Part sixty-six: Postponed
Today would have been the Merseyside derby, and the silence hanging over Anfield was eerie. Every corner of the ghost stadium seemed to highlight the impact of the Corona virus on English society, the game indefinitely postponed. In a meeting room with large windows looking out on this uncanny view of the silent Saturday stands, the Liverpool FC players had just spent a good hour listening to a series of presentations from Klopp and the rest of the club management and governance, trying to get to the bottom of what this postponement and league disruption actually meant for a team that was currently thirty-odd points ahead of their nearest rival.
Today should have been the Merseyside derby, but now it was just an awkward empty Saturday.
Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain stroked his chick chin and mulled over the rather vague and impatient explanations of their superiors, who really were no less in the dark than the average player here. Along with his teammate, the stocky mixed-race 26-year-old picked himself up to leave the conference room, pushing his hands into the pockets of his close-fitting red tracky bottoms and traipsing out into the corridor with the others.
The mood was low: it had already been dented by their unexpected exit from the Champions League, of course, but the prospect of smashing a weak Everton this weekend had been a key part of the lads' resilience in the days since. Now they were stripped of that pleasure and privilege, and essentially dismissed for the weekend, with training tentatively still expected to resume on Monday regardless. Alex struggled to imagine that: they were all disciplined professionals, but how would they pull through their usual rigorous training with only the vague prospect that matches MIGHT resume in a few weeks' time...?
Oh well, while he was here, he thought, he might as well put in a shift at the gym. He'd heard a couple of other lads suggest doing the same. He spotted his usual confidante Andy Robertson passing him by on the way out of the boardroom, looking even more gloomy and frustrated than most of the other Liverpool players. Hey,' Alex called to him quietly, you fancy a bit of a workout today instead, Robbo?'
The Scotsman turned and flashed him an almost nervous look, as if Alex was carrying the stupid league-ruining virus himself. Er, nah,' the Glaswegian responded after a moment, I think I'm just gonna shoot off, get some family time in.'
`Oh. Right.'
Sorry, man,' Robertson told him, hovering at his side for a moment, but he sounded more cautioning than apologetic. Another time, maybe.'
Right,' echoed Alex quietly. Andy, pal...'
`Hmm?'
They were more or less alone together for a moment as the main pack of their teammates drifted ahead and the management in the meeting room shut the door to continue the discussion in privacy. Oxlade-Chamberlain eyed up his fellow footballer anxiously. `Are we okay, mate?' he asked earnestly, hunching his rounded shoulders shyly as he risked the question.
`Sure we are,' Andy said vaguely. The 26-year-old left-back lowered his eyes and made to walk on.
It doesn't feel like it,' Alex blurted out. Not lately, pal.'
Robertson bristled a little defensively. Buddy, we've all been a bit busy, haven't you noticed?' he demanded in his rough distinctive accent. I mean, we've had a shitty streak of luck, in case you missed that, and things have been pressurised... Sorry if we haven't really been hanging out or if I ain't been in touch much but, come on, we're all feeling the pressure lately...' He ended his quick ramble with a dismissive shrug.
Alex took a deep breath, then, `But...'
Don't,' Robertson told him warningly. Don't bring that stuff up again, Ox.'
Alex felt his face fall and he tried to correct his disappointed pout. I wasn't even going to-
`I'll catch you Monday,' Andy said a little roughly, pulling away and walking backwards down the corridor, giving Alex an inscrutable but worrying glare before spinning on his heels and hurrying on. Oxlade watched him go with a wistful little sigh, reflecting that the conversation had pretty much gone exactly as expected: so why did he feel quite so crushed by it?
In the gym, changed into a skimpy pair of running shorts and a loose-fitting grey sleeveless top, Alex let his trainers pound the treadmill and his muscular limbs work up a sweat. It was satisfying to let his body take over and switch off his mind: but even in the middle of this intense running session, he found himself picturing that odd expression on the Scotsman's face, that look of... what? Contempt? Fear? Regret?
