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So many interviews.?I don’t usually mind the press, but I’ve been at it all week and to be honest I’d prefer to just relax today and enjoy a nice Sunday. No such luck, however; not only do I need to turn on the charm for Tim Farrier and Billy Benson a little later on, but I’m also about to be dragged into a promo shoot for the network to use whenever they cover our games.
And I really hate promo stuff.
I know it comes with the territory of being lucky enough to be a professional footballer, but I always feel so bloody stupid just walking towards the camera and trying to look all menacing just so the network has a graphic of me to flash up on the screen while the pundits run through all my stats. I’m not a menacing person so I just end up looking constipated.
This is pretty exciting, though; a fresh start for me. I’ve spent so much time in queer-friendly spaces online, and with my friends and family, who have always been supportive of me, that it became a little too easy to forget that it’s not everyone’s reality. But that all changed when I was outed recently. The less-than-enthusiastic reaction from my old teammates, definitely brought reality crashing back.
But it’s okay because that’s all in the past. I’m not going to lie and say it wasn’t shitty as hell to walk into the locker room and have my teammates all rush to cover themselves up. Or to be told by the team’s owner that I’d be a better fit somewhere else. But I’m a?glass –half-full kind of guy, and as far as I’m concerned, they all did me a favour. Because now I get to play for my dream club.
Not only am I playing for an LGBTQ-friendly team—or at least I’m hoping they’re as LGBTQ friendly as their owner is making them out to be—I’m playing for Croydon Pride F.C.?
Pride fucking F.C.
I’ve supported this team since before I was even born. My mum said that the first thing my dad did when he found out she was pregnant with me was buy a baby Pride F.C. kit.
Nineteen years later I’m going to be running out at Farleigh Road stadium—or “The Rock” as it’s become known since a certain l?ion-themed movie shot to popularity well before I was born. My dad will be proper happy to see me in the orange and navy, that’s for sure.?
And what’s more, I’m going to be playing alongside Tom Whitford, one of the best strikers in the league. An absolute legend. I wonder if he’ll sign a football shirt for me? One of my retro ones from the late noughties. I admire his skill but I’m not going to deny I also find him attractive. What football-obsessed gay teen hasn’t had a wank while watchingMatch Of The Day?
Think of the devil.As though conjured by my thoughts, I see Tom Whitford’s incredibly attractive face pop up on the telly, which is mounted on the wall in the green room and tuned intoSportsday,the programme currently airing on Sky Sports. Thinking I might have somehow developed magic wish-granting powers, I try to convince Tom to take his shirt off. No such luck though.
Oh well, there goes that dream.
I can’t hear what they’re saying because the volume’s off, but I can only assume they’re discussing his fantastic game last night.
I manage to tear my eyes away when they cut to a clip of game footage. And that’s when I notice Paul is looking at me, eyebrows raised expectantly. Shit, I totally forgot he asked me a question ages ago.
“What were you saying?”
He lets out a breath of amusement. He’s well and truly used to my scattered ways. “I asked how you’re feeling.”
I draw in a breath and give an enthusiastic nod. “I’m excited. This move is going to be perfect for me.”
Paul rolls his eyes. “And now how about you answer as though you’re actually talking tomeand not one of the thousand journalists you’ve had to interact with this week.”
I sigh. “Okay, fine. I’m a little nervous about the interview,” I admit, rubbing my sweaty hands on my dark wash jeans. “Worried I’ll let out a swear word, or say something completely daft, or ramble on too much. And you know how much I hate promo stuff.”
“You’ve done plenty of interviews and you rarely slip up.” Paul smiles reassuringly. “And the promo spot won’t take long. They’ll want it all wrapped up in plenty of time for you to go on for the last two segments of the show. And once this is all done you’ll be on your way to The Rock for your meeting with Vinnie and Gideon.”??
Right. Vinnie Bishop and Gideon Collier, Croydon’s manager and owner. I’ve met Gideon before, when I was working out the details for my contract, but this will be my first time meeting my future coach. I’m excited, but also nervous as hell. He’s the guy who’ll be deciding whether or not I actually get a game, after all.
“Do I have to glare at the camera for the promo thing?” I ask warily. “The Lancaster PR team wanted us looking really intense when I did it with them. I spent the whole season walking towards the camera looking like I needed to take a shit.”
“Pride are happy for you to smile,” Paul assures me. “Just don’t do something stupid like tuck your shirt into your shorts and walk with a limp.” He looks at his watch and frowns. “Shit. They’ve been keeping us waiting for a while. I’m going to go see if I can find someone.” And then he’s off, switching into fix-it mode as he leaves the green room to sort out the delay.
I pull my phone out and start absently scrolling through it. It seems I’m pretty popular today. Tweets, texts, tags. Everyone wants to comment and congratulate me on my move to Croydon. Well, almost everyone. As usual, I’m just going to ignore the trolls who visit my various accounts to spread their hate. It sucks, but there’s nothing I can do about it so I’m determined not to let it get to me.
Paul’s been gone a few minutes when I hear the door of the green room slam open. I glance up and my jaw nearly hits the floor. It’s Tom fucking Whitford. In the flesh.
And what amazing flesh it is. I know I’m staring, but I can’t seem to tear my eyes away, because everything about him is just...wow.His light blue t-shirt does nothing to conceal the hard muscles of his long, lean chest. Thick thighs fill out his grey jeans, and I bet if he turned around those jeans would be fitting snugly around the arse I’ve been drooling over for years. And it’s not just his body; the man is gorgeous with his wavy, golden blond hair just kissing his nape, and the sexy frown that is often etched on his face. And those eyes. Bloody hell, they’re so blue. I don’t even care that they’re narrowed into a glare. Or that, right now, his frown is aimed right at me.
“Hello, I’m Archie Milligan.” I say, giving a cheery wave before holding out my hand.?
“Yeah, I know who you are,” he says gruffly, making me feel like the biggest tit in the world as he ignores my hand and walks past me to sit in the plush armchair Paul not long vacated, and starts scrolling through his phone.?
Well, this is fun and in no way awkward. My cock doesn’t seem to register the disappointment, however, as it gives a little twitch at the sound of that rough, husky voice with its slight Northern burr. ‘Geordie accent’ and ‘sexy’ aren’t words that generally go together, but this guy pulls it off. Just like I’d like to pull him off.
Okay. Mind. Gutter. Disengagenow.
