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Joq started walking again. “Just, don’t tell another soul, alright? He’s really private.”
Her little heels were loud on the concrete, the building cool around them.
“I don’t even really know who he is,” she replied. “And I don’t care. But yeah, obviously I’m not gonna say anything.”
“He’s George Creed,” he said as he swiped his security card at the door that’d take them upstairs. “And if you work here for more than a week, believe me, you’re gonna know who he is.”
3
Joq was standing near his car in the empty parking lot when George came out of the building. It was dark and there was a fine mist of rain, which was strange for December, but a welcome relief from the heat.
“You didn’t have to wait,” George said as he strolled over.
Joq clicked the immobiliser. “Just finished myself. I told you.”
George grunted an acknowledgement and got in the passenger’s side.
The headlights lit up the droplets of rain as they headed out, the soft sound of Joq’s trance CD filling the space between them. He refused to put the radio on in the car. He didn’t want to hear the shit on there about George, and he hated the way George pretended it didn’t bother him, then went and brooded about it for days afterwards.
“Thanks,” George said after they’d been driving for a while.
Joq shrugged. “Might as well when we can.”
George grunted again, shuffled around in his seat, and gazed out the window. Their schedules rarely coincided during the season. But even if they did, sharing lifts every now and then as ‘buddies’ was unremarkable, coming and going together every day might raise questions George didn’t want to answer. Joq had always found it extraordinary that nothing about their ‘friendship’ had raised a single eyebrow. Everyone seemed happy to eagerly buy the friends-who-lived-nearby bullshit they’d spun for a decade.
“I saw your press conference,” Joq said.
He expected George to groan or huff, brush it off like usual. George didn’t, he stilled. It was the kind of stillness only someone who knew him as well as Joq did would pick up on.
“Yeah?” George asked eventually.
“Not all of it.” Joq glanced at him.
George was watching him back.
“What?” Joq asked.
George shook his head. “Nothin’, just the usual bullshit.”
That response was not nothing. George liked to talk about the bullshit. He liked to plan his offense; he hated being on defence. Joq was going to watch it as soon as he got a moment to himself.
“So, Finn seems alright,” Joq said as he pulled up at their gate. Well, technically, it was George’s gate, George’s place, but Joq had been living here for ten years, moving in after they’d dated for two. He felt entitled to call it their home.
George grunted and didn’t elaborate. Now, that was suspicious.
“What?” Joq clicked the button for the gate and they waited for it to open. “You seemed to like him.”
“Course I like him, he’s on the team.”
Joq turned to look at him. George was looking out the window. Joq cracked up. George whipped his head back. He was frowning, but he was trying not to smile as well.
“Oh my God,” Joq said. “Old man’s got a crush!”
George shook his head. “Can you just park the car?”
“You do,” Joq whistled but did as he was told. “Pity he’s too young. And he’s one of your players. Oh and you never fuck around.”
“Yeah,” George said as he unclipped his seatbelt and got out.