The machinery of the treadmill gave a little chirp as he hit his distance target and then another flurry of beeps as it entered warm-down and the rubbery belt beneath his trainers gradually slowed from his intense training pace to a leisurely jog. He panted and flexed his arms and let his aching legs reduce their powerful stomps until he was just walking, resting his broad hands on the bars at either side and watching his reflection in the mirror opposite, seeing the sweaty gleam to his cheeks and brow and biceps.
`Quite a run, Ox!' called a familiar voice passing him by, and he twisted his neck to see the most celebrated of his many legendary teammates.
Mohamed Salah was on his way back towards the free weights with a refilled water bottle held in both hands, flashing his big optimistic grin Alex's way as he passed the treadmills. Salah was seemingly impervious to the gloom that troubled most of the lads at the minute, about either the recent losses or the new problem of Corona; no, the talented Egyptian star was ceaselessly positive and encouraging, and Alex loved him for it.
He pushed the `stop' button on the equipment in front of him at last, hopped off the machine, and went to top up his own club-branded plastic water bottle, then drifted over to watch as Salah worked his shoulders with a couple of heavier dumbbells than Alex might have assumed. The prolific striker was slighter in build than his own broad muscular bulk, but he was incredibly ripped, so of course he could lift quite a lot.
Oxlade pulled up his top to wipe at his sweaty face, and took a series of long glugs from the water bottle, letting his heart rate recover from the intense run and the other exercises he'd worked his way through beforehand. He saw Mo struggle a little towards the end of his set, and stepped in to help him lower the weighty kit down and rest it on the bench.
`Whoa, you'll be hench as fuck if you carry on with those reps, hah,' he commented idly.
Salah turned and gave him another grin from the dark frame of his goatee. I am trying to push myself,' he explained. I think I need to be that extra bit stronger to really up my game.'
As if it needs upped,' Alex joked with a fond smile. But well done, pal.'
Salah clapped his strong hands together, rubbed them, and looked about the rack of weights. `Would you spot me if I move on to some other exercises, Alex?' he asked with his usual calm politeness that the other lads teased but struggled to resist. The midfielder nodded, took another glug, and followed Mo across the mat to survey the weight options. Alex casually noted the tight-fitting Liverpool training shirt that clung so tightly to the lean torso of his teammate, and the way the relatively baggy shorts still clung to the lift of his firm backside, above the exposed fur of his darkly haired leg muscles.
Alex found himself staring more thoughtfully at these legs once Salah was on his back in front of him, grunting with effort as he bench pressed an even heavier set, with the Ox's hands gently supporting him on the way back down from each push of the bar. Alex's eyes roamed up and down the curve of thigh to knee at the end of the bench, the shorts bunched up a little as the Egyptian's feet planted down to support his strenuous lifting. The training shirt had pulled up a couple of inches and revealed a sliver of wiry hair that snaked from Mo's naval into his crotch. Alex found his mind drift to what he'd repeatedly seen, the chubby circumcised member that lived in those shorts, hmm...
`Oxlade playing PT now, is he?' interrupted another guy's voice.
Alex tightened his grip to support Mo, and both Liverpool players turned their head a little as a panting, sweat-sheened Joe Gomez joined them at this end of the gym, finished with his own routine of leg machines at the other side of the big fitness suite. Alex found himself tense up a little at the presence of this young player, as he often did these days: a mixture of excited admiration and guilty secrecy.
`He is good at it!' Mo chuckled, slipping into a pained grunt and entering a second set of five with difficulty; Alex did his best to help without lightening the load too much and taking over, his own big arms bulging as he did so.
Oh yes,' Gomez agreed, still panting, Alex OC here is good at a fair few things.'
Alex looked sharply his way and met the playful little grin on the younger lad's face, the knowing twinkle in his handsome eyes. Mo was just focused on meeting the next few pushes of the set, taking the comment as purely innocent, oblivious of the context. Come on Alex,' prompted Joe lightly, focus on your job or poor Mo here will drop the bloody thing. Don't let ME distract you.' And with that Gomez sat down on the parallel bench next to them to watch and smirk.
