Series: EASY TO LOVE (Chapter 1: Mistake)
Pairing: PW/OW
Rating: PG
Warning: none yet
Summary: When Oliver's big mouth gets him into trouble, a good friend lends a hand.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Co. are the property of JK Rowling and Warner Bros. No infringement on their copyright is intended.
Beta: Many thanks to Nichol (alcoholicberry) for giving this part a beta :)
Though my original character Dave (The Assignment) appears in this story, please assume that Plum's class was never taken. This story is intended to stand on its own, as no part of another work.
Chapter One: Mistake
Saturday, October 2nd
Room 1118 at the Hilton, Hollywood CA
When Oliver Wood signed to Puddlemere United, he knew press interviews and publicity tours were a necessary part of the professional sports world. He thought nothing of giving his agent freewill in his contract, his youthful concerns centered only on Quidditch, money and a future of indeterminable possibilities.
And yet – on sunny afternoons such as this one, Oliver would rather the freedom to fly for hours over Greater London than be tied to contractual obligations. Even life as a broom hobo seemed better during these few days, cooped up in a darkened hotel room and feeling miserable, hungry and bored beyond reason.
And on this afternoon, a light shone through the hotel door and Oliver, perched in a director's chair, watched wearily as a familiar, surreal reality played out in front of him.
It was always the same thing, he mused, watching detachedly.
Self-important camera crews and photographers burst through the doors, stationing themselves around the room. Wordlessly, they adjusted the light, his suit and – yes, even touching up his makeup according to current Hollywood standards. As a powder poof slapped his face, he awaited the next dramatic entrance – a reporter -always petite, always perky, would bellow a cheerful "Hell-O!" before making her appearance.
And then Oliver would silently pray for a quick death.
"Hell-O!"
He grimaced, looking past the make-up crew to the door as a woman with long blonde hair and a pink mini-robe sauntered inside. She flashed her pearly whites at the crew, her smile widening more as she set her sight on Oliver. Sharp green eyes held his gaze, even as she plunked down beside him and held out her hand, her knees pressed against Oliver's own.
"Cane. Candy Cane. A pleasure," she purred.
You've got to be kidding me! Managing a small smile, Oliver reached out to grasp the hand lightly but Candy pulled away quickly. Always the same, Oliver appraised her as he folded his arms protectively. Her shoulders were pressed back, her bosom out. The mini-robe hiked up a little for the camera.
"We're all set? And you are all set, Oliver? Great! Time to rock and roll, guys!" Candy hadn't waited for a reply, her eyes now trained on a smart-looking notebook that appeared in her lap at her silent will. "Anddddddddd action!"
The crew, obviously used to her antics, quickly moved behind the camera and focused on her with the same professional detachment as most 'Candy Canes' Oliver'd met.
With a flip of her blonde hair, Candy's smile deepened into the camera lens. "I'm Candy Cane, reporting for CQN, the Cable Quidditch Network. Today I'm sitting here with Oliver Wood, Keeper for Puddlemere United and the youngest – yes folks, the youngest player in that team's history, signing from Puddlemere's reserve after only one year!" Candy touched Oliver's leg. "'Bout four years ago now, wasn't it Oliver?"
"'Bout that, right." Oliver nodded, his arms remaining folded despite the urge to shoo her hand away. Four years of experiencing the joys of meeting people like you, Candy.
"And how about that game last Sunday? Amazing!"
"Thank you, er- Candy. The team really came together in that final hour and when Henry Oak caught the snitch, we knew we had played a really good game. The team was--"
"Don't be modest, Ol," Candy gushed, patting his thigh as though lightly scolding a child. "It's not too often that a Keeper deflects that many goals in one game. Five hundred shots, was it?"
Oliver nodded again. One shot is all it'd take again you. "Something like that, yes."
"But everybody knows that by now. What I'm looking for Oliver is the real story. Who is Oliver Wood? What does he do in his spare time? You must lead such a glamorous life!"
Oliver raised his eyebrows at her skeptically. Fast life? Ale after the game? Hours flying solo around the city. Yep, Wood leads the fast life all right.
