chapter eleven
Dressed in his claret and blue emblazoned tracksuit, Jay sat alone at a table laid out for four. His team, wearing the same kit, all piled into the main dining hall for the hotel’s buffet breakfast. Jay had arrived first and helped himself to the granola bowl, fruit and yogurt, with a side of granary toast and jam. He was on his second cup of coffee, which was going some way to waking him up, when the usual banter from his teammates interrupted his solitude. Throwing Jay a few casual glances of surprise and distinct raisings of eyebrows, they all dug into their first meal of the day with boisterous enthusiasm.
Bruno cast a menacing shadow over him, clutching his tray. “Rutters.” He sniffed. “Can I sit?”
Jay met his stern glower and kicked out the chair opposite. Bruno plonked his tray on the table and sat. With no words, he poured the tea from the metal pot into his cup, added milk and one sugar and stirred. He buttered his toast, leisurely choosing which preserve to go with it from the tiny glass jars in the middle of the table. As he slid the raspberry compote over his granary slice, he narrowed his eyes at Jay.
Jay bit his bottom lip, then quickly stopped, realising it was a trait picked up from Seb. So he picked up his coffee, took a sip and awaited the imminent onslaught from his skipper.
“That was a pretty dumb move you did yesterday.”
Jay hung his head, focusing on the swirls of his coffee. The contents were cold, and Jay only liked coffee when it was scalding hot, but he thought better of it than to leave and get some more.
“Gaffer’s putting you on the bench. But I guess you knew that would happen.” Bruno bit into his toast, shoving it to the side of his cheek. “You might get on second half if we ain’t scored or are down.”
Jay nodded, pushing the tepid coffee away. That was pretty light considering his crime. He’d take that. Not that he wasn’t disappointed to be back on the bench, yet again, but he’d made peace with that when he’d chosen Seb over training. At least he still had the chance to get on the pitch.
“You okay?” Bruno’s stern demeanour diminished to his more accustomed concern.
“Fine.” Jay rubbed his eyes. “Just a bit tired. Jet lag.”
“Jet lag?” Bruno snorted. “And not because you were out all night?”
Jay met his captain’s all-knowing gaze.
“Yeah, Pablo told me your home time.”
Jay leaned back in his chair, his knees bouncing with nervous energy. Bruno sat forward, darting his gaze around the breakfast room before hushing his voice once more.
“Did you go meet a bloke?”
Jay swallowed. Bruno, at thirty-five, was the veteran of the team. The big brother. Godfather to some. He was the one the team came to with their problems. There wasn’t much the younger lads had done, or were doing, that Bruno himself hadn’t been involved in once upon a time. Late night parties, dating girl bands, pitch fights leading to red cards and media scandals. But he had come through it all, and was now a happily married family man with a Premiership football career spanning fifteen years through four different clubs.
But this, this is a bit different, ain’t it?
“I’ll take your silence as a yes.” Bruno popped the last of his toast in his mouth and crunched. He shook his head, disappointment leaking out of every movement.
“I weren’t followed.” Jay clenched his jaw. “No one saw me, and I weren’t in a public place, if that’s your beef.”
“That really isn’t the point, Jay.” Bruno gripped the handle on his mug of tea and sighed. “This is your first international. Your first chance off the bench. And you’ve just fucked that up. For what? A blowjob? Just ‘cause you’re not in London don’t mean you should be going out and doing that.”
“Fuck off,” Jay spat, then wriggled in his chair. That had come out louder than he’d meant for it to.
His teammates all paused their idle morning chatter to glance over. Bruno glared at each one individually, then nodded for them to turn away. They obliged, such was the nature of their captain’s influence, but their chatter was now significantly quieter than before.
“It weren’t like that,” Jay mumbled.
“So tell me, then?” Bruno offered, taking a gulp of tea. “What was so fucking important for you to be benched on your first time playing in another country?”
“He’s someone I used to know. He moved out here a while ago. I haven’t seen him since that long. This was my only chance.”
Bruno sighed. “Are we going to have issues here?” He plonked his mug down on the breakfast table, blotting a ring into the white cotton tablecloth.
“No. It’s over. Finished. Don’t panic about your precious team reputation.” Jay stood. He didn’t want to talk about last night. About Seb. About the issues of him being gay. There wouldn’t be a problem if it had been any of the others who had picked up a random New York girl in some seedy club joint.
