Chapter Nineteen
The mattress dipped, the covers crumpling around his midsection, sliding off his naked body. Seb was about to protest at being subjected to the early morning cold air, especially when still reeling from jet lag and the copious consumption of red wine the previous night, but having Jay spoon beside him and exude his warmth over his skin, Seb decided to keep his mouth shut and instead curve his lips into a smile.
“I have to go,” Jay whispered into his ear.
Seb craned his neck to face Jay and pouted. Jay laughed. Twisting around, Seb landed in Jay’s arms and ground his body with Jay’s.
Snorting, Jay grabbed a handful of Seb’s arse and kissed him. “I really do have to go.”
“Then go.” Seb flung a leg over Jay’s hip and squeezed him close.
“I can see you’re going to get me into even more trouble.” Jay kissed him firmly on the lips, then rolled away and clambered out of the bed.
Resting his arms behind his head, Seb enjoyed the morning view of Jay bounding around the room naked. And, in some weird way, Seb had discovered he quite liked Jay when in full football kit, too. Who’d have thunk it? But the claret and blue training gear that Jay pulled on now served to remind Seb of what Jay would be dealing with.
“So, sorry to be a killjoy this early in the morning―”
“It’s midday, Seb.”
“What?” Seb craned his neck to check the clock. “Fuck. Jet lag’s a bitch.”
Snorting, Jay stepped into his shorts.
“Anyway, what your dad said last night, about coming out to your team. Do you plan to?”
Jay adjusted the strings on his shorts and faced the bed. “Is it important to you that I do come out?”
Seb shrugged one shoulder. “The people who need to know, know, right? The rest is up to you. I’ve sort of heard that it can be a touchy subject in those changing rooms.”
“Not just there. It’s more the stands I worry about.”
“Then whatever is good with you. I mean, if you say you’re not on the press radar, and, well, I’m certainly not either, then we have nothing to worry about.”
“It ain’t that I’m ashamed and I ain’t hiding you, or asking you to hide. It’s just…”
“Champ, I get it. I heard a little of what your dad was saying. We’ll keep a low profile.”
Jay smiled, his whole body seeming to relax from its stiffened state. “Monday night match day at home. Starts seven-thirty. So I’ll be back around eleven? Sorry it’s late. But give you time to sleep off the jet lag, yeah?”
“So, you do want me to just hide in here for you, then?”
“I’m game with anywhere.” Leaning down, Jay pecked him on the lips.
Before Jay could leave, Seb grabbed his arm and yanked him closer. “I love you.”
Jay smiled. “Back at ya.”
Seb drifted in and out of sleep for a while longer, not wanting to get up but also finding it hard to get back to sleep. Giving up, he kicked off the duvet, jumped into a pair of boxers and clambered down the stairs. On noticing the clock, he realised he’d slept a lot longer than he’d meant to as the time hit five-thirty in the afternoon. Rummaging through the cupboards for food to settle his now growling stomach, he noticed a note stuck to the sideboard by a mug with the black lettering ROCK GOD on the front along with a set of keys.
Seb chuckled.
I know you said no more notes, but this is important. Please don’t shove it up my arse. Keys—your set and £20 in case you have no UK cash yet. Match on Sky. J x
An almost painful smile erupted and Seb danced over to the kettle, singing a few new lines from a song he’d been tinkering with for a while. His plan for the rest of the evening was to put music to those lyrics using his trusty acoustic, then to find out if Martin had found him a Wendy replacement. The start of my new life.
The entrance buzzer bursting around the apartment thwarted his chances of getting straight on with that.
“Hi.” Ann grinned on Seb opening the door. “Jay said you’d be on your tod.”
Seb furrowed his brow.
“Tod Sloane?”
“Ah. On my own?”
“Bingo.”
Seb swung his arm gesturing for her to step inside. She curtseyed, then headed straight for the sofa.
“Make yourself at home.” Seb bounded back to the kitchen, flicking the kettle onto boil.
“Jay texted me, told me about what happened last night at the Ruttman dinner. Thought you might want to talk? And have you only just woken up, you lazy bastard? Love a tea. Second cupboard on the right. Mine’s the mug that says Fashionista.”
