12. Chapter 12

Melody asked that Bradley and I join her and Gez for a meal, and some part of me knew that it was a bit of a test. She wanted to see if I'd managed to drag Bradley out of his self-imposed hovel in the last few days. I knew I'd started to do that, but it was still weird that I was being graded on my efforts to ease depression. Still, I showered and made myself presentable.

I could hear Bradley humming in the shower, but with minutes until we were expected at the table—and the knowledge that Melody demanded punctuality—I hadn't had chance to ask him what was going on with Cory. As far as I knew, his football career was soaring and he was getting modelling contracts from every direction. He should have been on top of the world. But the man I'd walked past in the gym had looked drawn and haggard.

I heard the shower cut off and set a timer on my phone. Bradley may be gorgeous and muscular, but he wasn't a vain man. And I'd made sure his shirts were ironed before they were hung up in his wardrobe. Two minutes.

I watched the seconds count down on my phone and twiddled my thumbs. If I knew Bradley as well as I thought I did, and I knew him pretty damn well, he would be ready in three…two…one.

There was a kick on the door just as my timer started to trill, and I answered with it still ringing. I pressed the off button and looked up into Bradley's eyes. He was smirking, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. He was wearing my favourite shirt of his—one with blue stripes—and a smart pair of jeans and brogues. I'd opted for my white shirt and chinos, paired with a pair of Doc Martens I hoped didn't get me judged.

"Were you timing me?" he asked.

"You're a very precise man. I can run you like clockwork."

He leaned in to whisper in my ear. "Maybe I should think of a way to surprise you then."

"I'd like that," I said, fighting the shiver that zipped down my spine. My voice felt small. I found it so hard to be suave around Bradley, like he sucked up all the charm in the room for himself.

"Shall we?" He offered his elbow to me, and I wrapped my hand around his bicep with difficulty. I could feel the boundaries breaking down between us ever so slowly, and I wasn't sure if that was because the feelings were mutual, or it was just a natural consequence of not having anything between us.

I held onto his arm like a Victorian lady being led by her husband down a busy Clapham street as we walked towards the dining room. The house was large and modern, most of it laid out on one sprawling floor. The only things upstairs were Mr and Mrs Tyler's bedroom, their studies and private bathroom. Everything else occupied the ground floor, a mass of marbled floors and white walls.

The dining room was in the heart of the house, and at the moment was occupied by one huge, black table. It could have looked imposing, but with Melody and Gez seated together at one end it simply looked oversized. Thank God they weren't sitting at the heads of the table, twelve feet apart. That could have been awkward. As it was, Bradley and I could sit next to each other, opposite the elder Tylers.

"Ah, boys," said Melody. She always sounded so regal. So many years older than her fifty-five. And she was glamorous too, dressed as if she were off to a fancy cocktail party. Whereas Gez was dressed in a polo shirt and jeans, and I thought I could see sandals poking out under the table. He was rich, but he definitely wasn't old money. Though I suppose Melody might wish they both were.

"Champagne?" she asked. I nodded, though I'd never really been a fan of the bubbles.

"What's for dinner?" Bradley asked, as we were each poured a glass.

"God knows, darling. I just ask Amanda and she makes the most wonderful dishes. Ah, here she comes."

I gave the chef a polite smile as she entered the room with her arms piled with plates, expertly depositing one in front of each of us. "A Thai lentil curry with basmati rice," she explained, leaving the room before any of us could thank her.

I tucked into the delicious meal, conscious the entire time of how close Bradley and I were. If we ever ate together, it was cross-legged in the middle of the training ring, or lounging on the sofas. If his parents weren't here, it'd be dangerously close to a date.

The whole time we ate and made small talk with Gez and Melody, it felt like I was steadily losing my mind. Was Bradley even aware that our legs were pressed together? Was his heart beating erratically like mine was? Was he sporting a very inappropriate semi too?

The whole dinner was a mess. I was a mess. I dropped my fork twice and had to shoot apologetic glances towards Melody and Gez. I didn't even want to look at Bradley. Dinner with the parents. This was meant to be a nerve-wracking experience after we'd confessed our undying love for each other, not whilst I was still contemplating how to do so.