“Jay, you know that’s ain’t why I’m asking, mate.”
“I’m benched, skip. I get it. I’m sorry. Won’t happen again. Believe me.”
Bruno sat back, rubbing a hand over his forehead. He looked around at the other teammates who all glanced over with interest.
“Eat up, lads.” Bruno picked up his mug and waved it in the air. “You’ll need the energy if you wanna show those Yanks how we play football back home, right?”
Jay snorted, then trudged out of the breakfast hall, heading back to his room.
* * * *
Seb slammed his hand onto the elevator Call button, leaving a circle imprint on his palm. He didn’t care and whacked it several more times before the sliding doors opened. Pressing floor ten, he impatiently tapped the metal railing aligning the metal box with his fingernails as the lift ascended.
Saunders & Son International didn’t close on weekends. Property developing in the city stopped for nothing. So as Seb leapt out of the elevator and jumped over the hip-height counter, a few of the staff were already scattered about the open-plan office. Most were the overly keen ones, the ones who bowed to Will Saunders’ every whim and had their heads firmly up Seb’s arse. The finance guys, HR, admin. Many Seb hadn’t bothered learning their names. He hadn’t been involved in the recruiting of the office staff. That had been his father’s job and Stephen’s, as Operations Director. Whatever the fuck that meant.
All Stephen seemed to do was wrap up the paperwork after Seb’s schmoozing with whichever building firm, architect or land owner that Seb had to secure for their latest project, and Seb just signed his name on the dotted line that Stephen shoved under his nose. Seb had only been allowed to agree a yes or a no to the agency receptionist. So much for being in charge. He was barely in charge of how much milk was delivered each morning.
Natalie, filling up her usual litre bottle by the water cooler, widened her green eyes. “Good morning, sir.” She twisted the lid on the bottle. “I thought you were meant to be at the breakfast meeting with the architects? We’re all excited for this casino project.”
“Change of plan.” Seb rushed through the row of cubicles. “You’ll need to call shithead and tell him he has to do it.” He rammed his office door open with his shoulder. “And I need you in my office, pronto.”
He slid over the worktop of his desk and fired up his PC. All his contacts were stored within his personal drive only and he needed every single one of them. After a few minutes of Seb scrolling through the listings, Natalie tapped her knuckles to the open door. Seb ushered her in with a wave of his hand, then raced his fingertips across the keyboard.
“What’s the name of that security firm? The guys who worked for us on the hotel? They do the big jobs, right?”
“SSC?”
Seb snapped his fingers. “Yes!” He immediately went back to his screen. “Security Solution Corps. They do the sports stuff as well, right? Super Bowl?”
“I think so…” Natalie hugged her notepad to her chest.
Grabbing the landline phone, Seb held up one finger to Natalie as he awaited the answer. “Gordon? Gordon…” Seb squinted at the screen. “Kapowski. Hi, it’s Sebastian. Yeah, Saunders.” Seb scratched the end of his pen across his forehead. “Very well, yes, all going smoothly. Thanks for your help on that one. Listen, would your guys be running the security at the Red Bull stadium tonight?”
Seb paused, chewing his bottom lip. “That’s right, footb—soccer match.” Seb leaned forward and punched the air before regaining his composure. “Wonderful. Perfect. Listen, you wouldn’t happen to have any seats available, would you? Box seats. You know my father, nothing but the best…um, no, no, I haven’t bought tickets…” Seb’s shoulders dropped and he closed his eyes. “Yes. Of course. I understand. Sold out. Heightened security. Completely agree. No problem. Give my love to Mrs. Kapowski, will you?” Seb slammed the phone down, the ting bouncing off the receiver. “Bollocks!”
Natalie shuffled and cleared her throat. Seb ushered her farther in.
“Mr. Coles was a bit put out about the meeting today.” Natalie sat on the opposite chair, crossing her legs. She flicked the notepaper back to the previous page. “He told me to tell you that he will ‘pound your ass to kingdom come if you ever do this to him again, you shitting, fucking, selfish bastard.’ Sorry, his words, sir, not mine. Obviously.”
Seb chuckled. “I would love to see him try.” He pointed to the notebook resting on her lap. “You won’t be needing that. You only have one job today, everything else takes a backseat. I need you to find me a ticket to the Red Bulls match this evening.”