`And... five...' snorted Salah in relief, and Alex took the pressure of the weight from him, hoisting it up with a flex of his biceps so the striker laid in front of him could recover for a few moments. Holding it tightly against his pecs, he looked over at smirking Gomez, and struggled to read the situation here. So Joe DID know what he'd done, for definite...?
`You should be doing something more productive than just watching us!' Mo commented loudly from his resting position, turning his grin towards their visitor.
Joe rolled his shoulders in a shrug and laughed. I've done my workout,' he assured them. Don't you guys worry about me.'
Well then,' Salah retorted, watch and learn, young man. Next set, please, Ox.'
On they went. Alex glanced in confused frustration from Salah's pained efforts, much harder on this third set of reps, to Gomez's curious smiles and relaxed body language on the bench. The threesome were reflected again in the mirrored gym walls and Alex stared at the awkward dynamic of it in that glass. He looked at the compression vest that hugged Joe's tall muscular body and the long shorts that draped about his big thighs, resting on the discreetly visible mound of his package.
`Excellent work, Mo,' Joe commented.
`Hah, thanks, but... probably enough... ah... take it, Alex, thanks...'
Ox took the weight away, folded his arms up against his chest, and hoisted it back over to the rack, clinking it into place and feeling the dull ache of its size in his own upper arms. When he turned back around, Mo had sat up on the bench and was peeling his shirt up and off to cool down; Joe began to do the same, and he was treated to a private viewing of two artworks. Salah was so much more sculpted and defined, especially his abs, but Joe's superior height gave his dark brown physicality its own impressive effect.
Alright lads,' he quipped to cover his own nervous energy, nobody asked for a strip show, did they?'
Salah laughed heartily but Gomez just smirked. Suppose not, but nobody's complaining,' he said. And it's just us mates here now, so who cares.' He got up to his 6'2 height, flexing his arms and shoulders quite vainly, making Mo laugh more as he got onto his feet.
These bodies come at a price!' the striker said to them both, patting his tight eight-pack and shaking his sore arms. I really need a massage now, I think – I wonder if Klopp has dismissed the physio team...?'
Oh, don't trouble them,' Joe said thoughtfully. Your PT Alex can give you one instead.'
Salah laughed, but Alex looked from him back to Gomez with a blink of bewildered surprise. He could see the cheeky intent in the 22-year-old centre-back's face, and knew he'd been caught out in his silent admiration of the Egyptian footballer's compact physique. He hovered back beside the two shirtless blokes and rested his twitching hands at his hips.
`Very funny, Gomez...'
I'm only half-kidding,' mused the Londoner. Alex gives good massages, you know. He gave me one on an away trip a little while back. Isn't that right, Oxo?' He grinned broadly and ran one hand teasingly down his left pec and onto his flat stomach, his six-pack that would be so impressive if not stood beside the ridged definition of Mo's.
`Oh?' Now Salah was looking at him too, perhaps a little bemused.
Yeh,' Alex said vaguely. Yeh, just that one time, though.'
`It was... satisfying,' Gomez said in a low, meaningful tone.
Well,' muttered Salah uncertainly, perhaps I will have to take you up on that at some point!'
Let him do it now,' nudged Joe casually. Why not?'
Salah made a thoughtful little noise, and gave Alex an inquiring look. `Well, what do you think, Oxlade-Chamberlain...? I suppose you have quite strong hands, so...'
Go on, Ox,' prodded the other guy teasingly, show him what you can do.'
`I should shower before...'
`Nahhh... relax. Alex doesn't mind. Do you, Alex? Come on, lads.'
Mohamed got back onto the sweaty surface of the bench on his back as if to do more weights, a foolish grin on his lips at the potential oddity of this little experiment. Ox looked first at Joe, mischief on his smile, and then down at the bared body below. He knelt down to the mat beneath them and laid his hands on the warm flesh of Salah's shoulders, and began to knead his fingertips against the tight muscle. He kept his eyes on Joe's and slowly massaged his way up and down each of Salah's tight-packed shoulders, and then did the same about the base of his neck: a little moan of approval eventually escaped the Egyptian's lips, and he nodded his head. Yes,' he told Joe, you were right – he is quite good at this!'