When he didn't respond, Candy elaborated, waving her hands wildly. "What I mean is, you must have a wonderful girlfriend that understands all the pressures and commitment that professional Quidditch involves."
Ah, yes.
Oliver resisted a chuckle, realizing this woman was the reporter he'd been waiting for all day. In his short Quidditch career, he soon learned that there was always one interviewer more interested in his 'fan-girl' appeal than his athletic ability. Knowing the effort would be futile, he tried anyways: "Candy, I do try to keep my personal life separate from Quidditch."
Candy leaned forward, resting her chin on her fist in a thoughtful pose. "Must be difficult."
"No, no," Oliver gave a short laugh. "What I mean is, I try to keep my private life out of public affaires. So if you wouldn't mind, could we talk about something else instead?"
"But Oliver," Candy purred once more, her green eyes darkening. "Your fans want to know everything about you! Don't they deserve to know the real Oliver Wood, Keeper Extraordinaire?"
"No," he replied bluntly, annoyance creeping into his tone. "The real Oliver Wood is the same one that's out there on the field, playing Quidditch. If anyone wants to know me, all they have to do is watch Puddlemere United."
"But really, Oliver," Candy's voice assumed a child's drawl. "Isn't it true that you'll be on the cover of Quidditch Fan Weekly next week, voted Sexiest Quidditch Player of the Year?"
How did she know- damn! Oliver sighed, trying to summon any patience left in him. "Aye. My agent's told me that I was chosen for that honor, and the fact that my contribution to the game--"
"And so you're going to deny your adoring public, the ones who voted to put you on the cover of Quidditch Fan Weekly, the ones that purchase your Quidditch merchandise and who attend Puddlemere's games - deny them the chance to discover the man behind the broom?"
"Candy, I appreciate all that my fans have done to--"
"Then why, pray tell, do you insist on denying them the chance to get to know the real you? Do you have a girlfriend? Is this why you're so private?"
Oliver slowly massaged his forehead. It'd be different if Candy were his first interview rather than the last. He couldn't just repeat the sports stats and game talk like usual. Oh no, this interview required him to actually think and react in public to something he didn't even like to think about privately.
Candy's fingernails tapped impatiently on her closed green notebook.
Oliver wanted a drink. An ale, scotch, or even tea – yes, he could take a nice hot mug of Darjeeling right now. Sitting around a small restaurant with his teammates, talking about reporters like Miss Cane.
If only the guys were around--
As though controlled solely by Oliver's will, the hotel door clicked open and two of his teammates - his best mates, Dave Sharp and Henry Oak, entered. The smaller, more energetic of the two, Dave, gave him a big wave and, pointing to Candy, made a face. Henry nudged him to remain silent.
Ah, it would seem I'm not the only one to encounter such tragic circumstances.
Candy cleared her throat. "Mr. Wood, I'm not looking for a list of how many notches are on your broomstick" (he winced at this suggestion) "but you have a responsibility to my listeners, your fan base, to share this information. Now, call it female intuition or something but I get the feeling that you have a special someone at home. Some lucky girl, eh?"
That is it, that is it!
Pushed to his limit, Oliver's hands balled into fists and he opened his mouth to deliver what he'd hope to be the final words of Candy's sports reporting career.
But from the corner of the room, he heard Dave say instead:
"That's a hole in one, Candy. You are absolutely right – Oliver does have a special someone. How do you know these things?"
Oliver groaned. Not the time for jokes, guys. Candy swiveled in her seat, frantically motioning for his friends (ex-friends) to join the interview set. Hands still fisted, he watched as his teammates, cheeky grins and all, were fitted with microphones and doused with make-up. Both avoided looking directly at Oliver, instead looking at Candy with intense interest.
What did I ever do to these guys, anyway? Well, the question is more like: What will I do to these guys if I actually survive this interview?
Oliver put both hands behind his head, rolling it around to loosen the tension.
Everyone seated, Candy pointed a finger at the camera and said, "Anddddddd action!" Leaning forward, she rested a hand on each of Oliver's teammates' knees. "Dave Sharp and Henry Oak, the newest team members to Puddlemere United, have joined our interview. As two of Oliver's closest friends, you two must know a lot about his private life. You guys really are great friends, right?"
