“And how is Aaron AJ Johnson going to respond today after Kyle’s debut Hat trick for Union?”
“Up until I heard that, I was convinced it was a dream.”
“And how do you know it isn’t still?”Trish asks, not moving from her chair.
I eye her ‘snacks’ and say, “If I was dreaming, that would be chocolate and not something packed with a million proteins that taste like dirt.No offence.”
“None taken.You’re the one paying me,” she says, and flashes me a wink.
“Touche.”
I take a handful of Trish’s carefully craftedstuff,and settle onto the sofa just as the game kicks off.Every time the camera focuses on AJ—which is a lot, because how could it not, especially now with his new look?And he has definitely been working out more too.The shorts are so tight around his ass the match should be on primetime.Not that I’m complaining.Despite my anger toward him, I cannot say he doesn't look good.Which is all the more frustrating.
“What do you think of AJ’s new look?”Trish probes.
“He’s either going for The Beckham or The Foden, but what he really should be focusing on is The Thurston.”
“Oh, should he now?”
“You know what I mean, stop being, whatever you’re being.”I fold my arms and try to focus on the match, my tone on the edge of stoic.
“But you miss him, though?”
“He’s a cheater,” I say flatly, making sure to remove all emotion from my voice.AJ is just another person who has let me down.And I should have known not to give him a chance.Let the world in, and they piss on you.
“Is he, though?We both saw him tumble over his own feet.”
“He was always a clumsy guy.We had a tally once, how many times he’d fall over his own feet in a day.Nine.Nine times in one day.He said it was because his feet were too big for his body.Back then, he was smaller than me, now he’s this giant,” I say wistfully at the memory, again, despite my better judgment.As much as I want to be mad at him, it’s—well, it’s complicated.I curse myself for trying to defend him.It’s like my mind is at war with my heart.I hate it.I was better off without feelings.
“Is it true what they say about guys with big feet?”Trish says, now sitting on her knees on her chair, chin on elbow, looking at me, invested.
“A guy never kisses and tells.”I do however, yawn, stretch my hands out in a knowing gesture, and Trish screams with delight.I allow myself a smile at the memory.At the feeling.
“And that’s goal number one for AJ.What a start.What an unstoppable goal.The way he shrugs off not one, but two defenders, then shifts his body to the righ, and drills the ball low and hard into the bottom corner.You can’t teach that.That’s something you’re born with.”
“Stare much?”
I covertly wipe some drool from my chin.
“I was admiring the goal,” I say, wholly unconvincingly.
“Look, your tough-guy moody act might work with the press and other people, but your family and I can see through it.”
“I don’t have a tough-guy moody act.”
“Sure, you don’t.And you didn’t score a hat trick for Union on your debut today.”
I grunt something and focus back on the game.
After three games of the season, there is no escaping the comparisons between AJ and me.From the TV to the newspapers to online, everyone is calling us the “Golden Boys.”Some less nice people have started calling us the “Gay Boys”—so original.So funny.So fucking childish.
Some parts of social media has been particularly sewer-like.
StefaHowzer3234: Why are we even comparing these queers?
WokeAgenda: I don’t know if AJ and Kyle are the two gay players, but can we please stop making people gay?We didn’t have gay players back in my day.
But for every bigot, there are some nice people:
