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He beams up at me. “I love you too.”
We spend the next couple of hours rotating around my teammates and their partners. Everyone greets Wren warmly, and the time passes quickly. Not everyone has brought someone with them. Luis, the fly-half I had a fling with a while ago, is here solo.
“So you’re the guy who’s going to make an honest man out of Tanner,” Luis says once I’ve introduced him to Wren. “I didn’t think anyone was ever going to pin his feet to the floor. What’s your secret?”
Wren gazes at me. “I’m not trying to pin his feet to the floor. I want to fly with him.”
My heart flutters.
Luis chuckles. “That must be where I went wrong. Seriously, you two make an adorable couple. When will we be getting invites to your wedding? You know you’re going to need a huge venue for this lot.” He gestures at the garden full of rugby players and their partners.
“We don’t have plans to get married,” I say.
“Yet.” Luis winks and wanders away.
“We haven’t talked about it,” I mumble.
Wren wraps his arms around my waist and presses his cheek against my chest. “I’m happy the way things are.”
I rub his back. “Me too.”
“Have I met everyone now?”
I look around the garden. “I think so.”
He tugs at my red-and-blue polo shirt so I have to lean down, and then he whispers in my ear, “Is now a good time to imagine me spread out on our bed, wearing an anal plug?”
“Which asks me to fill you with my cum?”
“Uh-huh.”
I straighten. “You’ve had enough of socialising?”
“Yes. Do you mind if we go?”
“Not at all.”
He hugs me again. “Thanks for bringing me.”
“I love you. I won’t hide that we’re together ever again.”
“I know. I believe you, and I love you. Come on, my big, brave jock. Let’s go home.”
Chapter 12
Wren
* * *
The match against Saracens kicks off at three in the afternoon. I have a good seat, right at the front, with Savannah and the other rugby widows. I’m notably the only guy, but that doesn’t stop them from chatting with me while we wait for the match to start. They give me tips on surviving cold, wet games and compliment me on my fashion sense. I don’t tell them that Tanner chose my outfit. Most of it. I added a Harlequins scarf, which I bought from the shop at the entrance to the stadium.
We stand and cheer when the team jogs onto the pitch. They’re wearing shirts that have been split into four squares. Blue in the top right and bottom left, red in the top left, and black in the bottom right, with green and black sleeves. The opposing team are wearing their red away kit.
“Tanner is number three,” Savannah says.
He’s not hard to spot.
“Does he normally score a lot of goals?” I ask.