"Absolutely," Henry grinned at her.
"The best," Dave replied with a preteen girl's solemn look, crossing his heart as he looked into the camera with mock sincerity.
"BFF?" Candy asked quickly.
"Totally," Henry replied. Oliver had no idea was 'BFF' was, exactly, but it couldn't be good if his American teammate was agreeing to it.
"OK, boys. Let's share the dish on Oliver. All of his fans, and yours, are dying to know about his private life."
"To which they should," Dave replied seriously, crossing his legs and folding his hands neatly in his lap.
Candy's bosom was heaving hard, and Oliver was certain the top buttons on her tight mini-robe would burst any second. "So, there is someone in his life?"
"Of course."
"A very special someone. The envy of all his teammates, actually."
"We all just adore them together."
"So, to answer your question, Candy, yes. Oliver has a fantastic boyfriend at home."
Dave didn't just-- Oliver felt faint.
The reporter's eyes danced. Christmas had come early for this Candy Cane.
"I wish he was my boyfriend," Henry added wistfully.
Now was the time for Oliver to die. Or for his teammates to die. Yes, that's more like it, he reasoned.
"You're gay, too, aren't you?" Candy asked, pointing her quill at Henry.
"Yes," Henry answered. About the only thing truthful he said this afternoon, Oliver thought bitterly, his heart still beating fast. Henry was gay – as were others in professional Quidditch. There was little tolerance in the wizarding world of homophobia. "Actually, I probably influenced him."
"And what do you think of your best friends both being gay, Dave?"
Oliver saw Dave nudge Henry. "Well, Candy, I'll tell you. Oliver has such a great boyfriend that –hell, I wish he were my boyfriend! Except, you know, for my whole heterosexuality thing."
"Yes, that's makes dating a man difficult," said Henry seriously.
Oliver kicked off his shoes, dropping them to the floor with a thud. This has to be some stupid joke. A setup. Maybe the entire interview is a put on.
Candy turned to him. "Tell me all about your boyfriend, Mr. Wood, I'd love to have your input with this. Hang on a 'mo, boys, I'm just going to touch my make-up and have the film changed."
She motioned to the make-up crew, who immediately swarmed around her.
Oliver took this opportunity to lean into his friends and hiss, "You're both going to die. I'm just not sure which one first."
Dave laughed, finally turning to face him. "Relax, Ol. We're just having a little fun. She's an idiot, and her crew's just as nuts."
Oliver was aware just how 'nuts' Candy Cane was, but that wasn't the issue right now: "Dave. Fix. This. Now."
Henry leaned back and, his arm crossing Dave's shoulders, he reached two fingers on the back of Oliver's neck, rubbing slowly. "Hey, loosen up. You're as tense as anything. Besides, look at the camera. See the faint orange aura?"
Oliver shrugged his shoulders, thowing off his touch, before squinting at the camera. "Kind of. But what--"
"Dave charmed the camera so it won't record. All the cameras, actually."
"Won't record?"
"Won't record," Dave confirmed, smiling smugly. "Come on, have a little fun with us. She spent two hours harping on my relationships since Karen left. And poor Henry here..."
"He's right, Ol," Henry shook his head. "She wanted to know how I ranked our male teammates, according to what I've seen in the showers. If-you-get-my-drift."
"We tied for first," Dave joked to Oliver in a stage whisper.
"You two wish," Henry gave him a playful punch before asking: "So, how 'bout it, Wood? Let's have a little fun at her expense."
"Besides, it could be fun pretending you actually have a social life," Dave smirked.
"I hate you both," Oliver started, unable to keep a grin away. He ignored the feeling of foreboding in his stomach and consented: "Fine, fine, I'll do it. But you're paying for drinks afterwards."
Candy cleared her throat, reasserting her presence amongst the men. "All set, boys? Let's talk! Takeee three." She pushed her lips together, now reddened and enlarged by the miracle of wizard makeup products. "Let's all hear about the mystery man that has stolen your heart, Oliver."
Oliver sighed and paused, thinking, until Dave delivered a sharp nudge. He spat out, "Er- he's a great guy. I, um, I really like him a lot."
"Oh?" Candy asked, her eyes wide with interest.