Finally, the plates were cleared away and Melody poured out another glass of champagne for each of us. I was feeling slightly lightheaded, but that didn't have much to do with the bubbly. Our chairs were so close to one another, and Bradley was leaning just the right way so that his arm touched mine as well. We were essentially connected from ankle to shoulder, and he wasn't acknowledging it at all.

"…Arthur? Is everything alright?" Melody was looking at me with some concern.

"Uh, yes. Sorry. One of those days."

"I'm sure. My husband and I are going to retire now. He always gets the most awful indigestion from curries, don't you darling?"

Gez nodded dutifully and they rose together and left the room.

"God, that was excruciating," said Bradley.

I laughed in relief. "I'll say."

"I don't know why Mum insisted on all this formality. We always ate watching TV when I was a kid."

I took another sip of my champagne. Maybe it was the bubbles making my head loopy. I shamelessly leaned into Bradley's warmth. "Good food though."

"It was. You ready for bed?"

I eyed the bottle where it sat and, feeling particularly bold, snagged it from its ice bucket. "I am if you are."

"I like the way you think. Though you might turn me into an alcoholic," Bradley muttered.

"That's the plan: the old, fat, alcoholic ex-boxer and his forever youthful assistant. It's my turn to look good next to you."

"You always look beautiful next to me," Bradley deadpanned.

He had to say those things that made my stomach swoop, didn't he? And with that earnest look in his eyes, I doubted he even knew the effect it had on me.

We walked out of the dining room and down the corridor. "Your place or mine?" I teased, trying to put a little husk in my throat—and utterly failing.

"We ate at mine yesterday, so yours it is," Bradley answered. I was glad I'd made sure my room was tidy before leaving it.

Like I ever left a room in a mess.

We kicked off our shoes and sat down on the bed cross-legged, knees touching. I topped up each of our glasses and reclined the champagne bottle between my two pillows. Bradley's face was slightly flushed from the alcohol. The low light from the bedside lamp cast shadows over his angular face, and I just wanted to take those cheeks in my hands and kiss him silly.

"How are you feeling?" I asked.

"…better," he said after a second. The smirk playing at the corners of his mouth made me believe him.

"Do you know what's next for you? We're here now, but…you know I'll follow you, yeah? Whatever you decide to do next. If you need an assistant, I will continue to…assist."

"I think we both know I'd be lost without you." Damn. There he was saying another thing that made my heart do somersaults. "You'll always be welcome."

"Do you think you'll go into commentating? Or acting?"

Bradley laughed. "I am not a WWE wrestler. No way am I going on to act in every action film under the sun."

"You could be Bradley ‘the Pebble' Tyler!" I laughed. "Get it! Like… a bit smaller than the Rock."

"Oh, I got it," Bradley grumbled, though I didn't miss the way his mouth twitched. "But no, I need to go on that holiday we talked about. Maybe indefinitely. And then…maybe I'll talk to Jason about training. I think you hit the nail on the head the other day, I took my eye off the ball at the gym. There are kids there who could so with some direction from me."

"That sounds nice. Want me to set it all up when you're away? So you can hit the ground running?

"You're coming with me, those were the terms agreed."

"Fine," I giggled, feeling the flush from the champagne. "For how long?"

"As long as we're having fun. Think of all the money I have and how little fun I've had with it." Bradley looked up and flashed me a longing smile. "We could fly anywhere."

"What's got you all wistful?"

He sobered. "You asked about the future…do you believe in marriage?"

The image of Bradley getting down on one knee had crossed my mind once or twice in the preceding couple of years. "I think I do," I started, then took another gulp of liquid courage. "Do you? What are you looking for in a man?"

Bradley looked at me and in that moment, his eyes were like deep pools: impossible to see right through to their depths. "Cory is married," he said, so quietly I hardly heard him.

"What the fuck? To who?" I asked. I thought his cousin had looked somewhat worried earlier, but never would have guessed that he—

"I can't say. I trust you more than I trust myself, but I promised him. I'm shocked, to say the least And it got me thinking…"

For a second, he swayed slightly, and I thought he might lean in. But then he reclined against the headboard before taking a sip of champagne. "…it got me thinking about the future, is all."

"I get it—"

"I need to say this, because it's not fair otherwise. I promised myself. The only thing I'm certain of…is you."

