Chapter 3 3. JORDAN (3)

JORDAN

I still couldn’t believe the day I’d just had.

Of all the footballers in the world, it had to be Jibril fucking Reynolds.

I was slumped on the sofa in Mary’s flat with a plate of shepherd’s pie going cold on my knees. My head was a complete mess.

Eight hundred quid for one afternoon of refereeing. That part was good. That kind of money usually took me months to scrape together.

The rest of the day? Not so much.

I kept seeing him in my head. Tall, broad in the shoulders, the kind of body that looked like it had been built for football and nothing else. Dark hair, sharp jaw, those blue eyes that always looked half-bored and half-dangerous on the telly.

Even in a simple training kit he carried himself like the whole pitch belonged to him. Other people felt it too. I’d watched it happen all afternoon. Parents straightened up when he walked past, kids pointed and all phones came out.

The women smiled a bit too wide at him and men got quieter, like they didn’t want to look soft next to him.

That was the thing about Jibril Reynolds—he didn’t have to do anything special. His presence alone made everyone else feel smaller.

And somehow that same man had shoved me against a changing-room wall and kissed me until my knees nearly gave out.

Worse than the kiss was what my body had done.

My cock had got hard. Properly hard. For the first time in over a year.

I’d been diagnosed with erectile dysfunction twelve months ago. The doctor had been polite, used careful words, but the result was the same: nothing worked the way it should. No morning wood. Nothing with girls. Nothing at all. I’d stopped trying after a while. What was the point of hoping?

Then one arrogant American footballer put his mouth on mine and my dick suddenly remembered how to work.

I rubbed both hands over my face. “Bloody idiot…”

Was it because he was a man? Was I actually gay and just too thick to notice?

The thought sat heavy in my chest. I didn’t fancy men. Or at least I’d never thought I did. But my body had reacted to him like it hadn’t reacted to anyone in a long time.

The television was on mute, playing old European highlights, and of course his face kept appearing on the TV too. The highlight was featuring his goals and his smug reactions after scoring each goal.

What a mercenary! Goal thief! Arrogant prick!

I heard Mary’s footsteps before she came in carrying two fresh plates.

She looked nice even in just jeans and a soft jumper, hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, the same gentle face she’d always had.

People always said we looked alike only by hair colour, but she's my sister and the softer version of me. The version that still smiled easily even after everything she’d been through.

Two years ago her husband, Camron, had died in a workplace accident. They’d only been married two weeks. One minute she was a new bride, the next she was a widow at twenty-six. She’d cried for months, then she’d gone quiet for even longer.

Lately she’d started smiling again, talking on the phone more, looking brighter. I’d been glad about it. I still was. I just didn’t know what had caused the sudden change.

She set the plates down and sat beside me. "There you are. Eat before it goes cold. So how did the job go?” she asked.

“Interesting,” I said.

“Just interesting?”

“It paid eight hundred. That part was good.”

She smiled, the real one that reached her eyes. “I knew that would cheer you up.”

I stared at the pie. I wasn’t going to tell her about the kiss. No chance. But the other thing was eating at me.

“Mary…”

“Yeah?”

“What if I don’t actually have erectile dysfunction?”

She blinked. “What?”

“What if that cheap doctor got it wrong last year? Or what if it’s… something else?”

She set her fork down. “Jordan, what’s brought this on?”

I scratched the back of my neck. “Do I look gay?”

She stared at me for a second, then let out a short laugh. “What sort of question is that?”

“I’m serious.”

“No. You look like my little brother.”

“That’s not an answer.”

She studied my face properly. “Has something happened?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

“Jordan—”

“Just answer the question.”

She sighed. “No. You don’t look gay. Why are you asking me this all of a sudden?”

I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter.”

Mary was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “I’ve already booked you in with a specialist. A proper one this time, not the same doctor as last year. You’ll get a full check. Stop worrying about it so much.”

I looked at her. “When did you book that?”

“A few days ago.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” I was worried. A specialist costs money and if she had told me I would have said not to.

“I was going to tell you but you’ve had enough on your plate.”

I frowned. “You’ve been doing a lot of things without telling me lately these few months, Mary. The clothes you suddenly buy cost a lot, the perfume, the NIKE you bought for me last month cost a fortune, the job today definitely didn't come that easy and now this doctor's appointment. You’re always on the phone these days too. What’s going on, Mary?”

She gave me that soft, careful smile she used when she didn’t want to explain yet. “Nothing bad. I promise. Just trust me a bit longer.”

“Mary—”

“I’m taking you out tonight. It's a proper dinner so get dressed.”

I stared at her. “Out where?”

She named one of those restaurants that cost a week’s wages for a starter.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“We can’t afford that.”

“I can, for tonight. Just get ready.”

I wanted to push harder, but the look on her face said she wasn’t going to give me more information that she just gave. So I got up and went to my apartment to change.

I put on the only decent shirt I owned—plain white, a bit wrinkled—and a pair of dark jeans that weren’t too faded.

When I came back out to her flat, Mary was already waiting by the door. She’d changed into a navy dress that fitted her properly and made her look like she belonged in places like the one we were heading to.

Her hair was down now, neat, and she was wearing the small gold earrings Camron had given her. She looked happy. Properly happy, and that only made the worry in my chest worse.

We took a taxi. She smiled the whole way, looking out the window like she was excited about something she still wouldn’t share.

I kept glancing at her, trying to work out what the hell was going on. Something was up for sure.

The taxi pulled up outside the place. Floor-to-ceiling windows, soft lights, the River Thames right there reflecting everything. It looked expensive even from the pavement.

Mary paid the driver and linked her arm through mine.

“Come on,” she said. “And stop looking so worried. It’s just dinner.”

I didn’t believe her for a second.

But I followed her inside anyway.