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“Okay, listen.” Lee set his phone aside and crossed his legs, making an effort to hold Alex’s gaze. “I know this is gonna sound like a line, but it wasn’t you. I was still a bit shy back then, and you were” —effortlessly charming— “rather hard to ignore.”
“You were shy,” Alex repeated flatly. He paused, then shook his head. “Why? Everyone knew it was only a matter of time until you’d be moved to the first team.”
“This may come as a surprise to you, but being shy isn’t rational.” Lee could have left it at that, but if he was at least partly to blame for how vastly they’d got their signals crossed… “Plus, my teenage years were kind of rough.”
It was the extent of what Lee was willing to offer, and maybe Alex could tell because he nodded and finally,finallyreached for a T-shirt. “Thanks for telling me, I guess.”
Well, well. Look who packed some manners for the trip.
“You’re welcome,” Lee told him and wondered whether he should avert his eyes. Probably not, right? “Also, okay.”
“Okay?”
“We win against the Dutch, you get to pick an outfit for me—ifI deem it acceptable. Not sure where you’ll find one here, but I guess that’s your problem, not mine.”
“There’s this thing called the internet, Lee. It delivers.”
Smartarse.
“There’s also this thing called dinner, Alex. It awaits.”
Alex tugged at the hem of his off-white T-shirt. It fit him admittedly well, but it was still just… Well, it was still just a T-shirt. “I’m almost done, but feel free to go ahead.”
“It’ll look better if we show up together.”
Alex slid Lee a surprised look that instantly raised Lee’s hackles. He countered it with a pointed stare, and Alex’s face relaxed into a smile. “Chill, mate. It’s just nice that you don’t take your spot in the starting eleven for granted—that you’re willing to make an effort, you know.”
“I don’t think there are any guarantees with Kieran.” Lee considered it briefly. “Other than Oliver, maybe. Unless he breaks both his arms, he’s playing.”
“Don’t jinx it,” Alex muttered. “Okay, gimme just a sec, then I’m ready.” With that, he dashed into the bathroom, and when he came back out, he smelled like some expensive cologne—noticeable but not overpowering, cedar wood and something else. Frankincense?
There was a comment at the tip of Lee’s tongue about how Alex better not expect Lee to use more than deodorant because yeah, not happening. He opted against it and got off the bed to join Alex by the door.
“Dinner?” Alex asked, and Lee nodded.
“Lead the way.”
They didn’t talk muchon the way down, just a comment here and there about how the Football Association must have instructed the hotel to dot the common areas with England flags and historical team pictures. Lee was acutely aware of Alex by his side, still struggling to rearrange his perception of Alex into one that accounted for what he’d learned today.
Not a homophobe. Possibly self-conscious about his upbringing. Healthy sense of sarcasm.
“At least,” Alex spoke into Lee’s thought process, “the hotel staff here can’t judge us too harshly for basking in past victories.” He gestured at a range of pictures from 1966. “I mean, Spain won just once too, even if theirs is a bit more recent. And they stand a much better chance than we do.”
“Because we’re a young team?” Lee asked. “As far as I’m concerned, that’s our chance right there—let them underestimate us.”
“Right.” Alex was quiet for a beat, the usual confidence he projected muted for once. “You really think we have a shot?”
“Honestly?” Lee stopped next to the door that led to the hotel restaurant’s patio, abruptly reminded that Alex was only twenty-three. Sure, Lee was just two years older, but this was his second World Cup even if the first hadn’t been something to write home about. “Yeah, it’s a snowball’s chance in hell. But crazier things have happened, right?”
One corner of Alex’s mouth pulled up. “Like how a few football matches triggered a war between Honduras and El Salvador?”
“Way to look first right, then left, and then pick the depressing option. I was more thinking of how rats laugh when you tickle them.”
The other corner of Alex’s mouth pulled up too. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Lee stepped aside to let Lewis pass. He gave them a cautious look, likely wondering whether an intervention was in order, but then moved on without comment. “My sister studies biology,” Lee continued. “I didn’t believe her at first, but there’s solid research and all. It’s these high-pitched chirping sounds that are outside our hearing range so you need special equipment to hear them but … yeah. It’s real. And apparently, rats enjoy being tickled because they actually seek it out.”
“That?” Alex’s whole face lit up. “Is amazing.”