And this time, Bradley was leaning in. And so was I. We were so close…

"Shit. No. I…" Bradley jerked away and scrambled backwards off the bed, spilling champagne on himself in the process. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I-I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Then he slipped through the en-suite door and was gone.

Fuck.

I couldn't sleep. Couldn't stop thinking about how perilously close we'd come to something, something I desperately wanted—and sensed Bradley did too. I shoved the covers off and crept through my room, through the en-suite, and tested the door. It wasn't locked.

I nudged the door open, peering into the room. Bradley lied in bed shirtless, staring up at the ceiling with his arms behind his head. As soon as he noticed the widening door, he looked at me. He looked almost pained.

"I want to talk," I said gently.

"Why?"

"Because I think we left things in an awkward place, and I don't want to. I'd rather you reject me outright."

"I…I couldn't reject you," Bradley whispered. He looked so vulnerable. So much smaller than I'd ever known him to be.

"Can I join you?"

Bradley hesitated, but then moved his hands from behind his head and scooted over to one side of the bed. I closed the door behind me and felt my way through the darkness to the bed. I crawled in, feeling one of Bradley's big arms loop around me to pull me closer. I kept my hips away from him. No way was an awkward boner going to ruin our heart-to-heart. Not yet anyway.

There was a long, painful silence before either of us spoke. With my head on his chest, I could feel the gentle thump-thump-thump of his heart. "Why?" I asked him.

"Why what?" The thumping of his heart grew slightly louder, more frantic, like he was afraid of being questioned. I laid still until it calmed again.

"Why is now not the time? I don't think I'm imagining things, Bradley. I think there's something here between us, something that's been growing for a long time. And I don't know when our walls will have broken down enough to explore it. What do we have to do? Do I have to give up my job? Or do I have to give you time to settle into your retirement? Or would you rather that door remain closed."

Bradley's mouth was quiet, but his heart wasn't. "You know I don't find it easy to open up, right? Most of the time I'd rather hit something until I feel better. I understand the physical side of getting my aggression out. But I don't know how the hell people talk about their feelings so much."

"I'm always here to listen," I implored. "Not everything can be solved with a broken punchbag."

Bradley choked out a laugh, but it was humourless.. "That's exactly it. I feel like a broken punchbag, and I don't know what to do about it."

I rested one hand on his chiselled stomach and waited for him to continue. I could recognise when to push him, and in that moment I just needed to wait.

"I went down," he finally said. "Like a sack of shit. In my last fight, I went down to the canvas for the first time in my professional career."

"He cheated. You would've had him down in seconds if you wanted to."

"Exactly. I was showing off, playing the crowd for my last fight. I wanted the attention, the praise. That's not like me at all. I played up to the crowd and lost the fight because of it. He should've gone down in the first round."

"I have to ask…what does this have to do with me? With us?"

"Do you know what I was going to do after that fight?" Bradley asked me.

"Fly to the Maldives like I said you should?"

"I was going to tell you how I felt about you." Bradley let the sentence hang in the air.

"What?" My voice was barely more than a whisper.

"You've been my assistant for the last three years. I've probably had feelings for you since your first month working for me. And losing made me…makes me feel like I'm not enough for you. I shouldn't have lost. And because of that, I've lost you too."

"You've not lost me, you silly prune." I gave him a sad smile, even if he couldn't see me. His hand came up to stroke the back of my head anyway. "So…you have feelings for me?"

"Don't laugh. I know it sounds stupid," he said. "Such a stereotype, falling for my assistant. Doesn't matter now. I fucked up."

"I'm really failing to see your logic here," I tried. "I don't see what the problem is."

"It's not the plan!" said Bradley, voice raising more than I cared for. "I wanted to win. I wanted to show you that I could be there and be strong, go out on a high. Instead, I failed. And now…"

"Have you ever seen Rocky?" I asked.

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"The end, stupid."

"He loses."

"Is that really the end of the film?"

"May as well be," said Bradley sullenly.

"Why are you being so fucking obtuse?" I rolled away from him and propped myself up on one elbow. My eyes had adjusted and I could just barely see him in the dark. "'Adrian! Adrian!' He loses his fight. And he gets the girl."