"He's dreamy," Henry sighed deeply.
"He's got wavy hair," Dave chimed in, hands folded in his lap again.
Walk like the animals, talk like the animals... "Wavy and thick red hair," Oliver corrected, trying to resist chuckling at the guys. Perhaps they were right – Candy was getting exactly what she, and reporters like her, deserved.
"And?" Candy prompted, her fingernails still tapping.
"And blue eyes," Oliver added, slowly, "like – like the magnificent waters off the shores of Glasgow!"
He heard Dave swallowed a chuckle. "He's a really fun guy. Hmm... Height-wise, he's about--"
"Tall," Oliver interrupted, aware he was enjoying himself far too much. His pretend life was starting to sound much better than his real one. "Perhaps just an inch or two taller than I am, and I stand at over six feet myself."
"He doesn't play Quidditch, no," Henry added, not wanting to be left out of the charade. "But--"
"That's right, he's no good on a broom at all," Oliver chuckled, interrupting once more. "Thin, really. An intellectual type. We leave each other to our own interests."
"What's his family like?"
"Big. He's a family guy." Oliver unfolded his arms, feeling the tension leave his body. He was having a great time. "There I go again, highlighting how we're opposites. I'm an only child, so I really enjoy being around his family."
"I hate to ask this question," Candy started, "but do you each have your own 'roles' in the relationship? Like, is someone more feminine?"
Henry burst out laughing.
Oliver spoke over him. "No, we'd rather not be categorized as such. We're each strong men in our own capacity."
"Like?"
Like what? I wouldn't know how to answer this question in an actual relationship! Oliver took a deep breath, knowing the question itself was somewhat offensive but it was all part of the game. Right? He spoke slowly: "Er- he's more likely to clean up, but I do the cooking. And sure, I'm into sports but he's more likely to take the initiative at putting things together. It balances out."
"He sounds so dreamy," Candy gushed. "What are some of the things you two do together?"
"They--"
"He--"
Once more Oliver ignored his friends' attempts at describing this fictional life. This invented life just seemed to come all too easily to him. "He loves a good book. Writing poetry or short fiction, reading it out loud to me. He's highly educated, intelligent; he just excels in everything he does. A bit shy and yet, also stubborn." Oliver laughed a little. "He has a fantastic personality that just makes me want to go out and grab--"
"His buns," Dave smirked.
"Life. Grab life," Oliver emphasized, trying to be serious. "Makes me want to learn things, do things I've never done before. Takes me out of this constant diet of all things Quidditch, and into his welcoming world of wonder and normalcy."
Merlin, I'm good at this!
"Is he a wizard, Oliver?"
"Yes," Oliver thought quickly. "But he loves the muggle lifestyle. Lives as such as much as he can."
"A real country fellow, eh?"
"That's my guy," Oliver finished, feeling quite satisfied. A fun end to a horrible interview.
"That's wonderful." Candy held out her hand to Oliver. "Thank you so much for the interview. I wish you two only the best."
"No, thank you," Oliver said seriously, taking her hand in both of his. "I really appreciate this, Candy. I guess I was just waiting for the right person to bring it out of me."
With a small wave to Dave and Henry, Candy backed away to leave with her crew. The boys exchanged glances, shaking their heads and stifling their amusement until the room cleared.
Candy was the last to leave, with one foot out the door before turning around:
"Boys? I hope you all enjoy hearing the interview."
"Oh, we're all really looking forward to it," Dave joked. "Oliver and his guy will probably cuddle up, and--"
"Wait," Henry put a hand on Dave's shoulder. "Did you say hear the interview?"
"Of course," Candy replied cheerfully, leaning against the doorframe. "CQN is launching the first ever all-Quidditch radio network. We've been advertising it all month long. And after our interview today, Mr. Wood is set to be our first show ever. The network will probably want to launch early, and this interview is sure to be hot!"
As Oliver's heart dropped to his knees, he felt Henry's arm go around his waist to hold him up. He sputtered, "What? But there's a camera and a film and--"
"A camera," Dave swallowed audibly, wobbling to a nearby chair.
"And a film," Henry finished, the room then dissolving into an awkward silence.
