said something about you being besotted with someone,” she unwisely said as we were waiting for the lift. “Who is it?”
I counted to three in my head before saying nonchalantly, “You know, I think there’s a pile of filing that you could probably be doing—”
“She was probably teasing, after all, you don’t go out,” Nyssa said quickly, punching the elevator button once again in the hope that it would arrive immediately.
“I think so,” I agreed. We got into the lift without further incident.
On the way home I stopped off at Safeway to pick up ingredients for the dinner. A bit of wishful thinking perhaps, but I also picked up a pack of condoms. Better to be prepared than unsafe or sorry. I lugged everything back onto the tram; I suppose I could have gone home and picked up the car and backtracked, but really, it was just as easy to do it this way.
It was just past five when I got home. Declan would still be at practise, so I had plenty of time to start chopping the veggies, put the rice in the cooker, and get a quick shower before starting to piece everything together. I had never been so organised and time-efficient before.
He sent me a text telling me he was on his way just as I was finishing dressing. I ran into the kitchen and began heating the wok. Now the nervousness began settling in. It had been two weeks since we had last seen each other, and I was filled with both anticipation and fear of the moment he would cross back over my threshold.
But I didn’t really have time enough to think about that at the moment, thankfully. Between Maggie wanting to be fed, timing when the tofu should be added to the veggies so it wouldn’t fall apart, and then having to scoop some shit out of the kitty litter tray because she knew company was coming and wanted to mark her territory before their arrival, I was running around and starting to work up a sweat. Flustered was not a good look on me.
I had just mixed vegetable stock and corn starch together when my doorbell rang.
“Fuck,” I whispered. I looked down at myself and realised I was covered in corn starch. I dusted myself quickly and tried to walk calmly to the door. How bloody domestic. Maggie jumped onto the couch arm, an expectant glare on her face as she was cognizant of the fact that the normal peace of the house was about to be disrupted.
I peered through the burglar-hole. It was Declan, and he looked as good as he always did. There was no bag hanging on his shoulder; maybe I had been too presumptuous in buying the condoms. I shook that thought out of my head and opened the door.
“Hey, you,” Declan said, grinning at the sight of me.
“Hi,” I said, as concise as usual with him. I moved aside to let him in, and he closed the door behind him.
I found myself suddenly enveloped by him as he drew me in. “Hey,” he said again.
“You already said that.”
“What the hell are you covered in?”
“Corn starch.”
“You trying to be Jamie Oliver?”
I was going to make some crack about Nigella and fellating cucumbers but couldn’t because he was kissing me. And I suddenly became a hell of a lot more relaxed. I leaned further in to him; I could almost feel the muscles of his stomach through the layers of clothes between us. This time it was me who stupidly said “Hey,” when we pulled apart.
He didn’t say anything. He just gave me another kiss.
“I thought you were bringing food?” I asked, pointing out his hands, that although now full with me, had been empty before he entered.
“I didn’t want to insult your culinary skills,” he said, still holding me close. “I thought if we needed to, we could order pizza.”
“Good call,” I approved.
“Whatever you’re making, it smells good.”
“Stir-fry. Hey, wouldn’t pizza be on the banned list during the season?”
He winked at me. “What the coach doesn’t know doesn’t hurt him.”
I guess that could cover a lot of things. Such as knowing that his star player was currently pashing his sorta-boyfriend at the moment.
Declan had become distracted by Maggie, who instead of treating him like an invading enemy had suddenly become wildly enamoured of him and desperate for his attention. I knew how she felt.
“I don’t think you’ve formally introduced us,” Declan said. I liked how he bent down to pet her while still keeping one arm around me.
“Maggie, meet Declan,” I said, although Maggie was now too enraptured with her new find to care anything about me and what I might have been saying.
“Hey, Maggie,” Declan cooed. He instantly found her weak spot, scratching behind her left ear. She was now his for life, although he was momentarily in her bad books for letting her go and turning his attention back to me. “So, did you call her that because it was close to ‘moggie’?”
I bit the inside of my lip, knowing he was about to give me shit. “No, she’s actually named after a character from George Eliot’s The Mill on the Floss.”
Declan smothered his laughter.
“Oh go on, give it to me.”
“Do you know what my family’s cat is called and why?”
“No idea.”
“Socks. Because it looks like it has socks on its feet.”
“So I named my cat after a literary character. Is that so bad?”
“No, it’s just something I like about you.”
“Pretension?” I asked grumpily.
“That’s not the way I would put it. Stop being so defensive.”
There was nothing negative in his tone of voice, so for once in my life I listened to somebody else. “It’s a good book. All about how we try to make our own free will, but sometimes catastrophes are thrown in front of us and our lives become determined by them.”
“It sounds heavy. Is there at least a happy ending?”
I winced. “Maggie drowns. Along with the brother she only recently reconciled with.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Declan laughed. “Let’s eat.”
We moved into the kitchen, and Maggie followed, winding herself around Declan’s legs. He tripped and fell against me, and I grabbed him.