Crouching, Seb sifted through the cupboard. “So everyone’s got a personalised mug around here?”
“Yeah, it’s a Jay thing. He get you one yet?”
Seb held the cup in the air.
Ann snorted. “Least it don’t say kept man.”
Seb stuck his middle finger up over the counter, but he had an odd tightening in his chest. She wasn’t the first one to have said something like that. Shaking it off, he rummaged through the rest.
“I get that the Delivery Drivers Do It Late is Bryan’s and Yummy Mummy is Cheryl’s, but who’s Stop, Activate and Listen?”
“Tom’s.”
Seb stood. “Tom?”
Ann nodded.
“As in, ’Hi, I’m Tom, I want to suck your boyfriend’s dick and free the world of poverty while I do it?’” Even Seb thought that was a pretty damn good American accent. Clearly New York had rubbed off on him in more ways than one.
“Wow. That was like he was in the room.”
“Why does the Yank warrant his own mug in Jay’s apartment, might I ask?”
“They’re friends.”
“With morning beverage benefits?”
Ann shrugged. “You have any friends with benefits in New York?”
Seb turned his back on her. The less said about that the better, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know how Jay had renewed his friendship with Tom in Seb’s absence.
“Don’t panic.” Ann twisted around on the sofa. “Jay only cheated on me with Tom.”
Feeling like an arsehole, Seb made the tea and gathered up what he could find in the way of snacks. “Sorry, only thing I can find as a peace offering.” He handed down an open box of granola and sank into the seat beside Ann.
“I’m over it.” Ann shoved the granola to the side of the sofa and dumped her bag on her lap. “And, you’re in Jay territory now, which means a snack ain’t really a thing ’round here. But never fear, Ann is here. I come with supplies. Nipped into the Londis on the way here.” Ann yanked out a double packet of Jaffa Cakes and threw them onto the glass coffee table. “I only got those ’cause you can’t argue with a hundred percent extra free. Plus, Jay actually eats ’em so he won’t mind ’em in the house.” Rummaging farther, she pulled out a share bag of Cadbury’s Giant Buttons. “Share bag. So, obviously I got one each.” She chucked one at Seb.
Seb laughed. He could murder English chocolate right then.
“And, just ’cause I suspect you’ve got high-end tastes…” Ann waggled a tub of Haagen-Dazs ice cream.
“High end? I had the Billionaire’s Soft Serve from Selfridge’s once, y’know? Ninety-nine pounds’ worth of luxury ice cream, dusted with gold leaf and edible diamonds.”
“Taste any better than Pralines and Cream?”
“Nope.” Seb bounded out of his seat to the kitchen and returned with two spoons.
“We got about seven more minutes ’til we can get stuck into this baby.”
“Guess I’ll have to make do with the Buttons to start.” Seb ripped open the bag and shoved a fair amount into his mouth, humming as the chocolate melted within the warm tea. “One thing the Yanks do not do better, chocolate.”
“So they do other stuff better, then?”
“If that’s your ever so subtle way of snooping to report back to Jay if I shagged anyone out there, you’re shit out of luck. He already knows everything.”
“I know. He told me.”
“Naturally.” Seb swallowed the oozing chocolate. “Is there anything he doesn’t tell you? Just so I know how much about me and my life you already do know.”
“He keeps you to himself. He’s a gentleman. I know nothing about your sex life, well, except you’re both versatile. Probably nothing you deem private. But you sleeping with someone else? Yeah, he’s gonna mention that.” Ann rolled the tub of ice cream in her palms. “But I have it on good authority that nothin’ happened between Jay and Tom, or any other bloke, whilst you were fucking the whole of the Big Apple.”
“One man. One.” Seb shovelled in more of the chocolate to drown out the hazy memory and the guilt. “And he wasn’t even a Yank. He was a West Ham supporter, no less.”
Ann popped open the Haagen-Dazs lid, ran her finger through the side and licked off the melted cream. “That’s almost incest.”
Seb snorted. “What about you, then?”
“What about me?”
“You must have some serious self-control to have refused Noah.” Seb scooped a spoonful of the ice cream held in her lap. “The gent has a girl in every town we’ve gigged, but it would seem you didn’t succumb to the man’s charm.”
