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“Lee said your wife’s a therapist?” Alex asked.
“She is.” Oliver sounded personally proud of it. “I expect she’ll keep me in style once I retire from football and spend my days bumming around the house.”
There were some teammates Alex could definitely picture vegging out on the couch after their active career. Oliver—not so much. A stay-at-home dad, maybe. Anyway, not the point.
They exited onto their floor. In the hallway, Alex stopped and turned to face Oliver. “Would it make sense for me to talk to her? I know we’ve got Richard on staff, but it’s… I’d prefer someone a little less … on the team’s payroll.”
“I get it, yeah.” Oliver shoved his hands into his pockets, seeming to consider Alex for a moment. “Okay, so it’s typically not best practice to choose a therapist who’s in your social circle, right? But this feels like a special case, so I’ll ask her what she thinks. Otherwise, I’m sure she can recommend someone good and discreet.”
“Thank you.” Alex released a long breath. “That would be great.”
“At the risk of sounding patronising and courtesy of the four years I’ve got on you,” —Oliver winked— “you’re doing really well with this mess.”
Alex blinked against the sudden sting of tears. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Oliver lowered his voice. “Also, and again at the risk of sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong—you and Lee seem good together. I’m glad you guys can have that, at least for now.”
At least for now.
“We are good.” Alex scrubbed a hand through his hair and glanced away. “It’s … yeah. It’s good.”
Eloquence, Alexander. Somewhere in a prison cell, Alex’s dad was probably sitting up in a cold sweat.
Jesus, Alex’s dad was inprison. Had been in prison earlier today, at least, and maybe he still was. They’d likely released him by now, though. How high would they set the bail for a duke?
“That’s good,” Oliver told Alex with an amused quirk to his mouth, and it took Alex a moment to remember the context. Then he ducked his head with a tiny grin.
“It is.”
They split up in front of the room Oliver shared with Toby, Alex continuing onwards to his own room—to Lee. He quickened his steps, swiped his keycard, and pushed the door open, caught a glimpse of Lee on the bed. The time it took him to enter and close the door was enough for Lee to cross the space that separated them.
Alex’s back hit the wall, Lee’s hands in his hair. He sank into the kiss, tilted his head for better access, eyes already closed—when had he closed them?
A minute later or maybe five, Lee drew back just enough to ask, “How was it?”
“I’m fine,” Alex told him, and it wasn’t quite the answer to Lee’s question but in a way it was.
Lee’s gaze narrowed. “Really?”
“Mostly,” Alex amended, and when he reached out to pull Lee back in, Lee came easily.
At least for now.
Alex tightened his hold on Lee’s shoulders and stopped thinking.
14
Alex thrived under pressure.
Oh, he didn’t enjoy it—got nervous beforehand and struggled with temporary insomnia—but when the time came, he wason. If the combined weight of his dad’s mess and the quarterfinal against France wasn’t pressure, Alex didn’t know what was.
Turned out that all it took for him to sleep through the night was Lee’s body tucked up against his back, a heavy arm slung around Alex’s chest. Miraculously, it meant that when their alarm went off, Alex felt rested, ready to face the day along with the toughest national team he’d ever gone up against.
Instead of making his habitual beeline for the shower, Alex turned in Lee’s arms to kiss him awake, familiar by now with Lee’s slow drift into wakefulness. While Lee muttered something about morning breath, he seemed all too happy to give in, gently pawing at Alex’s waist without any real intent behind it.
They showered together, a lazy orgasm tricking Alex’s brain into a sated sort of complacency. Not for the first time, they were the last ones to make it to breakfast, and Alex could tell how much it cost Oliver to swallow a comment when they sat down in the two chairs that Oliver and Jeff had saved for them.
“You’re late,” Jeff told them with a haughty look.