I am right here,' Oxlade commented with mock offence, applying his hands with a little more force and kneading back down the shoulders, feeling the sweaty heat of Mo's sandy brown skin beneath his shifting fingers and the heels of his strong hands. He did actually like giving massages, did it often for his girlfriend as foreplay, but he'd never ever given one to a bloke before! But, er... thanks. Hah.'
`Come on, Ox – do his arms, that's where he'll be aching.'
Oh yes,' agreed Salah, if you don't mind...'
Alex ran both hands across Mo's right shoulder and began to knead his way down the arm, leaning forward slightly so his chest hung over Mo's face. He caressed and rubbed more fiercely at the muscles and skin of one bared arm, and lifted his eyes to see the naughty smirk spreading on Joe's face now. As he pulled away and shifted around to massage the other arm instead, he realised how excited he was getting: he could feel the tight mesh brief lining of his running shorts stretch and twist in response to the swelling within. He knelt at the left side of the bench, put his hands to Mo's other arm, but looked at Joe: could Gomez see his burgeoning boner in there?!
`That's good,' Salah commented appreciatively; he had his eyes shut now as he lay there, relaxing into Alex's handiwork. He would have no idea that inches from his massaged arm, the front of Oxlade's tight shorts was bulging and filling out by the moment.
You know what,' Joe said then, cutting through the tension, I reckon my legs could do with some of that same attention, you know? They really ache from the weights I was doing on my thighs and calves, big lad, so...? Would you mind, Salah?'
`Oh no, of course,' Salah sighed contentedly. He opened his eyes just as Alex shuffled about behind him on his knees to hide his blatant stiffy, propping himself up on his elbows and grinning a little giddily at the relaxed sensation in his arms and shoulders.
`You want me to massage your legs...? Now?' Ox asked, staying on his knees there, knowing that if he got up and moved over to the other bench, Salah was likely to see the front of his shorts. He stared over at the infuriating smirk that Gomez had worn since he sat down there. He also looked at the big dark legs spreading in front of him, big thighs waiting for his hands, calves tensed. He hesitated, but he knew what he wanted to do.
`You do have talented hands,' Mo was telling him distantly.
Oh, his hands are good,' Joe agreed quietly, but he has even better skills.'
What are you talking about?' their teammate chuckled cheerily. He sat up properly and Alex seized his chance: to avoid exposing the tent in the front of his shorts, he crossed the floor on his knees, his back to Mo, crouching down in front of the other bench, and rising on his knees to lay a hand on each of Joe's thick thighs. What better skills?' insisted Mo from his sitting position behind Alex.
Oh, you'll see,' Joe mused. You'll see, mate.'
`Gomez,' Alex said warningly, pushing his hands down firmly against the bare muscle then riding the shorts up a little bit so he could work his fingers more fully over the thigh, then back down again and circling the knees. He could see the mischief on his younger pal's face, but he was feeling fear more than desire now: what the fuck would Salah think if he was outed now for his recently acquired new appetite?!
Alex could hear Mo's footsteps as he got up from the other bench, feel his presence moving to stand right beside him, as he slid his hands back further up the insides of Joe's thighs – a little sigh of gratitude from the sitting defender – and then rubbing back down the side and onto his calf muscle, playing his knuckles down the back of the lower leg and leaning in a little closer with his head hovering just below chest height on that bare torso.
Ox,' exclaimed Mo suddenly, beside him, do you have a -?'
Alex froze with his hands just below Joe's knees, but the defender let out a low growling laugh. Of course he does, Mo, he loves doing this a lot,' he said, and with one hand he patted one of Ox's broad shoulders. Don't you, mate? Love it.'
`Guys?' asked Salah in a tense voice.
