“Ugh, I promised Tom and Bryn I’d include a music round in the quiz tomorrow night, but I have no idea how I’m going to pull it off. I’ve just been googling how to add song clips to a . . . document? I don’t even know.”
I squeeze the teabags and place them on the draining board, dump a sugar into Owen’s mug, and fetch the milk from the fridge. “What are you thinking, like guess the intro or something?”
“Pretty much.” He accepts the tea and leans back against the counter. I resist the urge to trail my gaze down the front of his body. These sweatpants are unforgiving in matters of concealing any . . . sudden protrusions.
“Have you got a laptop?” I ask.
“Yes, but it’s so old. Like, twenty fourteen. Weighs about three metric tonnes.”
I’m smiling again. I haven’t smiled this much in . . . forever probably. “It’s okay, we can use mine. It’s a beast. I’ve left it in the study.” Before I know it, I’ve pushed away from the counter and I’m marching to the cosy extension where the study slash office lies, undisturbed since I moved in.
Owen follows in my wake.
“Take a seat,” I say, offering him the swivel chair, while I run back into the dining room to grab a wooden one. I sit down beside him and open my laptop. “We’re gonna pull an all-nighter.”
11
Thursday 3rd April 2025
Owen
Reasons I shouldn’t have a crush on Mathias Jones:
Reason one, he’s so young. Twenty-nine. Over fifteen years difference. I lost my virginity before he was even born. I’m technically—though not legally—old enough to be his father.
Reason two, he’s out of my league. Like so far out of my league that there are scores of leagues between us. Legions, armies, multitudes of other leagues.
I once heard Orlando describe Mathias as a “ten with immunity,” and whatever that means, it’s certainly not where I am. At a push, I’d self-define as a solid five with a nice beard and a good collection of mates. So a fiveand a half?
Reasons three to eight, he’s my neighbour. And tenant. And there has to be some kind of conflict of interest there, right? Like, I should seriously look into it. If it’s illegal, then that’s my indecision taken care of. No more waiting around for the right moment if the right moment is forbidden. But at least I’d have closure, I guess. I could stop thinking about him and that Grindr photo of him in his underpants.
Ha!
I mean, that image is wedged in my thoughts, more solid and immovable than Stonehenge. Gonna need a forklift to the face to make me forget that any time soon.
The real reason Mathias and I couldn’t switch beds for the night is because I remembered I left my fucking wank rag—yesterday’s T-shirt—beside the bed. Okay, yeah, I’m disgusting, but I’m a guy and I live alone—properly alone—for the first time in decades. Why wouldn’t I take advantage of that?
I feel like every time I see Mathias I add new fodder to the bank. Him waiting at the door for me in only a scrappy old tee and his boxers, and now these fucking sweatpants he’s wearing, which let’s be fair, he might as well be naked for all they cover. Pretty sure the number of times he’s caught me stealing glances at his very obvious dick outline has reached double figures. But then again, maybe he hasn’t caught me. He hasn’t said anything or hidden himself. Maybe he’s oblivious.
Or . . . maybe he put those fucking trousers on because he knows I won’t be able to keep my perverted eyes off him. Could be a test. One I’m failing miserably.
Reason twenty, he’s only here for a maximum of six months. In fact, he’s actively looking for another place to live. He could be gone next week . . . tomorrow even.
Reason twenty-one, and this one’s on me—not a Mathias problem, an Owen Patrick Bosley one—but sort of relates to the previous reason: I’m demi. I only recently learned what that word means from Molly, but when I heard it, pieces fell into place.
Basically, I don’t do hookups. Don’t like them, never have. Sure I can feel attraction to people, sometimes even sexual attraction, but for me sex isn't enjoyable until I really get to know the person. Likereallyget to know them.
I want all in or nothing.
It’s essentially how I live. I give you everything or nothing at all. You want casual sex with minimal feelings? Tough shit, here’s my entire heart.
Rugby, the pub, fatherhood, my relationship with Kirsty . . . Everything is one hundred and ten per cent, full-throttle, pedal to the metal.
Fuck, I went into that last one so hard we got married at age twenty-two and had a kid at twenty-four.
In short, I don’t half ass anything. You’re getting the full ass, the entire package, the whole of the moon, or nothing at all. And since I have no idea when Mathias will pack up his boxes and leave this little life, I’m keeping my ass close to my chest—cards, I mean, or however the saying goes.
Reason three hundred, he broke my leg. I know, I know it was an accident. He did nothing wrong and I forgive him yada yada, but there are going to be a lot of Bathonians and Cents fans who haven’t forgiven him, and may never.
