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“That’s a real thing?” I ask curiously.
“I used to think it was. Now I’m not sure…Now I’m questioning everything…I seriously can’t believe you’re gay.”
“Look, this doesn’t mean we’re going to start talking about gay shit, okay?” I tell him. “I don’t want to know about your sex life, and I’m not going to any bars in Soho. Or any parades. Or any—”
“I get it, you’re closeted,” he says wryly, holding up his hands. “Say hi to Mr. Tumnus for me.”
I roll my eyes. “Bloody hell, you’d get on great with Courtney.”
“Courtney?”
“My ex. Keegan’s mum.”
“She knows?” he asks curiously.
I shrug. “Yeah, of course.”
“But no one else? What about your family?”
“Courtney and Keegan are my family,” I say simply. “You’ll get to meet them on Saturday. Keegan’s pretty excited about it, actually. It’s his first time being a mascot for the team.”
I can’t hide the smile as I talk about my son, although I’d of course prefer it if he wanted to escortmeout onto the pitch and not the bloke currently sitting next to me.
“Well, no wonder he’s excited then. I got to be a mascot one time and I couldn’t sleep for at least a week beforehand. But, then my dad was never a champion Premier League player. I guess Keegan’s a lot more used to all the fuss, right?”
I shrug. “I suppose. We keep him out of it as much as we can, though. He comes down to training every now and then, and Gideon likes to do family things with the team. But mostly we try to keep his life as normal as possible.”
“So he doesn’t want to play football?” Archie asks curiously.
I let out a wry snort. “Oh, he does. But he’s eight years old. He’ll be having a normal childhood and a proper education before he decides on any of that.”
We come to Archie’s street and I follow the GPS until it tells me to stop at a modest townhouse. “This it?”
“That’s the one,” he says brightly. “Thanks for the lift.”
“Wait a second, I need to say something,” I tell him, holding him up as he starts to get out of the car.
He turns back to me, one leg out the door. “Yeah?”
“I need you to know that you cannot, under any circumstances, wear those tiny little shorts again,” I inform him.
His brows shoot up. “Were they…offensive to you?”
“What? No they weren’t offensive to me. Just don’t wear them again? Okay?”
A frown of confusion crosses his face, but he shrugs. “Okay, whatever. That it?”
I nod, feeling relief settle over me. “That’s it.”
He gets out of the car and offers a cheery wave. “See you tomorrow, mate.”
“I’ll be here to pick you up at eight,” I tell him. “Be ready.”
He startles. “What? No—it’s fine, I can—”
“Be ready,” I growl, and then lean over to pull the door closed before pulling away from the house.
Chapter eight