Natalie narrowed her eyes. “The soccer match?”
“Yes. I believe they are playing an English team. West Ham United. I need a ticket.” He softened his features for the delivery. “I can’t get in through without a ticket, heightened security since London, and I can’t find any available online, so you’ll have to do some ringing around. One of our contacts is bound to have a regular seat there. Or box seats. Anything. Whatever you can find.”
“It’s all sold out, sir. My boyfriend’s a Red Bulls’ fan and he tried to get tickets for the guys. No luck.”
“Your boyfriend’s a fan?” Seb clucked his tongue. “Would he happen to have any friends, acquaintances, fuck, even enemies, who might have tickets?”
“Um, I don’t know.” Natalie hesitated. “Maybe.”
Seb leaned forward, putting on the most authentic smile he could muster. “Be a sweetheart and call him to find out? I’ll pay you, and your boyfriend, if you find me someone who’ll sell me their ticket. Naming their price.”
“Naming their price?”
“Yes. Within reason. But I need that ticket, you hear?”
Natalie stood. “Never had you down as a soccer fan, sir.”
“I’m rediscovering my inner hooligan.” Seb picked up the receiver to his desk phone, tapping the keypad with the blunt end of his pen. “Thank you, Natalie.”
Natalie nodded, then left, leaving the office door open. Seb chewed his bottom lip while the phone on the other end rang. He was more than a little apprehensive about this call, but he couldn’t ask Natalie to do this contact for him. This one had to be Seb.
As the phone clicked to answer, the background noise of chatter, plates clanging and cutlery clinking spilled through the receiver.
“Moore’s.” The following accent was harsh, obviously English. Essex to be precise. But Seb couldn’t think about that right now.
“Rich?” Seb closed his eyes. “It’s Seb.”
“Seb who?”
Seb sighed, digging his finger into his eye socket. “Sebastian Saunders. From the Light House.”
“Oh, that Seb. Sorry, I didn’t recognise your voice what with not ever having heard it over a telephone line. I assumed you lived in the Dark Age and didn’t have one.”
“Sorry, Rich. I meant to call you but—”
“But you didn’t. It’s old, y’know, playing hard to get.”
“I wasn’t playing hard to get.”
“I know. Was it more impossible to get? My calls were only to see how you were, Seb. After exchanging bodily fluid with someone, it is only the polite thing to do, especially after the recent news.”
“I’m sorry.” Seb leaned back in his chair, feeling every bit of the feeble reply.
“So what do I owe the pleasure of your call then?”
“Do you have tickets to tonight’s match?”
“Oh, straight to business is it? Not even worthy of a bit of chitchat and sweet talk, no?”
Rich seemed lighthearted and jokey, but it didn’t stop Seb from feeling a heavy pit in his stomach. The trouble was, his guilt over the way he had treated Rich in no way outweighed the need to get to Jay.
“Come on, Rich. Are you going or not?”
“‘Course I’m going. I’m a Hammers fan living in New York who owns a bar called Moore’s. You think I wouldn’t be going to see them when they play the Red Bulls?”
“Can I buy your ticket?”
“No.”
“Name your price.”
“It’s priceless, Seb. Nothing would part me from this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Not even the promise of one of your earth-shattering blowjobs.”
Seb inhaled, sharply, and winced. He still had trouble remembering the night he and Rich had been together. He certainly didn’t remember any blowjob either way.
Rich chuckled. “Plus, it’s a great marketing push for the bar. So, no. Why? Can’t your boyfriend get you in?”
That last comment was a dig, and Seb bit down hard on his tongue not to retaliate.
“You must know someone who would be willing to sell me their ticket. I’ll pay through the fucking nose. Could you ask around for me, please? You know I’m good for the money.”
“How would I know that? We barely talked.”
“Don’t play that shit with me. You’ve clearly done your homework since then. There’s no way you would keep trying to contact me if you didn’t know my net worth. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you hadn’t known it before you approached me at the Light House. I certainly didn’t make it easy for you. What did you want? An extension on your bar? One of the business premises we’ve got on our books?”
Rich paused. Then he chuckled. “Fuck you, Seb. I actually quite liked you.”
“Really? See, my experience shows me that having money makes it real easy for people to like me, even if I act like a fucking wanker.”