“A girl in every town, eh?” Ann shovelled in a spoonful of ice cream, taking most of the caramelised praline pieces, to Seb’s annoyance. “That, there, answers your question. And the fact I have a…Lucas.”
“A Lucas? Your boyfriend?”
“Yeah. Sort of.” Ann shrugged.
“Care to elaborate why there’s confusion?”
“Urgh.” Ann slammed her head back on the sofa. “We do nothing more than kiss and hold hands.”
Seb laughed, doing his best not to spit out the ice cream.
“I know. It’s pathetic,” Ann grumbled. “Normally, I’d have moved on. But I actually like him. Quite a lot. The irony of having a boyfriend I like but can’t have sex with, note the pattern forming there, against a guy who wants to sleep with me, but I can’t trust his arse as far as I could sling it.”
“Why doesn’t Lucas want to have sex with you?” Seb knew why Jay hadn’t wanted to, but surely she couldn’t be that unlucky twice?
“He’s a devout Christian. No sex before marriage type of thing. I know he wants to. Believe me. I can tell. But as soon as things get a little heated, he makes his excuses and leaves.” Ann ripped open a bag of crisps and shoved some into her mouth. “I swear I’m putting on a shit ton of weight in frustration alone.”
“Seduce him?”
“Do you not think I’ve tried?”
“Obviously you’re not trying hard enough.”
“Tell me how.” Ann widened her brown puppy-dog eyes, fluttering her perfectly curved eyelashes. “‘Cause I know you must have done that to Jay.”
Seb snorted, recalling how he managed to loosen up Jay and accept that sex wasn’t a sin. Okay, so that was Jay’s confusion on his sexuality and not to do with religious aspects, but still…
Ann whacked his leg. “Stop thinking about Jay and tell me.”
“Men are fickle creatures. Give us the right push and we’ll succumb to what rules our head most of the time.”
“But how?”
“Blowjob.” Seb spooned more of the ice cream, his lips surrounding the creamy contents and scraped it off the spoon.
Ann groaned. “How can I do that when he won’t even let me touch it above the jeans?”
“That’s half the fun.”
Ann wrinkled her nose.
“If you know, for sure, that he definitely wants it, then it’s easy enough. Of course, finding out if he does can sometimes take time.”
“Talking from experience, there?”
Seb arched one eyebrow. “When you’re dealing with closeted men, you have to develop a way of coercing them out.”
“Jay?”
“Not just Jay. But, yes, he was a particularly intriguing specimen.”
Ann waggled the spoon. “You’ve just referred to your boyfriend as a specimen.”
Seb chuckled. “He was, to start. More a challenge. The guy was screaming to be pulled out of that closet. He just needed the right hand.” He gave a brash wink, before his stomach fluttered. “Little did I know back then that I wouldn’t want to let go.”
Ann cocked her head. “Awww.” She then emulated throwing up. “Right, you can show me how to give the perfect blowjob.”
“Excuse me?”
“As giver and receiver, you can help me perfect. Jay never talks to me about this stuff.”
“Good, and I’m not sure I should be having this conversation with my boyfriend’s best friend. Ex-girlfriend.”
“I won’t tell him if you don’t.” Ann shoved his arm. “Come on, please. I need to get something soon before I seal back up.”
“And I certainly cannot even attempt to divulge this information sober.”
“No problem.” Ann bounded across to the kitchen and returned with an unopened bottle of gin. “Leaving present to him from the university lads.”
“I’m unemployed, technically homeless, and now drinking on a Monday.” Seb sighed. “I’m a fucking tramp.”
“Shut up. You’re a WAG.” Ann unscrewed the top and gulped a shot, waggling the bottle.
“Music.”
“What?”
“I need music. To get me through this, I need some banging tunes. Preferably loud.”
Ann smiled, grabbing the remote and clicking the plasma screen hung on the wall to MTV. Some soulful, scantily clad R&B female shook her booty and squealed out something incomprehensible from her ruby-red lips.
Seb grimaced. “I said music. Jesus fuck.” He switched off the television. “If this is what you two have been listening to during my absence, then I’m afraid, sweetheart, you have a lot to learn. I’m actually offended.” Finding his holdall still on the floor where he’d discarded it last night, Seb rummaged through and pulled out his homemade CD. He grinned and threw it to Ann. “That, there, is what you should be listening to.”