After a moment of silence Bradley admitted, "I think I always turned it off when he lost.".

Silence again. I hated silence. Especially when I felt we had so much to say. "So…feelings?" I pressed.

"Feelings," Bradley echoed. There was another very pregnant pause. "I have…feelings for you. Have done for a long time. Please say something back. Even if it's a rejection. Please. I'd rather…"

He tailed off as I reached out for his face in the darkness, cupping his cheeks in my hands. I leaned in, and could feel his breath ghosting over my face. Finally, after what felt like eons, we were both brave enough to close the distance and my lips were on his.

The kiss was slow, searching. We were two people who'd been waiting for years for this and now we were finally getting what we wanted. I savoured him like a sip of expensive wine, and he did the same to me.

Bradley's hand caressed my face, and I let one of mine move down to his chest. I felt silly in my button-up pyjamas whilst he was lying there in just his shorts, but I didn't want to push him any faster than he wanted. Instead, my hand feathered over his stomach and towards the waistband of his--

I wrenched out of the kiss. "Wait. Are you naked?" My palm brushed bare skin—there was definitely no waistband.

Bradley chuckled. "Maybe. You know I sleep naked."

"No, I don't. I literally control your clothes shopping. I always buy you pyjama shorts."

"I wear them! Sometimes."

"You let your assistant into your bed for a talk whilst you were naked?"

"I think we've gone a little bit beyond that now, don't you?" Bradley smiled against my lips as he pulled me back in for the kiss. Feeling brave, I let my hand continue exploring, brushing against the warm silkiness of his erection. He was hard as steel , and I could tell his size was certainly nothing to complain about. He shivered each time my hand brushed it, never gripping, never doing any more than a quick tease.

"Fuck, you're killing me," he whined between kisses. I swiped my thumb over his cockhead, sweeping away the bead of precome I found there. He thrust his hips, pushing his erection through my fist, and then his hands were at my neck, shaking as he tried to unbutton the pyjamas. When he stuttered, he pulled, the sound of ripping fabric echoing through the room.

"Those were expensive silk," I muttered as he moved to pull my trousers down too.

"Bill me," he chuckled, ripping the trousers down my legs as I shimmied the pyjama top off and dropped it to the floor.

We were both brilliantly, deliciously naked and I couldn't wait for more of him. I reached down to grab his cock as he did the same to me. The feeling of that callused palm on me was heaven as he pulled back the foreskin. Every movement he made was quick and rough—no surprise there. Sex with Bradley was like everything else with him: he owned it.

One hand landed on my thigh, and suddenly I was being flipped so that I was on my side, the little spoon to Bradley's much bigger one. He thrust his cock between my thighs as he pulled at mine.

"Don't think I'm prepped for that thing," I said cautiously, feeling the thigh length between my legs.

"Don't worry, love. I want you just like this," said Bradley as he pushed between my thighs, precum creating a slick trail for him to use at his disposal. His hand was rough on my cock, and he kissed and bit at my earlobe with each punch of his hips. Fuck, I wanted him inside me. But that could wait—for a little while.

He stroked my length until I was groaning his name, begging for release, and my thighs were slick with sweat and precum. "I'm going to come," he growled, biting down on my ear again. "You are too."

The permission—or command—was all I needed to spill over his hand and the expensive silk sheets. Then Bradley was coming too, coating the inside of my thighs with his seed. It dripped down onto the bed and mixed with my own as I laid there, panting.

"Fuck," I whispered.

"That's next time," Bradley quipped, kissing the side of my neck before rolling away. "Really should have put a towel down," he said, handing me something to wipe myself down with.

"I know." I gave my thighs a thorough wipe and then attacked the sticky patch on the bed. "Wait. Are these my pyjamas?"

"Maybe." I could hear the smile in Bradley's voice as he gently wiped down the back of my thighs with something that felt distinctly like the shirt that matched the ruined pyjama trousers I now held in my hand. "Now we can both sleep naked."

"In here? Together?" I asked, trying not to sound too needy. I failed completely.

"Yes."

"Am I dreaming Is this just a champagne-induced hallucination?"

"Try sleeping," Bradley said, pulling the blanket over me. "I'll still be here when you wake up from your dreams."