Seb chewed the inside of his cheek. Perhaps that hadn’t been the best conversation in order to get the required outcome. He leaned back in his chair, clutching the phone and closed his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, apologise maybe, but Rich beat him to it.
“It’s a sell-out for a reason, Sebastian.” Rich’s voice was less playful, but more amicable. “Just call him up and ask. He’ll have box seats for relatives he could get you in on.”
“I can’t call him up when I don’t have his fucking number and the secret location of the team’s hotel is more heavily guarded than the Crown fucking Jewels. And not even my father’s name can get through the heightened security.”
“Look, I can’t help you. Why don’t you just come by the bar? Watch it here and I’ll meet you after if you like?”
Seb slapped his hand on his desk surface, rocking his chair from side to side. “No. I’m going to be in that stadium, one way or another.”
* * * *
“I’ve just had to leave my first ever marketing meeting to answer this, Ruttman. It better be good.” The familiar female voice blasted down the hotel room’s telephone receiver and Jay smiled.
“Like you weren’t just nursing a hangover, anyway.”
Ann grunted. “I think that’s what they should teach you in the placement module. How to get through work meetings when you got in at three a.m.”
“You can sleep at your desk.”
Seated against the unused twin bed in his hotel room, Jay clutched the bedside telephone to his ear. He had a few minutes before he was expected down at the front lobby to be transported to the training ground and then on to the Red Bull stadium for the evening kick-off, and found he wasn’t able to bottle everything up like he usually could. He needed to offload and tell someone everything that was swimming around in his head. That someone would always have been Ann.
“Spill.” The clomping heels of Ann’s shoes crackled through the phone. She was obviously stomping down some corridor to find privacy in her work placement office back in London. Jay probably shouldn’t have been calling her on her first day on the job, but she wouldn’t mind. She’d called him during many precarious situations.
“I saw him.” The admission made his chest tighten.
“And.” The slamming of a door echoed down the phone and her voice reverberated like it was in a tunnel. There was a distinct sound of a toilet flushing and Jay hoped that was someone else and the boundaries of their friendship hadn’t just been crossed by her taking a piss while talking to him. Although, with Ann, he never could be too sure.
“It was…” Jay paused, then sighed. “Like it always was.”
“Fireworks and puppy dogs?”
“Puppy dogs?”
“Yeah. Cute ‘n’ cuddly.” Ann grunted. “Puke fest.”
Jay snorted. “Yeah, but more than that.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Shit. I don’t think it was a good idea after all.”
“Why? You in trouble?”
“Yeah, course. But that ain’t what I mean.” Jay picked at the thread on his tracksuit trousers.
“Need I remind you of where I am again?”
“I’m in love with him.” Jay closed his eyes as if it would limit the emotional fallout to not actually see the words coming out of his mouth.
“I know you are,” Ann replied softly. “That’s not news.”
“How am I going to get over him?” Jay bashed his head against the wall behind. “It was your bollocking suggestion to look him up, remember? You said if I saw him again, he’d be all smarmy wanker from owning his own business. You said he’d have a string of Yank blokes ‘cause the Brit accent is like a fucking aphrodisiac over here and he won’t even remember my name.” Jay flopped his leg back down on the bed in exasperation. “Making it all easier for me to forget him and move on.”
Ann took a deep breath before replying. “Right. Okay. Hearing that back makes me sound like a bit of a bitch. I mean, I know I said all that, but with you saying it out of context and now I’m fucking sober, I realise that I may not have given the best advice.” She paused. “I guess then, by your annoying tone, that none of that is true?”
“No.” He closed his eyes as Seb’s glistening, taut and naked body sprawled out on the bed for him came to the forefront of his mushed mind. He quickly opened them again and cleared his throat.
“Any blokes?”
“That I don’t know. I don’t think so. Although…” Jay paused. “The condoms were used.”
“Eww!”
“As in the pack had been opened. And I think you need therapy that you even thought the other thing.”
“You said it.” Ann chuckled, then sighed. “An open pack of condoms don’t mean shit, Jay. So he may have had sex with someone else. It’s been a long time. Not everyone can tuck it back in their pants and ignore it.”
“I know.” Jay cut her off before she rambled any further. “Then there’s Stephen.”
“Can we please now refer to him as the Cunt?”
“Lucas’ll kill you for saying that word.”
