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Chapter seven
Tom
ArchieMilliganneedstowear more clothes. It’s bad enough that he’s always wearing jeans and t-shirts two sizes too small for him, but now he’s out in public in shorts so tiny you could give him a prostate exam, and a crop top that shows off every one of those incredibly sculpted abs.?
It’s as though he’s deliberately trying to torture me; although I don’t see how that’s possible. There’s no way he could know the truth about me. Right?
Whatever the reason, the result is that I’ve turned into a barely-functioning basket case because of the display he’s putting on. So now I’m spending what is supposed to be a fun night out trying to convince my dick it’s not interested, while simultaneously unable to tear my eyes from the kid for more than two seconds, and also trying not to let any of my teammates figure out why I’m such a fucking mess right now. Fortunately, everyone is well on their way to drunkville, so their powers of observation are limited. And the waves of hostility I’m giving off are keeping everyone at a safe distance, which I think is helping.
But, bloody hell, why does he have to be wearing that outfit? It’s going to be seared onto my brain now. Tomorrow morning at training all I’m going to see when I look at him is those tiny little shorts and all those lickable abs.
Under normal circumstances I’d simply duck out of a situation I was this uncomfortable in, but I can’t do that now. This is player initiation and according to everyone at the club, I’m a ‘leader’ on this team. So I park myself at the bar, sipping on a coke and wishing for something stronger, as I watch the players make gits of themselves up on the stage.
And then, finally, it’s Archie’s turn. He takes to the stage to rapturous cheers from the now very intoxicated players, performing a dainty air-curtsy once he’s up there.
Then he turns his back on the crowd, and as the song begins to play, he starts moving his hips from side to side, shaking his barely-covered arse in the air.?
“Fuck me,”I groan under my breath, tearing my gaze from the stage for a moment, genuinely worried I’m about to cream my jeans.
It is anincrediblearse. This is hardly the first time I’ve noticed, but I’ve never had it put right in front of me and shaken around in tiny denim shorts before.Bloody hell.
Before I can lose my shit completely, the words start and Archie bounces around to face the crowd, one arm thrown wide as the other holds the mic up so he can belt out the song—incredibly out of tune.
And now it’s time for the abs show. Wonderful.
I really need to not think about how good they’d look covered in my cum.
By some miracle, I manage to survive the performance, breathing out a heavy sigh of relief once it’s over.?
“Can I do another one?” Archie asks when Robbie steps up to take the mic.?
Robbie grins and turns to the other lads. “He wants to do another one!”
Everyone cheers as though they’re in the studio audience ofX-Factor, prompting Archie to beam.?
“It’s not a girl band, though—does that matter?” Archie asks Robbie.
“What do you think, lads?” Robbie calls out.
Then Davey shouts. “One more song!”
And suddenly everyone is chanting, “One more song! One more song! One more song!”
“Bloody hell,” I mutter. “He’s not Bono. This isn’t Wembley.”
“Alright, then,” Archie says as he cues up the song. “This is dedicated to my training partner, Mr. Tom Whitford.” He throws a hand out to gesture at me.
Everyone cheers yet again, and then the song title comes up on the screen and I groan. “Why Can’t We Be Friends?” by Smashmouth.
Not only is it an incredibly annoying song that I’ll probably have stuck in my head for a week, but I hate that he’s calling me out on my behaviour in front of the whole team. Not that I don’t deserve it, I suppose. I did apologise just today and then turn around and act like a prick all over again.
“He just wants to be mates,” Alex says reasonably, pulling up a stool beside me. Unsurprisingly, he’s not remotely as blotto as the rest of the lads. “You could give him a chance. He’s a good bloke.”
I let out a grunt of annoyance and take another sip of my coke. IknowArchie’s a good bloke. That's why I apologised to him this morning. I don’t apologise to just anyone. Most people deserve it when I’m an arsehole to them. But I still can’t wrap my head around the idea of just being mates. Mates don’t want to rip their mate’s tiny denim shorts off and suck on their cock.?
Fucking hell.No. No. No. I’m not attracted to him. I’mnotattracted to him. He’s a bloody child for fuck’s sake.Nineteen years old.I’m such a bloody perve.
“I apologised to him today, didn’t I?” I grumble.
