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“Serves you right. What were you saying about the Europa League?”
“I said, I think fucking you bare might be better than getting into the Europa League.”
“Yeah? Maybe I need to test this hypothesis, with me fucking you.” He rolled us over again. Our chests pressed together as he kissed me, so softly it gave me butterflies. “What do you say?”
There was only one acceptable answer. “I say yes.”
41
JORDAN
“Theodore Lewin, I presume?” My dad raised a brow at my boyfriend.
“Shut up, Dad. You know exactly who he is.” I elbowed him as I pushed past him into the house, and he laughed.
“Sorry, sorry. Theo. Welcome. Does anyone fancy a cuppa?”
“I’d love one if you’re making one,” Theo said politely, following me into the hallway. My dad ushered us into the kitchen, and I noticed Theo staring around curiously. When my dad began preparing the tea, he turned to me. “I really like this. It feels…welcoming. It’s a proper home.”
He was right. It did, and it was. It wasn’t anything special to look at, just a small two-bedroom terrace, but it was where I’d grown up, and to me, it would always feel like home. Maybe one day in the not-too-distant future, Theo and I would have our own place that we could make into a home of our own.
“I’d show you my old room, but there’s nothing left to see. Dad turned it into his home gym. I feel so betrayed.”
My dad cuffed me around the head. “Shut it, you. I seem to remember you telling me I needed to do something for my health, and it was you that bought and assembled all the gym equipment.”
“Excuse me for caring about your health, old man.”
He pointedly ignored me, turning to Theo instead. “Milk? Sugar?”
“A dash of milk, no sugar, please. Thank you.”
Aww, my boyfriend had such good manners.Suck-up, I mouthed to him, and he glanced over at my dad to make sure he wasn’t looking before showing me his middle finger.
Did I say my boyfriend had good manners? I was wrong. He was so fuckingrude.
Wait. Had he picked up his bad habits from me? Nah. The blame had to lie with Reuben or Ainsley, surely. They were such bad influences.
“The weather’s nice today. Might as well sit outside,” my dad suggested, and we followed him into the garden, which was bathed in the rays of the morning sun. He indicated for us to sit at the ancient wooden patio table that creaked and groaned at the slightest hint of a breeze.
Despite the dubious quality of the furniture, the garden was nice. Even though my dad worked full-time in the building trade, he spent a lot of his free time tending the garden. There was greenery everywhere, all kinds of flowers and herbs and bushes filling the small space. The patio area we were seated on had grown smaller and smaller every year as my dad reclaimed the soil beneath for his plants, and I was ninety-nine percent sure that one day, I’d walk out here and the whole thing would be swallowed up by shrubbery.
Picking up my mug, I took my first sip of tea. Delicious. Why did my dad always make the best tea? It never tasted quite the same when I made it.
My dad drummed his fingers on the table, making it wobble, sending tea sloshing out of all our mugs. “Are you boys ready for the match against Brighton later? The lads are prepared for all eventualities. We’ve been running over scenarios at the pub.”
“I’m not sure how much we can prepare. We’re going into the unknown. We have the support from Glevum, but we have no idea how the fans will react.” Theo’s brows pulled together, and I reached out, gently squeezing his arm in reassurance. I had no idea what would happen during our first match of the season, but I was trying to be strong for him. This could prove to be our biggest test as a couple. It was the first game. Everyone knew about us. TheOffsidearticle had come out yesterday, and we’d both avoided the internet since then, not wanting to add to the pressure of what was already the highest-stakes match we’d ever played.
“Me and Two Jugs John have been mobilising the troops. Don’t you worry.”
I stared at my dad. Ireallydidn’t like the sound of this. “Mobilising the troops? Dad, this isn’t a war.”
“It might be, and if it is, we’re ready,” he muttered darkly. “They don’t call us the Glevum Gladiators for nothing. Just concentrate on the game, and we’ll handle the fans.”
What could one group of less than ten people do against thousands of others?
I had to hope that it didn’t come to that.
* * *