Flicking the case over in her hand, Ann raised her eyebrows. “You design this?”
“Yes.” Seb slumped back on the sofa and dumped his feet up on the coffee table. “Back home, I had my own studio and graphic software. Not that any of it got me anywhere. Without a label behind you, it’s nigh-on impossible to get noticed.”
Ann popped the CD into the player, and the invigorating burst of electric guitar, deep base and pounding drum licks washed over Seb. He tapped his feet, bopping his head as his own voice raged out of the speakers. This was good shit.
“It’s good.” Ann bobbed her head. “You’re good.” She sat beside him, swigging more from the bottle and passing it over. “You gonna gig again now you’re back?”
“Hope to.” Seb downed a fair amount, the sting travelling down his throat. “If I can get a guitar.”
“What happened to yours?”
“Long story.”
“Ask Jay to get you one?”
Seb shook his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “No. I’m not here for his money. I’m here for him. I’ll figure it out.”
“Y’know, I think indie is the way to go anyway.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Ann twisted in the seat. “I did a whole semester on indie marketing and used some of it on my placement. Okay, so it’s fashion I work in. But it’s all about getting to the biggest audience as cheaply as you can. Did some research on this fashion designer who uploaded her pics online, got a following that way. She now designs for the big department stores. You could use My Space for example. Upload your tracks, get a following. Do it your way. Then you’ll get the producers coming to you.”
Seb raised his eyebrows. He’d used My Space, knew it could work, but hadn’t spent much time on it due to being stuck at Saunders & Son. Now, he supposed, he had the time. Oodles of it. With one last glug of gin, Seb dropped the bottle and slapped Ann’s leg. “Come on, I’ll show you move one. Dancing.” He stood and held out his hand.
“I thought this was more jump around mosh pit loon music, rather than dancie?”
Seb laughed, clicked the CD to the next track and waggled his hand. She grabbed it and he tucked her in close.
“You know you’re practically naked?”
Seb chuckled. “If you manage to get me poking, I’d say you’re ready to be let loose on your boyfriend.” He swayed his hips to the beat, curling a hand around her back. “Just not mine, okay?”
After half a bottle, and a few dancing lessons, they both collapsed into a heap on the floor next to the sofa and giggled.
“All right, so I got the moves.” She shoved the near-empty bottle under Seb’s nose. “Now show me.”
Seb pushed the bottle away. “I am not showing you. Besides, a bottle is not comparable to an erect penis. Or even a non-erect one that you are trying to get erect.”
Ann huffed.
“Everyone’s different. People like and respond to different things. A tongue, a suck, a lick, a tease, a gulp. You have to try them out before you know what gets the guy off.” Seb took a swig from the bottle, the fire hit trickling down his throat easier now it had numbed. “I had one guy who only really liked the head being sucked. He’d hold it at the tip and wouldn’t let me go any farther. Then I had another one who rammed the whole thing down my throat until I choked. My suggestion, start slow. Lick around it first. Tease it. Let your tongue feel every bump and crevice. And don’t forget the balls, or the skin underneath—they’ll let you know he’s enjoying it. And so should you be. There’s nothing worse than having someone down there who isn’t getting off on it as much as you are.”
Ann nodded, completely engrossed as if she were making mental notes. Seb cracked out a laugh, before turning more serious.
“But, honestly, you should respect his wishes. There’s a fine line between seduction and manipulation.” Seb grabbed the bottle and swigged, attempting to rid his head of the swirling thoughts of him as an eighteen-year-old. “If you really like him, you should wait until he’s ready, willing and able.”
Ann nodded, snatching the bottle back. “Would you wait for Jay? If he told you to wait until you were married, would you?”
“Yes. And I’d marry him tomorrow.” Seb shrugged. “But as that’s not technically legal, I guess I should be thankful that I’m not in your predicament.”
A buzz from the front door prevented Ann from asking anything more. The look on her face suggested she was quite shocked by Seb’s admittance. So was he, to be honest.
“Bollocks.” Seb launched up from the floor. “What’s the time?”
Ann checked her watch. “Half seven.”