"Of course," Candy shrugged. "If you only wanted to speak about stats and game predictions, the cable network would have wanted the tape. But I have the recorder right here." She held up her smart green notebook that, Oliver noticed upon looking closer, was indeed a flat voice recorder.
No no no no!
"Uh? Miss Cane? There's been--"
But Candy was still talking, lost in her own little world. "This has been the best interview of my entire two-month career." She clasped the recorder with both hands in front of her chest. "Tootles, boys!"
And with the fastest executed Apparition Oliver ever seen, she disappeared.
No one looked at each other. After a minute past, Dave walked over to the curtains and opened them, letting in the harsh red light of a Hollywood sunset.
Henry spoke first. "Don't panic, Oliver."
"Oh, I'm not panicking," Oliver said, his tone slight elevated, his hands shaking. Don't panic? Don't FREAKIN panic?
"Seriously Ol, it's not that bad," Dave started, cut off when he noticed Oliver advancing towards him. Henry caught the collar of his shirt, stopping him in his tracks.
The three men stared at each other in silence, but questions were running wild in Oliver's head: What just happened here – Oh, Merlin! My parents! What will my friends, my teammates, say when they think I've had this serious relationship all along? And that I've kept it from them? When they find out I've lied on the first interview, ever, for Quidditch radio? The fallout will be huge... Merlin! My agent's going to kill me.
And then:
Oliver suddenly burst into laughter. It was funny, really. Hilarious. They had pranked a Hollywood reporter and she'd gotten the better of them. Something to tell the grandkids, this one.
He felt arms wrap around his shoulders. Dave, judging by the height (or lack of it), was steering him towards the doorway and distantly he could hear the words:
"Poor boy got a shock. He's right clammy, and he won't stop shaking. Henry, if there was ever a time for a Scotsman and a bottle of whiskey to meet up..."
Two Hours Later (Evening)
A Quidditch-themed Bar, Quite-A-Many Miles from the Hilton
"No need worrying about it," Henry was saying, leading him into the bar and through the tables until they were at the back. "We'll pay Miss Candy Cane a little visit and tell her it was a joke."
Numbed, Oliver was shoved into a booth, himself barely aware of the surroundings. They'd searched the city for any trace of a Hollywood CQN-affiliate, to no avail, finally stopping at a bar for further brainstorming.
Here, the photographs of famous Quidditch players, the flying-snitch themed tablecloths, the broom paraphernalia lining the walls – Oliver didn't notice anything or anyone. In truth, the place was packed (always was) but he couldn't, wouldn't, hear the chatter around him, only interested in quieting his heartbeat, quelling his thoughts. And stifling the urge to attack Dave and Henry for getting him into this mess.
"Can we get three? Over here! Can we get three..." Henry held up three fingers towards the bar and receiving a nod, settled in across from Oliver. "Look, do we know when CQN's launching? Perhaps we can break into Candy's office. You know, steal her tape recorder or something."
"Interesting idea, Harry Potter. But that's not exactly practical," Dave said harshly, sarcastically, before growing quiet.
Three large, foamy glasses of beer were eventually placed on the table, and each man took a long drink.
After a pause, Dave muttered, "When we were just walking in now... I heard someone say that CQN radio launched an hour ago."
"You mean..." Oliver trailed off, staring at the golden liquid through the glass.
"Your interview caused them to launch early, just as Candy said."
One hand on his mug, Oliver slowly lowered his head to the table. He knew that Dave and Henry, good friends that that were (occasionally, he added silently) were probably exchanging worried glances, trying to communicate silently how to help him through this. But he didn't want help – no, he wanted to be left alone. To wallow. To get drunk. And then prepare to hang up his broom forever.
"Hey hey hey. Look who's here!"
Oliver raised his head in time to see several of his teammates, having finished their own press obligations, saunter over to his table with filled glasses in hand.
"How the hell did they find us here?" Henry muttered, putting on a false smile.
"Oliver, buddy! You never told us you were involved with someone!" boomed Greg Smith, Puddlemere's captain, as he approached the table. He pointed a finger at Oliver, winking. "I never thought you to be one for the ladies, anyhow."