“He’s not here.”
“Was he out with you last night?” Jay asked just to give him a break from thinking about Seb too much.
“Er, no, it was night time, remember? He turns into a sodding pumpkin.”
Jay laughed and it did actually help the tension in his shoulders to deflate a little.
“Come on, Rutters,” Ann urged. “What’s the beef with Stephen?”
“I saw him as I was leaving Seb’s place. He looked…” Jay hesitated, wondering what that could have meant. Stephen, outside Seb’s apartment with two cups of coffee in his hand and dressed impeccably in his expensive suit. Jay had heard the bitterness in Seb’s voice when he’d spoken about Stephen last night, but things could be different behind closed doors—closed doors at night. Maybe Seb did fall back into bed with him? Maybe he did it willingly. Maybe, perhaps even worse so, he didn’t. “Like he belonged.” Jay bashed his head to the wall.
“Again, that don’t mean shit. How was Seb with you? Was he pleased to see you? Was it straight into the bedroom, wham, bam, thank you, man? Or was there, y’know? Puppy dogs?”
“A whole pack of them, I’d say.”
“Isn’t it a litter? Or is that just kittens?”
“I don’t sodding know.”
“I’ll google it later. On the office PC.”
Jay chuckled and shook his head.
“So he was pleased to see you? No awkwardness?”
“Yes, he was pleased to see me and no, it wasn’t awkward at all.”
There was a pause from both sides of the Atlantic Ocean. Neither rushed to fill it.
“Well, squirt.” Ann broke the silence. “You’re screwed.”
A knock from behind the hotel door stopped Jay from responding with the affirmative. “Rutters? Bus.”
“All right, one sec.” Jay stood, the curly wire from the base of telephone box stretching to full capacity. “I gotta chip.”
“Go get ‘em, tiger.”
Jay laughed and went to put the receiver down.
“Jay?”
“Yeah?”
“It’ll work out for the best and whatever that is, I’m here.”
“Cheers, Ann.” He smiled. “Love ya.”
Ann sucked in a breath. “I love you too, squirt.”
* * * *
The elevator doors dinged open and Seb glanced up from behind his desk, clutching the phone to his ear as the annoying on-hold jazz music penetrated his skull. The sight of two unruly characters, mid-argument, scurrying into the reception area did pique his interest a notch, until the voices grew louder to wade through the open-plan office.
“All I’m saying is why couldn’t you wait until the plane was on the ground before getting your end off?” Martin bashed through the elevator’s glass doors, almost toppling over his large rucksack hitting the frame.
“Well jel.” Noah squeezed past Martin with his over-sized holdall slung over his shoulder.
Martin snorted. “As if. Just why do it in the toilets, man?”
“Mile high club.” Noah sucked his front teeth. “Can’t tell me you’re not itching to join.”
“No thanks. I’ll keep my private life private, ta.”
“So private it’s practically a one-seat-only show.”
“Fuck you. Least all the passengers on that plane were spared the sight of my arse. Yours, however, will be in the next issue of Emirates In-Flight weekly.” Martin approached Natalie at the front reception desk and smiled before shooting a comeback to Noah behind him. “Maybe next time you’ll remember to lock the fucking door.”
Noah chuckled. He fished out a pack of Nicorette chewing gum from his jeans pocket, popped one out of the foil enclosure and threw it into his mouth.
“Seriously, dude, you had a fag while waiting for the cab,” Martin declared.
Noah held out his hands and shrugged. “Do you see a cigarette in my mouth? No. Because you’re not allowed to smoke anywhere ‘round here.” Noah waved the foil pack. “These keep me mellow.”
“Jesus. This is mellow?”
Noah threw up a palm. “Don’t talk to me anymore.”
Martin snorted, then focused his attention back to Natalie. “We’re here to see Sebastian. Mr. Saunders.”
Noah stepped forward and winked. “No hurry, though, if you’re on a break or something. I’m parched. Could do with a coffee if you got some percolating somewhere?”
Martin rolled his eyes.
“Oh, um, no, he’s in. You are?” Natalie leafed through the pages on her desk.
“Martin Chang and Noah Fitzgerald,” Martin replied.
“Noah Fitz,” Noah corrected, narrowing his eyes at Martin. “Leave it at Fitz. Fitz-fucking-gerald makes it sound like I’m a fucking toff.”