Alex didn't say anything – what could he say?! He just ran his hands back down and around the bulging calf muscles and then back up onto the chunky thighs, and then he turned his head to give an awkward glance to Salah, who was stood by in confusion, his ripped abdomen still on show and a little glossy with his drying sweat. Joe's hand squeezed at one of Alex's shoulders, and then the other patted the side of the bench. Have a seat,' Joe offered. Come on, see how good our pal here is at massaging those match-winning pins of yours, eh?'
There was a tense moment in which Ox expected more confused questions from the striker, but then Salah was sitting down side by side with Gomez so that now there were four strong footballers' legs in front of him rather than just two. He kept his gaze lowered, excited but awkward, and shifted aside a little bit: he kept one hand rubbing at Joe's right thigh, and with the other, began to apply the same firm rubbing motion to the hairy flesh of Mo's. And then he lifted both hands to do the other legs, so he was kneeling right in the middle of the two figures, rubbing at their outer legs, his own cock throbbing tightly in the mesh lining of his shorts.
`You wanted to see his other skills, Mo?' Gomez asked in a little whisper.
`Guys,' Salah said again, sounding deeply uneasy.
Go on, Ox,' grunted Gomez. Put those lips to work, eh?'
Alex leant his head down and softly kissed the top of one brown thigh, tasting the saltiness of that smooth skin on the defender's leg, whilst his hands continued to massage at the outer legs of both men. He kissed Joe's leg again, nuzzling the flesh, resting his head in that lap, and drawing his lips slowly inwards and upwards, towards the crotch of the baggy shorts.
`Alex,' hissed Salah, scandalised.
`Just watch,' Gomez instructed with easy authority, despite being four or five years younger than both of them. The tall defender was always a commanding presence, but not usually so literally. Alex felt his excitement levels rise, and his fears about Salah's presence deserted him. He nosed his way in between Joe's thighs and felt the glossy polyester on his mouth. He nudged the bulge hungrily and pulled his hands back in to rest just above the lad's knees, then he pressed his lips about the heavy cock outline, and sighed greedily.
Salah swore in his own language and sat there, edging forward to stare; Gomez let out a long sigh and stroked the back of Alex's neck gently.
Alex reached up until his hands were under the shorts legs, and he used his knuckles to drag them slowly back. Joe lifted his meaty arse for a minute and off the shorts and the briefs beneath came, sliding and stretching down the massaged thighs. Alex pushed his face immediately and began to kiss and caress that precious meat; he ran his mouth against the shaft and rolled his tongue under the fat tip, and heard Salah's little gasp of... horror?
Trust me,' Joe drawled in slow arousal, it feels so good... you'll have to try it, Mo...'
`What?! No... No, Joseph... in my religion, we...'
Gomez scoffed and let out a groan as Alex took his cock fully into his mouth and gripped his calf muscles tightly at the same time. Look,' he grunted to the striker, I'd never have expected to like it myself, but well... this one took a cheeky punt, didn't you?' He playfully slapped the side of Alex's face then stroked the same cheek. `This bugger thought he'd help himself to my piece... but, yeh, it was... fuckin' good... Mmm...'
`Lads,' grumbled Salah, still unconvinced. But Alex, sensing the opportunity, reached his left hand over even as he felt the Gomez prick stiffen and react on his tongue. With his left hand, he rubbed at the hairy thigh muscle of Mo's left leg, and sent his fingertips reaching into the baggy leg of the shorts until he was finding the inside of some briefs and the warm plump package there. He felt Mo's leg tense up but not pull away, heard the sharp intake of breath.
Just let him,' Joe encouraged. You'll be surprised, mate.'
This is haram,' hissed Mo indignantly. I don't think...'
It's up to you,' Joe sighed. You can fuck off if you like. Ox, mate... come on, show him what you can do, buddy...'
