Instead of looking angry, Kyle now looked bemused. “I couldn’t even tell you what to do when I was.”
“Damn straight,” Micah said. “Or, should I say, damn fag. Speaking of fags, I think I’d like a cigarette.”
“Your coach would love that.”
“What he doesn’t know….” Micah couldn’t even finish the sentence.
Kyle crouched down before him, and Micah almost wanted to cry at the look of concern on his face. Either that or hit him. “Micah, everybody here knows who you are. Do you really want all this over the web? Do you want to become the gay Brendan Fevola, having a great footy career wrecked by being a mess off the field?”
“I don’t need your analysis, Dr. Kyle.”
“You either get in the taxi or I call Declan.”
Even in his drunken state, Micah recognised the threat for what it was. Kyle knew him that well. He knew Dec would be the one thing to make Micah see sense. He couldn’t handle the thought of Dec being dragged out of bed to come and rescue his sorry arse again.
“Okay,” he told Kyle. “Okay. Get the taxi.”
Kyle gave him a long hard look, then nodded. “Stay here.”
“I’m staying here,” Micah nodded.
As soon as Kyle melted away in the crowd, Micah got to his feet and ran through the back exit onto the street. He was humiliated and heartsore. Kyle had seen him in this state, and felt sorry for him. He probably finally saw Micah for the pathetic tool he was— “Hey, are you okay?”
It was a guy standing beside his car, just about to get into it. He looked normal enough, but what was normal?
“Who are you?” Micah asked.
“Paul.”
“Are you a Jeffrey Dahmer, Paul?”
The guy looked confused.
“Jeffrey Dahmer, the gay serial killer who fucked and then ate his one night stands.”
“That’s not a question I get asked that often. But I’m not a serial killer.”
“Good,” Micah said. “Then you can give me a ride.”
THEY CRASHED through the front door of Paul’s house, leaning up against the wall as they continued to kiss, Micah’s hands already unbuckling Paul’s belt.
“Wait,” Paul breathed, “let’s just calm down a minute.”
“I thought you wanted this.” Micah’s hands were so tantalisingly close to the goal of the evening, and by the state of Paul’s pants he could tell he was ready.
“I do, let’s just have a drink first.”
“So you are going to fuck me and eat me, Mr. Dahmer?”
Paul grinned. “I’m going to eat you out and then fuck you.”
“Then forget about the drink.” Micah heard himself saying these things, and it wasn’t even registering with him properly. It was like he was some kind of acting robot with a porny artificial intelligence adhering to some pre-prepared script he had watched play across his laptop screen a hundred times.
The thought of another drink actually made Micah feel ill. He was already woozy and pretty uncoordinated on his feet. As Paul busied himself in the kitchen Micah sank onto the couch in relief. Sweat was running down his back, so he pulled his shirt off and let the cool of the leather soothe his skin.
“You’re eager,” Paul said as he threw ice into the blender.
“Maybe you should start stripping off too.”
Paul hesitated, then shrugged and pulled off his shirt as well. Micah liked what he saw.
“You approve?” Paul asked.
“Fuck yeah.”
Paul poured a healthy amount of vodka over the ice. “You know I know who you are, don’t you?”
“Who am I?” Micah asked, still trying to sound flirty.
“Micah Johnson, the only gay football player in Australia.”
“The only one you know of,” Micah reminded him.
Paul grinned. “True. Any hot change room moments you want to share?”
“Unfortunately I’ve never found another gay in one of my change rooms,” Micah said. “Well… in high school, yeah. But finding one got me moved to another school, and the other one punched me out.” Thinking of Will made tears rise, and Micah blinked them away.
“Hot,” Paul said.
“Yeah, sex and violence. Turns you on, huh?”
“Not really.”
“Okay, so what footy player do you find hot?”
“Besides you?” Paul asked.
“Yeah, good one.”
“Well, your teammate Sam is pretty fucking hot.”
“Too much like a brother to me.”
“Okay, so who do you find hot?”
He really didn’t want to name anyone he played with or against. He didn’t know who Paul was, and didn’t want anything happening to get back to another player or an Internet forum. So he went for the obvious. “David Beckham.”
“He plays soccer!” Paul yelled over the noise of the blender. “And such a clichéd choice!”
“Come on, have you seen him in his jocks?” Micah yelled back.
Paul stopped pulsing the drinks, and lifted the lid off the blender. “Okay, you’ve got a point.”
“Even straight men would fuck Beckham,” Micah said as Paul came back over to him and handed him a drink.
“You’re probably right.” Paul sat next to him, seriously invading his personal space.
“What shall we drink to?” Micah asked.
“The Dockers turning their season around?”
“You’re a Melburnian. They’d run you out of town for toasting that.”
“You’re a Melbourne boy too,” Paul pointed out.
“Not anymore.”
“You sound sad about that.”
Micah didn’t come here for deep-and-meaningfuls, and he was pretty sure Paul hadn’t invited him in for one either. He ignored the question and fished an ice cube out of his glass.
“What are you doing?” Paul asked.
Without answer, Micah rubbed the cube over Paul’s nipple, and he yelped. Once again, Micah was playing a role. He remembered Kyle doing this to him on a warm day, and now he did it in order to distract Paul from asking any more personal questions.
“Fuck,” Paul hissed.
“You like that?” Micah put the ice cube in his mouth, close to the tip of his tongue and then sucked on Paul’s nipple. This was another thing Kyle had done to him.
Fuck, he had to stop thinking about Kyle.
“You don’t waste any time,” Paul breathed.