Martin tutted. Natalie skimmed her forefinger down the list of names, nodded and smiled. “I’ll just go let him know you are here.” Standing, she brushed down her baby-pink pencil skirt.
“It’s all right, we know where to go.” Martin caught Seb’s gaze through the open office door and nodded in greeting. He swung his legs over the hip-heigh counter and Noah attempted to jump it after but, being five inches or so shorter, tripped his on the top, sending him tumbling to the floor and landing face down with his bag crushed on top.
Martin rolled his eyes. “Dickhead.”
“Meant to do that.” Noah jumped up and winked at Natalie.
Seb sniggered, just in time for the automated voice on the other end of the telephone to announce that all tickets to that night’s soccer game were sold out and the office was now closed, but it did wish him to ’have a great day’. Seb slammed the receiver down, leaned back in his chair and eyed his band mates bundling into his office.
Noah threw his bag down on the leather sofa against the side wall, and fingered the ornaments and stationery on Seb’s desk. “What? No hug? We’ve flown three thousand miles for a grope.”
Seb stood, plastered on a smile for them both and rushed around his desk. He flung himself into Martin’s open arms and they slapped each other on the back in a manly embrace. Twisting to face Noah, Seb winked and opened his arms, waggling his fingers.
“I was kidding about the groping.” Noah whacked Seb’s hand away. “You fucking know that.”
Seb chuckled. “What are you dickheads doing here?”
“You told us to come,” Martin replied, eyes narrowing. “You said there was a gig opportunity this weekend. You bought our tickets last month and said meet you here. Don’t tell me you didn’t clear it?”
“Shit.” Seb rushed over to the paper calendar on his desk and ran his thumb along for the right date. “Sorry. No, you’re right. There is a gig.” He ruffled a hand through his hair. “Just didn’t know what week I was in for a second. Lot’s been happening.”
“I know, man.” Noah slumped down on the sofa and sprawled his hands along the back. “Since Tuesday it’s been, like, numb. No one knows what day it is. Glad to be outta London.”
Seb nodded, biting his bottom lip. That hadn’t really been what he’d meant and he felt every bit the self-indulged bastard that he was.
“Tell.” Martin raised all-knowing eyebrows.
His best friend knew him too well. Legend. Seb opened his mouth to speak and rattle out, in detail, the past twenty-four hours, but a nervous clearing of a throat stopped him in his tracks. Natalie stood at the open door, clinging onto her notebook and chewing a pen.
“Come in, Natalie.” Seb waved his hand.
“Yes, Natalie, do come in.” Noah leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees and leered at Natalie.
Seb slowly shook his head, making threatening eyes at Noah. Natalie tiptoed into the middle of the office and Noah, finally catching on to Seb’s warning, held up his hands, protesting the rebuke.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I rang most of our clients and no one has a ticket to sell.”
Seb groaned and slapped his hands over his face. “And your boyfriend?”
Natalie bit her lip and shook her head.
“You said I’d pay anything, right?”
“Yes, sir, but it seems it’s a bit of a special game tonight.” Natalie winced.
“What’s going on, Saunders?” Martin raised his eyebrows.
Seb sighed and drummed his fingers over his knee. “Jay’s here.”
“Jay? Football Jay?” Martin confirmed. “Your Jay?”
“Yes.” Seb shrugged. “Although, it would be foolish to say he’s mine.”
“He plays pro, now, you know that?” Noah wriggled forward on the sofa with renewed interest.
“Yes, thank you, Noah. I am aware.” Seb rubbed his tired eyes.
“Probably earns a mint, now.” Noah tapped restless hands on his knees. “Drives one of those Bentleys, lives on caviar and shags a different supermodel every night.”
Seb glared across the room.
“You so missed out there.” Noah chuckled. “Oh, the effing irony. I can’t stay with him, he’s just a council estate nobody. I have to leave and earn my millions to get the band going. He’ll never be able to support me. Whoops, now the man’s on a pro contract and destined for a fortune that rivals the Saunders’ wealth.”
“Did I even say any of that?” Seb barked.
“Not to me.” Noah waved a flippant hand toward Martin. “To him you probably did.”
“Only speak when spoken to.” Martin pointed a warning finger at Noah.
