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“I just want you to know you can check me out if you want to,” Koen Vizser says with a really sweet expression.
“Umm…thank you? I guess, but, Koen-”
“It’s Viz,” he corrects. “Everyone calls me Viz.”
“Okay then. Well—"
“You can check me out too,” Massimo di Costa, one of the fullbacks, says. “Sometimes I need it.”
“Yeah, it’s nice to feel wanted every now and then,” Davey Carlisle agrees.
They all look at me and I turn to Vinnie, who is just staring at his team with his usual stoic expression.
It’s Alex Williams who steps forward to reassure me. “They’re just trying to be welcoming in their own incredibly inappropriate way.” Then he turns back to his teammates. “Don’t you idiots remember anything from the talk Tom and I had with you all yesterday afternoon?”
I blink in surprise. Tom was involved in some kind of ‘Be Nice to Archie’ talk? That’s…unexpected.
“You told us not to be pricks,” Davey says with a shrug. “I don’t see anything prickish about offering my body up for his viewing pleasure.”
I snort. “No offence, mate, but it’s not that pleasurable.” Alright, that’s not entirely truthful; Davey’s cute, but he’s so far beyond my type it’s laughable. Besides, I need to nip this whole checking-my-teammate-out thing in the bud.
Davey’s mouth falls open in obvious dismay. “You’ve got to be joking, boyo—have you seen this arse?” He turns around and lifts the back of his shirt, running a hand over his bum.
I just shake my head wryly.
“Forget about it, bubby,” Viz says, giving Davey a playful nudge. “I already told you, no one wants to look. Look how scrawny—you need some meat on these bones.”
“I’m not scrawny, I’mlithe,” Davey protests. “At least I’m not a furball.”
Viz folds his muscular arms over his chest and juts his chin, showing off his full beard. “Lots of gay men like hairy guys. I’d be called a bear.”
“What, and you think gay men don’t like twinks?” Davey presses.
“Why the fuck do you even care?” Robbie Sexton drawls. “Viz, aren’t you going out with that girl fromLove Island?”
Viz just blinks at him. “Yes…so?”
Robbie throws up his hands in obvious defeat.
“What the fuck are we all still doing here?” Tom growls “The kid said his piece, so let’s go fucking train.”
As though his words are like a starting gun, everyone jolts to attention and starts clattering about, getting into their training gear. I glance around at the cubbies, looking for my one. I spy the number twenty-three spot, which already has “Milligan” printed below the number. And, of course, right next to it, is “Whitford” at number twenty-two.
Alright then.?
I make my way over and pull out the training kit I was given last night. Once I’m fully dressed, I glance around and see if anyone looks like they might be the kit manager. A guy about my age rushes over with his kit trolley.
“Hey Mr. Milligan, your sponsor sent over training boots.” He pulls a box out of the trolley and hands them to me.
“Thanks, mate.” I offer him a smile, which promptly makes him blush. “Call me Archie.”
“Okay. No problem. Archie.”
“And what’s your name?”
“Um…it’s Rory.”
I quirk a brow at him, my lips twitching with amusement. “You seem a little unsure about that.”