Seb yanked open the front door and behind Martin grinned, holding up a bottle of champagne. “House warming.”
“And we made the kick-off, right?” Noah peeked out from behind Martin, holding onto a six-pack of beer.
Smiling, Seb threw himself at Martin and slapped him on the back. They stopped short on seeing Ann slumped on the floor by the sofa nursing an empty bottle of gin.
“You started without us.” Martin widened his eyes.
“Her fault.”
“Sure it is.” Martin slammed the champagne on the glass table, shuffling out of his jacket. “You forget how well I know you, Saunders.”
Seb slapped a hand to his chest, mouth gaping in full innocence. “I’m a changed man.”
“Are we watching the match?” Noah dumped the beer on the table, unhooked one and cracked it open. He then handed it to Ann with a wink. “Or are we rocking out? Remember it’s open mic night at Twinnies? We need to get showing our faces there again.”
“Good call. But, game first.” Seb grabbed the champagne, ripping off the foil wiring. “I think that’s my duty as a WAG.” He furrowed his brow. “HAB? Whatever.”
* * * *
Jay sat beneath his number nine, dressed in his full starting line-up of claret and blue football kit. His knee bounced, the studs on his boots clattering on the charcoal coloured linoleum floor. Sergio, out front, ran off his usual pre-match speech, which basically whittled down to give Ruttman the ball and allow him the space to score. Jay tried to focus on his gaffer, or at least on the whiteboard that squeaked with each strike of the blue pen, drawing circles and lines to where the team should be when playing against Tottenham.
Trouble was, Jay kept catching Bruno’s eye across the changing room. The bloke was staring at him. Looking through him. Seeing through him. After a fierce clap from the coaching staff, all eleven men launched up from their bench and belted out a raucous applaud in motivational, and tribal, ritual. Jay stamped his feet, adjusted his shin pads and bolted out of the changing room to join the rest in the tunnel. He stood in the line, directly behind Bruno as the captain leading them out, and gripped the hand of the kid beside him. The boy, no more than ten, in a replica kit of Jay’s with the name Ruttman plastered on the back, grinned up him, face full of fascination and excitement. Not only because he’d obviously won the competition to be a match-day mascot, but because Jay was his hero.
“You all right, kid?” Jay had to raise his voice over the echoes of male voices in the tunnel and the chants from the crowds outside.
The boy nodded and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Are you going to score today?”
“I hope so.” Jay ruffled the kid’s hair. “You play?”
“Yep! I want to be just like you when I grow up.”
Jay smiled, his heart warming. Heaving in a deep breath, Jay was ushered out onto the pitch with the rest of the team and his super-fan jogged alongside him toward the starting line. Home game meant the stadium was packed out with claret and blue, the songs belting out from the stands were West Ham in nature and the atmosphere full of enthusiasm and hope. Jay lived for this.
The coin toss confirmed that West Ham would start with the kick-off. Jay ran out to the centre circle, ready to start the match. Bruno stood opposite him, catching his eye. The fans merged their boisterous singing of the West Ham favourite of I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles, into their newest chant. The one Jay had heard from the stands on every match since New York. The one about him. Ruttman’s once, twice, three times a scorer.
The referee dropped the ball to the centre circle, whistle to his lips.
“See.” Bruno jumped on the spot. “They love you. You wanna ruin that?”
The whistle pierced through the stadium. Jay tapped the ball across to Bruno, then ran to the opposite half, getting into position to receive the ball back. No, he didn’t want to ruin that. What he wanted was to prove he could be all they wanted, as well as being who he wanted.
And he did that by scoring.
Ninety minutes passed by in a flash. Two-one to West Ham, with Jay scoring both. Changed and heading toward his car, he floated on a high. Not even Bruno’s wide eyes at him in the car park as he got into his own deep-grey Mercedes Benz AMG CLS and sped off the tarmac could ruin the mood. He’d played football, he’d scored, and now he headed home to be with Seb. Shame it was so late, but at least he could just slip back into bed beside him.