Alex lifted his head, licked his lips, and slid his right hand firmly around Joe's hard-on, then leaned over and with his other hand began pulling at the loose-fitting shorts, until he could reached in and pull at the front of the sports briefs beneath, and release that chubby tanned cock. He slid his fingers about it, looked up Mo's six pack and pecks into his nervous, bearded face, but again – what the fuck could he say in WORDS? He could only express himself here using his lips in a different, more nuanced and intimate way... Down he went. He circled his tongue around the head of the circumcised tool and was gratified by the surprised shudder that ran through Salah's whole body.
See what I mean,' moaned Gomez. Oh mate, what a good lad... Mmm...'
Shit,' swore Salah worriedly, shit shit... ohhhh...!'
`Mmm, how's that feelin', Mohamed, pal...?'
`Oh FUCK...'
Alex was becoming overwhelmed. The sweaty taste of both cocks filled his mouth and the manly smells of these two footballer crotches filled his nostrils like the smoke of a potent drug. He rubbed and squeezed at tensed thigh muscles and began to swap his mouth from one dick to the other – sliding back to lick and kiss at Gomez's erection, then moving back to the slowly rising shape of Salah's slightly smaller prick. He tried to spend no more than thirty seconds on one piece, alternating quickly between them and trying to use his mouth a little differently each time, eliciting grunts and groans and murmured comments from both men.
Then, he hunkered back on his chunky haunches and sat more upright, and began to wank both dicks at once instead, because he wanted to take in the sight fully: the two muscular men on the bench, their bodies pressed side by side, their heads lolling in pleasure, the pleasure HE was creating and controlling... he'd been alarmed by his own submission when he first went down on Jamie Redknapp that day, but he could see now that this hadn't been fully true... there was a kind of power in pleasing a man like this. Salah and Gomez were whining for his lips now, and their engorged cocks were ready to burst as soon as he decided.
Mo had moved rapidly from frosty judgment to excited complicity, and now he took Alex by surprise, reaching out to pull at his head, forceful and desperate. Alex relented gladly, allowing his mouth to be pulled quickly over that rigid tool, and then tensing his lips in place as Salah began to thrust up, beginning to fuck his mouth. He reached one hand over to tickle Joe's balls whilst with his other, he ran up and down Mo's incredible six pack, feeling every muscle, and preparing himself for the delicious seed of this iconic striker: here it came. Oh yes... Mmm...
`Fuck, fuck,' whined the Muslim man, sounding half-horrified and half-overjoyed.
The sticky cum filled Alex's mouth and he swallowed greedily, pulling his lips slowly up and off the head of that throbbing dick, turning now to the original boner of the scenario, and leaning back towards it. But no, Joe was pushing him away...
Nah, I don't wanna spunk in your gob,' grunted Gomez, pumping his own cock furiously. Get your shirt off. Get those big pecs out, chief...'
In a hurry, Ox pulled up on his sleeveless grey top, wrestling out of it and tossing it lightly aside, baring the well-built plateau of his pecs; Gomez was grasping at the back of his neck to pull him in close whilst jerking himself to completion. Alex knelt close by and gasped excitedly as he watched Gomez explode and shower his sticky seed all over the smoothly shaven skin of his pecs, streaks of white painting the caramel of his skin. Fuck,' he breathed, oh fuck, Joe...' He rested there in front of them, Salah's cum on his lips, and Gomez's dripping around both tight nipples.
Shit,' gasped Mo, staring at them both in fearful appreciation of what he'd done. Shit...'
Relax,' urged Joe. You enjoyed it, didn't you? Yeah? Like I said... I never would have thought, but...'
`Thank you, thank you both,' Alex mumbled, licking his lower lip. He felt his dick throb and ache. He needed to tend to it now. He pushed his hand in and pulled it out of his shorts, and he saw both men's eyes flick over and down, saw them register his superior length and girth with flashes of envy or intimidation. He smirked to himself and began to pull on it.
Go on,' muttered Joe, recovering, wank yourself, you slut...'
Lads,' groaned Salah, I think we need to...'
Come on,' snapped Gomez, you fucked his mouth, least you can do is let him finish...'
`But...'
Go on,' growled the younger man suddenly, jizz on Mohamed here, Alex, go on...'