“What?” Noah hung his mouth open in protest. “I’m sure he’s still fond of our Sebastian. When the bloke is getting a blowjob off one of those ditzy blonde wannabe footballers’ wives in the back of some uptown club, he is for sure thinking about our Seb.” Noah cackled and winked.
Seb screwed his face up and glanced away. The very thought made him nauseous. “Does that prick ever shut up?” He flapped a hand at Noah, who blew him a kiss back. “Fuck!”
Seb’s mind went into overdrive. Jay had said last night that he hadn’t been with any other men, but he hadn’t mentioned women and Seb knew Jay had a past there. Seb sighed. He was tired. And he wanted this conversation over. He needed to get on with the task in hand. Widening his puppy-dog eyes at Martin, he hoped their nine years of friendship might bring on a brief spell of telepathy.
“You saw him,” Martin stated.
Seb nodded the confirmative. “Last night.”
“And he bailed?” Martin arched an eyebrow. “Again.”
Seb stood and paced erratically behind his desk. “I get why he did. I do.” Seb inhaled. Am I right? “So I need to see him. Tell him I’m done here. He’s playing the Red Bulls tonight and I need in that stadium to get to him before he leaves.”
“Can’t you just call him?” Martin asked.
“He’s changed his number. Or it’s out of service. Do you not think I’ve tried that?”
“MySpace? Email?” Noah offered.
“He’s not on there and I only remember his uni email, which of course, I would hazard to assume, has since been ceased considering he no longer attends.”
“Proper underground, hmm? Guessing he’s got something to hide.” Noah cackled and leaned back in his seat, boredom obviously kicking in as he flicked his lecherous gaze on Natalie.
“You!” Seb pointed at Noah and hurtled around the desk. “You’ll have Ann’s number. I can call her!”
“Whoa!” Noah threw his arms up. “I don’t have a gigabyte memory big enough to keep the numbers of all my conquests.”
“She said no to you, dude.” Martin perched on the edge of the desk. “Like, a million times.”
Noah stuck the two appropriate fingers up. “All right. You think I keep the numbers of the very few girls who refused a night with the love machine?”
“Noah! I could fucking kill you.” Seb wrung his hands together, imagining throttling Noah’s neck and he wasn’t far off from attempting the task.
“Chill out.” Noah elevated his voice. “I’m sure Ann’s got a uni email—she still goes there. Message her.”
“Genius!” Seb jumped behind his desk, rolling his chair toward his computer and tapped the keyboard. Then he grunted and shoved the keyboard away. “Time difference! By the time she sees the fucking message, the match will be over.”
“Why don’t you just go sing the National Anthem?” Noah crossed one ankle over the opposite knee.
The room fell into a hush. Seb clucked his tongue as the cogs in his mind whirred. Then, swivelling his chair, he widened pleading eyes up at his better friend.
“No way.” Martin shook his head. “No bollocking way.”
“Come on, we could do it.” Seb mimicked playing the air guitar. “Rock out that Star Spangled Banner. We’d be awesome.”
“How, Seb?” Martin huffed. “If that even is something they do here at football games, then don’t you think they probably already have someone booked in to sing it? So, what? You want us to rock up with all our equipment and be like, hey, we’re a British band you’ve never heard of and yet unsigned, but ditch this famous person you got booked and let us rock your national anthem because our front man here has a boner for the man in the number ten shirt.”
“He wears a nine.” Seb sank back in his chair, deflated.
“Does he now?” Martin arched an eyebrow, nodding down at Seb’s wrist. “And there I was thinking that was due to nine years of friendship.”
Seb wriggled his jacket sleeve to cover the tattoo on his wrist.
Natalie stepped forward. “They do have someone singing it.” She smiled. “I know because I’m, like, such a huge fan and cannot wait to see her on Broadway.”
Seb arched an eyebrow.
“Sylvia Ricci. God, I love her so much.”
“Fuck off!” Seb slapped his leg, his skin pinching at the force.
Natalie gulped.
“Easy, Sebastian.” Martin slipped from the desk, palms facing out. “She doesn’t know the rules. It’s not her fault.”
“The rules?” Noah questioned.
“That no one is allowed to mention that name.”
“Who the fuck is Sylvia Ricci?” Noah asked.
Seb stood, his chair wheeling away and slapping the glass window behind with a fierce clang. “The fucking woman whose womb I emerged from.”