Parked in his closed-off apartment space, he flicked the keys around his finger and bounded up the stairs to the top floor. Loud music drifted down the corridor, music Jay recognised. A voice he recognised. Letting himself into the apartment, Jay stopped short. Seb, stood on the coffee table, mid air guitar and dressed in his performing outfit of dark jeans and ripped vest with hair tinted blue at the spiky tips. He mouthed the lyrics to the rock song blasting through the speakers from Jay’s old CD player whilst sliding along the glass coffee table, sending glasses and beer cans to the floor. Ann and Noah were mid rock dance, and Martin slouched on the sofa, tapping his hands on his knees while sipping from a glass of Jay didn’t know what. Jay marched over to the CD player and switched it off, sending the apartment into silence.
“I don’t just get you, do I?” Jay threw his keys onto the coffee table beside Seb’s All-Stars. “I get the whole sodding band.”
Noah pointed a finger. “Better believe it, baby!”
Seb leapt from the table, almost falling off it, then sauntered over to Jay with an obvious swing in his hips. Ignoring the intoxicated slip, Seb clasped his hands around Jay’s neck and kissed him.
“Get changed, Champ—we’re going out.”
“Where?”
“I’ve done my duty. I watched your match. Well done, by the way.” Seb stepped back, flicking up his hair. “Now, your turn. Open mic night, Twinnies. You’ve got exactly half an hour to make yourself beautiful.”
“And several units of alcohol to match up to you lot.”
Seb fished out a crumpled banknote from the back of his skin-tight jeans and shoved it into Jay’s front pocket. “Thank you. The gesture was sweet. But I am not here for your money. I’m here for you.”
“Seb, it was twenty quid.”
Seb waved him off and danced back to the CD player to ram the volume back up. Shaking his head, Jay trundled to his bedroom to change. As much as he had wanted Seb all to himself, he could quite use a night out. One that wasn’t filled with dread, apprehension or fear. Just a night with friends, letting off a bit of steam and enjoying his new life with his boyfriend. And Twinnies was a busy joint, not really popular among football fans, or players for that matter. He could hide in the shadows and let Seb work his own crowd.
A District Line tube ride later, all five shoved themselves to the front of the long queue and discovered that it wouldn’t be a night filled with Seb’s potential fans. Twinnies had not only changed management in the past year, to Seb’s utter dismay that his name couldn’t get him through the doors, but also their schedule of activities. The Kensington haunt now played dance, electric dance, and pop.
“Fuck it.” Seb scratched the back of his neck and shrugged.
“We’re here now.” Noah bundled up to the girl operating the entrance desk, and after a couple of whispers in her ear, waved the others inside.
The bass thumped so loud it reverberated through Jay’s chest. An onslaught of bodies all moved fluidly, en masse, amongst strobe lighting and fake puffs of steam. This was the kinda place he hated, where he felt claustrophobic. The kinda place he avoided. But Seb wriggled his hips in front of him, bopping to the heady beat, and manoeuvred his way through the throng.
“I’m just about pissed enough to dance to this shit,” Noah yelled and grabbed Ann’s hand to drag her to the centre of the dance floor.
“I’ll get the drinks in.” Martin scooted over toward the nearest full bar.
Jay leaned to shout in Seb’s ear. “I’ll go help him.”
Seb grabbed his hand. “You’re not getting away that easy, Champ.”
Jay swallowed, his chest fluttering. “Told you, I don’t dance.”
Seb smiled. “You do with me.”
Jay found his body gave in to Seb’s demand, or was it his seduction? Whatever it was, it had Jay under his spell and he drank in Seb leading him through the sea of bodies to the middle. It was as if the crowd parted for him, like they knew he was a star in the making and deserved to be centre stage.
As Seb spun and met his gaze, it was impossible for Jay to remain still and he moved by default, awkwardly bashing into those around him. Until Seb edged closer, through will or force Jay didn’t care, and wrapped his arms around Jay’s neck to grind their bodies together. Seb controlled him, allowing Jay to swing along to a beat he’d never normally hear. Instinctively, Jay smoothed his hands down Seb’s back and pulled him closer. He breathed him in. Seb’s spicy scent outclassed any other from the mass of people around them, and it fired Jay’s gut. Brushing his forehead to Seb’s, Jay’s gaze never wavered from the deep brown doe-eyes that focused on him, and him alone.
Not even when the flash of a camera illuminated the darkened scene.