Oxlade-Chamberlain got up staggering to his feet, loving this idea. He stood over Mo and pulled rapidly on his cock, spitting in his palm for lube. Salah sat there, tensed up, his own cock flopping about in his lap, his face clammy and innocent. Alex reached out and rested one hand on a hard shoulder muscle, and he leaned his body forward, chest still sticky, and grunted out his rising excitement and passion. Next to them, Joe leaned over, playing with his stick dick and making encouraging little moans and gasps as he watched. Alex didn't take long, his dick felt so sensitive in his excitement here. Oh god,' he cried, ohh...' And then he was spilling his spunk down across the tight musculature of the Egypt striker's body, spattering him in gooey juice. Salah gasped his repulsion, Alex let out a long sigh of completion, and Joe gave a filthy laugh.
In the showers after, Salah didn't say anything, he looked troubled and regretful. Joe whistled cheerily to himself, all casual composure. Alex watched them silently as he showered his own sculpted body, lingering deliberately so he was the last one in there soaping down his pecs. By the time he went through into the dressing room, Salah had already gone, and Gomez was tugging on the last of his tracksuit.
They paused and looked at one another. The 22-year-old just made a single, easy wink, yanked on a raincoat, and hoisted up his kit bag. `Catch you later, big man,' he said, and strolled on by with a mere pat to Alex's bare damp shoulders. And off he went, like it was nothing at all to spunk all over your teammate in the fitness suite one minute, and watch them spray another straight married bloke the next.
Alex sighed thoughtfully to himself and began drying his body. So yeh, he really liked dick, and he really liked spunk. What else? What now? He thought about whether he could ever admit this to his beautiful girlfriend Perrie: maybe she'd understand? No... No, that was unlikely. He'd just cheated on her with two people, he realised dumbly. Fuck.
Just then, there was a dull vibration somewhere amongst the tangle of his clean clothes and possessions on the bottom of the tall locker space in front of him. He pushed a damp hand in amongst it and rifled for his phone, wondering guiltily if it was Perrie who was calling him... Nope... Andy? He slid his thumb across to answer it, and lifted it up to his ear.
`Hey...'
`Oh. Hi. Hi, mate.'
`Andy?'
`Yeah, yeah... um, you still at the ground?'
`Yep, just showered – gym was... productive.'
`Cool, cool.'
It was the first time he'd actually had a phone call from Andy in weeks, he realised, and even odder, they'd just spoken what, an hour and a bit ago?
`So er, I was just thinking about what you said,' grumbled the Scotsman.
`Oh...?'
`Well, yeah, I do miss hanging out. Um, what are you up to tomorrow?'
`Nothing.' He said it too quickly and eagerly, he knew, but he couldn't stop himself.
Come round ours for Sunday lunch?' Andy offered. We'd love to have you over. And you haven't seen my little one in ages. Yeah?'
Alex felt a mixed response to this. He was excited by the call, the olive branch, the invite – the idea that he could actually spend some time with Robertson again after this weird freeze between them over what had happened with Redknapp at the start of the year. And yet... invited over for a family meal, with Andy's wife and kid, well... He scolded himself: what had he expected?!
`That would be great,' he said, and he at least half meant it.
`Oh... Yeah, great. Cool. Well – shall we say 1ish, buddy?'
`Looking forward to it.'
Me too.' A long silence over the phone. And Alex, mate...'
`Yeh?'
`I hope you don't think I'm a total prick for the way I spoke to you,' Andy said in a different, less cheery voice. He was whispering it as if worried about being overheard.
`Not at all,' Alex said softly.
`You know you mean loads to me, right?'
Ox's heart skipped a beat behind his broad pecs. `And you to me, mate. Seriously.'
`Okay... sweet. See you tomorrow, then...'
`Yeh. Yeh. Tomorrow. Bye.'
He ended the call and held the phone to his chest, and could do nothing to hold down the little smile that burst onto his lips at the thought of actually spending quality time with his friend. Quality time. Even if not... alone.