“So much for the reflexes of a professional footballer.”
He gave me a playful shove and bent down to scoop the cat up out of harm’s way.
I added the stock mixture to the wok, and a satisfying cloud of steam erupted from it.
“Do you always cook?” Declan asked.
I shrugged. “I try to get out of it as much as I can. Living by myself, it’s mainly a diet of takeaway and toasted cheese sandwiches. Do you want a drink?”
“I brought beer,” Declan announced. He grinned when I looked at his empty hands again. “I left them in the car.”
“Stupid place for them,” I told him.
“I’ll be right back.”
He jogged back to the front door and disappeared outside. Maggie watched him go fretfully and looked back at me.
“You too, huh?” I asked her.
She replied in the affirmative by jumping from the stool Declan had placed her on and hovering over by the door watching for his return.
“Yep, you too,” I murmured, now throwing the tofu into the wok.
Declan moved like a cat in more ways than one. I didn’t even hear his tread when he returned and placed a cold bottle of beer against my hand. I ran my thumb along the raised glass on the neck that formed a familiar image.
“Beer from your home state, huh?”
He twisted the cap off his bottle and lobbed it perfectly into the bin. “Yep. Is it okay?”
“I like Cascade. Although probably more for the Tasmanian Tiger than anything else.”
Declan grinned. “Why aren’t I surprised?”
“Come on, you can tell me. Have you ever seen one while driving around late at night?” I twisted the cap and threw it towards the bin, and was pleased that I made it.
It turned out, that like Roger, he could raise one eyebrow. “Have I seen an extinct animal in the suburbs of Hobart while driving in the dark?”
“Supposedly extinct,” I told him before taking a swig of the crisp malty goodness.
“No, I haven’t, but if you throw a stone in Hobart you’ll more than likely hit someone who will claim they have seen one.”
I reached behind me into the cupboard, pulling out two plates. “I think it’s possible they could still be out there. Aren’t there areas of wilderness that no human has stepped in?”
“Not around where I live,” Declan said dryly. “You might have to venture out a little further.”
“You’ve never wanted to do it?”
“I take it you would?”
I nodded and set down my beer so I could start serving up dinner. “Sure. Trekking into the hills, going further than most people ever have into the wilderness, and then being rewarded with one undeniable look at a thylacine in its natural habitat.”
Declan grinned knowingly. “And you would never tell. You would keep it a secret, because you know if you didn’t, even though it would bring you fame and fortune, especially if you had photographic evidence, letting the world know would mean their refuge would be destroyed by people wanting to find out more about them. It would be best for you to just let that tiger fade back into the forest and remain a myth as it continues to survive and build its numbers.”
Damn. He had me pegged. And he could be poetic when he wanted to be. “It would be the right thing to do.” I was now becoming uncomfortably aware that this conversation could be serving as an allegory for something else altogether.
Declan put his beer down and moved behind me. I was half expecting a cuddle, but he took the plates of food off me and delivered them to the table. I fumbled in the cutlery drawer and produced two pairs of chopsticks. I grabbed our beers and joined him.
“What would you do?” I asked him.
He took a deep breath and sat down. He looked up at me and smiled. “Seeing as the last time we had anything to do with them, we wiped them out, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for anything like that happening with a new lot.” He reached for his beer.
I clinked my bottle against his and smiled stupidly at him.
“What are we drinking to?” he asked.
“Whatever.”
“That’s specific. How about, wherever this takes us?”
We clinked the bottles together again and picked up the chopsticks to start eating.
Declan handled his deftly, sending them out across his plate as if they were warriors seeking prey. Despite years of use, I still occasionally used mine as a spear rather than a utensil.
“This is really good,” Declan said appreciatively.
“It’s not that good,” I said. “You don’t have to butter me up.”
He winked suggestively at me, and I quickly downed another mouthful of beer, which was thankfully beginning to work its magic upon me.
“This was exactly what I needed after training,” he continued. “They’re testing me out to see whether I can return to the field this week.”
“Do you think you will?”
“I think I can. But of course, I’ve been thinking that for the last month, and they still haven’t put me on.”
I stabbed at a piece of tofu. “Well, they don’t want to damage the goods after getting you back.”
Declan shrugged. “I guess it’s always a problem, that line between what a player needs and what the coaches decide is best.”
I thought it was interesting, his use of the word need. In the normal world, a worker wishes to be put out of commission for a little while in order to enjoy a holiday away from the strain of the office; but to somebody like Declan, where work also happened to be his passion, he must have felt, and continued to feel, pretty close to bereft being kept away from it for so long.
His easy going expression slipped a little as he drank his beer, thinking about the possibility he might not get what he wanted — needed — next week. Then it was gone again, so fast I wondered if I had imagined it.
“Are you still in any pain?” I asked.
He shook his head. “It’s a bit sore sometimes, but not painful. I think it’s rusting from inactivity more than anything.”
“I doubt it’s inactive. I’ve seen you on the sports report.”