"Could have told me that, G," Lizzie Charles said from behind him. She too winked at Oliver, giving him a teasing smile. "Ollie, I ought to be mad at you. Wasting my charms."
"Ha," Oliver said, forcing his teeth to clamp together in an attempt to appear jovial. "Sorry 'bout that, Liz. Erm. I'm guessing they aired the interview?"
"Yep," Larry Sullivan said, sliding into the booth beside Henry. His large build made him one of the best-known beaters in the British league. "So why didn't you tell us? You know we don't care whether you're gay or not." Never one known for tact, Larry pointed to Henry to illustrate his point.
Henry rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Lar. Guys, its Oliver's business whether or not he wants to share his private life."
"He did share it," Greg pointed out. "With everyone except us. And you two knew all along!"
Lizzie set her mug on the table, crossing her arms. "Ol, what about all those times I said I was trying to set you up? Why didn't you tell me you were involved? With a guy!"
"Well," Oliver drew out slowly. The sudden confrontation was akin to swimming in ice-cold water after an intense practice. Losing his teammates' respect, friendship, was one of his worse fears. "You guys know, I always try to keep my private life separate from Quidditch."
"Same old line," Lizzie muttered, throwing up her hands and looking at the other teammates. "Why didn't he tell us this before? It was embarrassing to learn about it here, in the United States of all places!"
"Today," Dave started, looking pointedly at Oliver with a twinkle in his eye that seemed to indicate: idea. Which in turn usually indicated: trouble. "Today... Er-Today, Oliver's relationship was threatened to be exposed. In a negative light. So he turned to Henry and myself to..."
"To help him. Come clean with it on his terms. You know, to save face before the tabloids get the story," Henry finished with a slight flush to his face.
Oliver closed his eyes. He loved his best friends, he really did, but they were the most transparent men he'd ever met. I'm just going to quit the team now. Live life out of my parents' basement. That's not so bad. Dave and Henry will visit when the team's in town. Mom's a great cook. And hey – I won't have to do laundry anymore.
"You're kidding!" Larry said, eyes wide. "That's horrible! I don't know where some people get off, going into peoples lives and--"
Greg interrupted. "That was quick thinking, Ol. Good job."
"You might have just saved your career. Look at the old story of Stinky Jones," Lizzie added solemnly.
Oliver opened his eyes. Could this be true-- Could his teammates have bought that pathetic story?
"Why do you look so worried, Ol?" Laney Curt, a chaser, patted his shoulder from behind the booth. "It's all out now. We understand why you kept it quiet. We all have private lives that we like to keep out of the Quidditch mainstream"
Murmurs of agreement were exchanged.
"It's a good thing Henry and Dave were there to see you through," Larry added, taking another gulp.
To Oliver's relief, both men had the decency not to blush at the compliment.
"But it's not going to end now, Oliver," Lizzie warned, though her expression was soft. She took up her mug, taking a final swig, before: "You'll be tabloid fodder and part of sports news commentaries for weeks now. You're agent's either going to kiss you or kill you for announcing it the way you did."
"Don't worry about it, Ol," Greg motioned with his hand as though to wave the problem away. The motion set his beer swinging onto the floor, unbeknownst to him.
Larry pursed his lips thoughtfully, eying the puddle of wasted beer. "What I want to know is, since this is all out in the open now, when do we get to meet the guy?"
Choruses of "Yeah!" and "Hell, yes!" rang around Oliver, and he felt his cheeks blush at the sudden attention. He was a quiet guy by nature, earning his friendships through hard work on the pitch and loyalty to his teammates. And here they were, forgiving him for never mentioning this part of his private life and also wanting to meet his mystery man.
Which I don't have, he reminded himself firmly. His heart sped up and he swallowed hard, his eyes returning to the half-drunk golden beverage in front of him. If anything, Mrs. Wood raised an honest man, and he certainly didn't want to be the guy that got caught in a jumble of lies.
No, he wasn't going along with this charade any longer.
But just as Oliver opened his mouth to finally set the story right, he caught the eager, interested faces of his teammates, his friends. These men who supported him, believed in him, since he was a seventeen year old kid on the Reserve. And who were so willing to forgive him even when they believed he'd lied to them about a steady boyfriend.
