LOGINCallum Harris is famous on and off the pitch. His club stays near the top of the table season after season. He’s wealthy beyond a normal person’s wildest dreams. He’s got a beautiful house in Alexandria that’s a short drive to the training centre his football club owns. He’s the apple of his family’s eye, with an older sister who dotes on him and a baby brother who looks up to him. He’s even got a best mate, Isaac Martin, that he spends all of his very limited free time with. The only problem is that he’s keeping a massive secret from his club, his friends, his family, and even Isaac. Especially Isaac. Callum is in love with Isaac. He plays in the Premier League, though, so he has to keep it a secret. There’s no such thing as an openly gay player at their level. It’s got to stay secret if he wants to keep playing the sport he loves. It’s got to stay secret if he wants to keep playing for one of the best clubs in the league. It’s got to stay secret if he wants to keep his family’s approval. It’s got to stay secret if he wants to keep his best mate…
View MoreIt’s nearly lunchtime when Callum wakes up, his mouth dry and stale once more. He blearrily accepts the bottle of water Isaac pushes at him. He drinks it before he mumbles a thanks, then leans back in his seat. Most of the other players are in the same sort of sleep Callum was in, heads pillowing against hoodies they’ve jammed between their faces and the windows, a few of the more friendly players using each other as makeshift pillows while they lean against each other in their sleep. He can hear Roman and Willis talking quietly, probably discussing strategy for their next training drills or something. “Don’t go back to sleep,” Isaac murmurs. Callum blames the flush that creeps up in his cheeks on the fact that Isaac’s voice stays at a perpetual low rumble that belongs better to an audiobook than an athlete. “Look.” He gestures behind them. Callum stifles a yawn before he stretches up in his seat, turning just enough to see what Isaac’s pointing at. He blinks at the sight of a sleepi
Nathaniel startles when Callum steps up to him. “Oh—Christ!” he chokes out, fumbling with his water bottle before he drops it. Callum’s hand shoots out and grabs it before it can hit the ground. He offers the younger man a lopsided, easy grin while he hands it back to him. “Y’know, it doesn’t do much good to haul one of these around if you’re always dropping it,” he teases. Nathaniel flushes bright pink before he looks away, his hands squeezing at the water bottle. “Y-Yeah, no, it doesn’t,” he whispers. Callum reaches and ruffles the kitman’s fluffy, messy red curls affectionately. Poor kid. He’ll lay off on teasing him when his reactions stop being funny. Or when his freckles stop popping the way they do when he blushes. Or when his bright green eyes stop going all wide and starry anytime he gets any sort of attention from any of the players, even when they’re just teasing him. “Think you can give me a hand, Nathaniel?” Callum asks, gesturing to his bag. It’s still sitting on the
“En’t he one of the Man City boys?” Callum nearly jumps out of his skin when he realizes William Sinclair, their transfer striker originally from Man City, moves to their table. “Defo. He’s got the stupid Manc accent.” Callum ignores the way Isaac laughs at his own joke, or how William squawks in protest at the dig. Callum’s cheeks are quickly turning pink. He stands abruptly before he hurries away from the table and over to Alex. He ignores his friends' sounds of protest in favor of getting Alex a little further away from them. He’s not able to get out of their line of sight. He doesn’t even try. For all they know, he’s currently consorting with the enemy and risking a knife to the back for it. They'd probably try to follow them if they moved too far away.“You’re still here?” Callum asks, keeping his voice low while he looks Alex over. Fuck, but he’s even hotter in the light of day. He offers up a grin that rides the line between lazy smugness and boyish shyness. “Left my charger
Isaac’s idle chatter fills the elevator when they take it from the fourth floor down to the ground floor. It stops quickly when they step out into the hall. The lobby, Callum realizes, is packed with his teammates. A stubbornly paranoid part of him keeps his eyes peeled for Alex. He doesn’t spot him in the sea of Alexandria players. He relaxes a bit before he heads out. He finds their kitman, a rather spry lad named Nathaniel, and passes him his bag so he can load it into the luggage compartment of the coach. He sits between Isaac and Matthijs Van der Meer, the recent transfer from the Netherlands. The tall, blonde bastard is deeply engrossed with Peter Keller, their residential walking encyclopedia from Switzerland, on the latest crime thriller they’re working their way through.“I just think you should give more weight to my theories. Statistically speaking, in the cases of murder during an ongoing divorce, it is most likely the to-be-divorced spouse that is the culprit,” Matthijs a
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