“Have you really?” He grinned at me.
“Hey, I can’t help it if your ugly mug pops up every time I’m trying to find out the lineup for Richmond’s next game.”
Declan laughed. “And here I was thinking you kind of liked my mug.”
I shrugged. “It’s okay. As mugs go.” I then laughed and stared down at my plate.
There was the sound of movement underneath the table, and I felt his foot pressing up against mine. It was a comfortable weight.
“So’s yours.” Declan began eating again.
Wow. I was beginning to like hearing these sly compliments. I froze as Declan’s foot crept up underneath the cuff of the right leg of my pants. He had kicked off his sneaker, and I could feel the warmth of his stockinged foot against the hairs of my leg. He continued eating with an innocent expression on his face as his foot began rubbing towards my knee. I tried to collect some vegetables between my chopsticks, but my aim was unsteady and a small pile of onion flew across the table to land close to Declan’s beer. He grinned, but kept his momentum.
I swallowed a mouthful of beer to steady my nerves and was disappointed when Declan’s foot withdrew. I tried to think of something to say to fill the sudden silence, when his foot was back against my skin. Except this time there was a difference. It was skin against skin. He had shucked his sock off, and I was now feeling the direct heat from his body transferring to mine. It was also having effects upon other areas of my body. He kept the foot in place, maybe just enjoying the simple contact.
“So,” I said, trying not to let my voice crack.
Declan put his chopsticks down and looked at me expectantly.
“It’s Wednesday,” I said weakly.
He nodded, not giving anything away.
“You’re not playing until Friday.”
“Yep.” Funny how that one little word sounded so full of promise.
“So your superstition won’t be in effect until tomorrow.”
“No, I guess not.” There was a small smile playing upon his lips. I wanted to kiss it off him.
My curiosity got in the way of passion. “How does that work exactly? I mean, does the superstition kick in at midnight, or is it just in the general timeframe of the night before?”
He looked adorably confused at my sudden change of tone. “Uh, I don’t know. It’s just a superstition. There’s no logic to it.”
“But there must be a time frame, right?”
“I guess… probably just in the vicinity of the evening before and the day of the match.”
“Huh.” I sat back thoughtfully.
“Does that answer your question?”
I think it did, because the next thing I knew I had launched myself at him, and he was trapped in his chair as I squirmed up against his body, gripping his face in my hands as I kissed him. His arms pulled me in closer, and I noticed how they strained against the material of his shirt. I was no lightweight, but I bet he could pick me up and throw me across the room like a javelin. I crouched over him like a cat with a mouse, but suddenly I was pulled onto his lap. That was more comfortable.
Our kisses grew more heated and desperate; dinner was forgotten. Well, we had almost finished anyway. Declan’s hand crept under my shirt and rested against the small of my back. While my mouth was still occupied with his, my brain stupidly went into overdrive as it realised that this was it. It was going to happen. And all those idiotic insecurities that normally came with any time two people are first intimate with each other came flooding over me. Especially with Declan. The guy was going to have an amazing body; he was surrounded by astounding specimens of masculinity every time he met with his colleagues, and mine could never compare.
But then I saw him staring back at me.
And saw that he wanted me.
There was an unmistakable hunger in his eyes, and he was eyeing me appreciatively. I didn’t really understand it, and it didn’t settle my insecurities completely but I managed to get over that bump in the road.
Without speaking we rose as one and stumbled out of the dining room, through the lounge, and paused as Declan realised he didn’t know where the bedroom was. I took the initiative and pulled him with me, still clutching him.
We sagged against the bookcase in my room; Declan’s hands were starting to pull my shirt up my body, but I pressed against him, inhibiting his actions. This time it had nothing to do with the insecurity of being naked before him. I was now desperate, close to the edge, and unable to hold on much longer. He gasped as I ground against him, searching for friction. I found it, and his gasp turned into a guttural moan as I locked into him and began getting us off.
“Simon…” he moaned, and I liked hearing my name said that way.
I pulled his lower lip between my own and then released it to lick along the side of his neck. I let my mouth rest against the hollow of his throat; Declan threw his head back. His hands came to rest on my arse as he helped me continue to thrust against him.
Declan swore to himself, his breathing becoming more hoarse. I raised my head again, as I wanted to see his face in this most unguarded of moments. He bit his lip, and closed his eyes; I kissed him, and they flew back open. His breath erupted from him in a hot rush into my mouth, and he sagged against me. I bucked against him slowly, letting him ride out his release. As he sighed contentedly and his breathing steadied, I kept eye contact with him and started thrusting again. He held me tighter, his eyes never off me until I cried out and fell against him. He continued to hold me, and his hands travelled up my back, rubbing softly. I buried my head in the crook of his neck as postorgasmic bliss gave way quickly to Oh fuck, what have I done?
We didn’t speak. The only sound in the room was both of us breathing heavily; we leaned against each other, sweating and dishevelled, unwilling to let go. Waiting for a second round.