Oliver cleared his throat. "Thanks, guys. I'm sorry about the mess I've caused. It's just," Oliver motioned to his chest, knowing that he had to (at least) appear sincere. "It's just that everything is all so new to me. I don't want to mess things up, not for you guys and not for" (gulp) "my boyfriend."
From the corner of his eye, he watched Dave and Henry exchange glances. But all the other teammates' eyes were trained on him, sympathetic and understanding.
The group parted, each patting Oliver's shoulder or shaking his hand (or in Larry's case, giving a hearty slap on the back). Everyone left in good cheer but not without Greg asking again:
"So, we can meet the guy now, right? You're not keeping him in a box someplace? Mr. Invisible and all that?"
Oliver gave a nervous laugh. "No, no. I'd love for you all to meet him. Er – when we get home, that is. He lives in England."
"British too, eh?" said Lizzie with amusement. Like Henry, she was recently traded to Puddlemere from the American league team, the Sweetwater All-Stars. "This guy just sounds fantastic!"
"Yeah, watch out or Dave's 'heterosexuality' might just cave to him," Larry laughed, having used air-quotes. Dave launched towards him and each man shoved the other playfully. Oliver smiled, amused at the antics but also content that the interview hadn't only been embarrassing for himself.
"All for a good friend," Dave said loudly as the others parted. A waitress came over and quickly put a full pitcher of beer in front of them. The table now deserted of their teammates, Dave sighed and said, "You're welcome, Oliver!"
"I'm welcome?" Oliver said in disbelief. "I'm welcome? You – Now, I have to find – and you- and you-"
"It's not that bad, Ol," Henry said again. "You have this huge fight with your pretend boyfriend and ta-da! There's no more relationship."
"Can't," Dave interrupted, looking sternly at him. "The press will be relentless at finding broken-hearted Lover Boy. Then they'll know. They'll find out. And Oliver, you hadn't a chance at saving face. I love the guys, I really do but you know Greg and Larry don't give up on grudges. Lizzie will be mad at you until you're dead and buried. Hell, she'd be the one to put you there!"
"They'll be mad at you, too," Henry pointed out in Oliver's defense.
Dave wrinkled his nose. "That's right. And they probably won't be too happy towards the guy who claimed he's the one that influenced Oliver to be gay!"
"Damn. Forgot about that," Henry said quietly, sipping his refilled mug.
Oliver's hand banged the table's surface in frustration. "Guys! You're not helping! Merlin, Philbert's going to kill me," he muttered, thinking about the team's manager, Philbert Deverill. He shook his head – one step at a time, Ol. "We go back to Puddlemere tomorrow. Before the press gets to me, I have to find this perfect guy, convince him to participate in this charade and fool everyone into thinking that we're the latest, most engaging couple to come out of Great Britain."
"Not going to be easy," Henry said, shaking his head.
"I'm being sarcastic, Henry," Oliver muttered bitterly, then immediately regretted saying it. He hadn't meant to get mad at his best friends. They might have led him into this spot but he went willingly, no one forcing him to make up a romantic life. "What am I going to do?"
"That only thing you can do," Dave said quietly. "You've got to find a guy willing to go along with this."
"That's absurd." Oliver took a long drink. "There's no one out there. Not a real one, not a pretend one."
"No, it's not that bad, Ol," Henry started again, then lowered his head seeing Oliver's scowl. "It's just – well, the description of him. It's so specific. Wavy red hair. Tall but thin. Intellectual and--"
"I know someone," Dave muttered, a smile playing at his lips.
"Who?" Henry said accusingly. "I've never met anyone that--"
Dave held up a hand to silence him, looking at Oliver, whose hands still clutched the beer mug, knuckles white. "It's just... ever since the interview, even during the interview, I couldn't help but think that... well..."
"Spit it out, Sharp," Oliver growled.
"It sounds so much like Percy," Dave answered simply, biting his bottom lip.
"What?" Oliver asked.
"Who?" Henry asked.
"Actually, it sounds exactly like Percy." Dave set down his beer and crossed his arms, his smile quickly twisting into a cheeky grin.
- - To Be Continued