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“And check what Sam sent me from Tokyo...”
Trent passed his phone over to Matt, showing the picture of two Japanese girls clad in what could possibly be called cricket gear, if cricket gear was much skimpier. As usual, Trent enjoyed Matt’s expression - he always managed to look slightly scandalised, no matter how old he got or how hard he tried to hide it. Trent was smiling when -
THWACK!
- A bright yellow flash thudded into the wall next to his head.
“What the fuck?”
“Think fast, Trenty!” Tim yelled across the changing room.
Trent grabbed the object from where it had dropped at his feet. A Kiwi Cricket ball, no doubt unearthed from the very depths of Tim’s kit bag during two days of rain delay. Trent hurled it back at him, not as hard but more accurately, smacking Tim in the stomach. He folded over with a theatrical grunt.
Ross looked up from the poker game he was playing with Guppy, BJ, and Colin nearby.
“Boys, could you not?”
“Careful Trent,” chirped Tim, “Rossco is going to turn this changing room around and drive straight home if we don’t behave!” he punctuated this by throwing the ball at Matt, who awkwardly parried it away to stop it hitting his shoulder.
Trent immediately grabbed the ball again before jumping up, marching over to Tim, and attempting to shove it down the back of his hoodie.
“Guys!” Hess stood up in the corner of the room. Tim stopped squirming, which allowed Trent to slam the ball inside his shirt with a triumphant “Ha!”
“Guys,” repeated Hess, “There are still kids hanging around, could you go out and sign some autographs instead of pissing about?”
“I can’t,” protested Tim, “Trent’s just stuck a ball down my back!”
“You can go then Boulty.”
Trent was about to argue that Tim had started it when Neil Wagner stood up. “I’ll go too. Come on Boulty.”
With very ill grace, Trent got up from where he was kneeling next to Tim and shuffled behind Wags out the tunnel.
Matt watched him go, trying to catch his eye, but Trent didn’t even look his way. He thought about getting up to go as well, but when he glanced across the changing room he saw Tim staring straight at him with a smirk.
In his room after they had eventually been allowed to give up on play, Matt finally worked himself up to ask the question that had been bugging him. Of course, he blurted it out at the worst possible moment.
“What’s with Tim?”
Trent looked up from where he was kissing Matt’s chest, “What?”
“I was just thinking about that stuff with Timmy today...”
“I’m sorry, I’m doing that thing you like, and you’re thinking about Tim?”
Matt flushed a deep red.
“Well,” said Trent, rolling onto his back, “That’s officially killed my boner.”
“I’m sorry, just... Tim is being really weird.”
“Of course he is, he’s been stuck inside for two days.”
“More than that. Don’t you notice, whenever we’re talking or whatever - he’ll do something to get your attention?”
“What, do you think he’s jealous?”
Matt wasn’t sure he liked the way the conversation was going, but he forged ahead, propping himself up on his elbow to look at Trent.
“Well, yeah. I do. Are you sure he doesn’t... That he’s not interested in you?”
Trent laughed. “Oh my God, Tim is not into me. We’re mates.”
“Best mates.”
“We’re not best mates. Matty, I get it, he’s annoying as shit - but you are taking it way too personally.”
Matt bristled. “I am not. You just don’t want to see it because you’re too invested in your bloody Mount buddies thing. Ask anyone. Ask Adam.”
Trent got up. “Leave Adam out out of this.”
“Why? Because he said the same thing?”
Trent looked at Matt for a moment before grabbing his shirt and yanking it over his head. He then hitched his shorts up from where, not five minutes before, Matt had pushed them halfway off his arse.
“Tim is not interested in me. End of.”
Then with something Matt was almost sure was a flounce, Trent was gone.
Matt let out a sigh and fell back on the bed. Tim had managed to interrupt him and Trent again, and this time he wasn’t even actually present.
“Fucking Southee,” he muttered as he reached for his phone to let Todd know it was safe to return to their room.
Trent shook his head as he walked along the corridor to the room he was sharing, ironically enough, with Tim. He knew Tim wasn’t interested in him, never had been. Not because Tim was opposed to sleeping with men - hell, Trent knew Tim would fuck mud if he thought it would wiggle - but because that just wasn’t their friendship. They were mates, and that was it. Matt was being paranoid.
“You’re back early, done already?” Tim had an annoying habit of stripping off and getting into bed as soon as he could during a test. He was there when Trent returned, flicking through his phone with the rugby on the TV.
“Why? You got plans?”
“Yeah, as it happens I was set to have a really good masty.”
Trent gestured at the game, “Interesting choice of material.”
“I cracked one out to the Chiefs earlier. Your mate Sam did nicely.”
“Oh, that is gross.”
Tim unearthed one hand from the duvet and punched the air. “Yes, winner!”
“Wait,” said Trent sweetly, “How many wickets did you get on Friday?”
The raised fist turned into a middle finger, and Trent continued, “Now I am going to call my wife, if you could refrain from being disgusting for five minutes.”
Tim settled back down and grinned. “Put her on speaker, I reckon I can get done twice in that time!”
Trent rolled his eyes and took his phone into the bathroom.
The next couple of days were easier on everyone’s nerves. The sun was out and they were able to actually get on with playing cricket. Matt had been huffy the next morning, but by Sunday afternoon Trent was pleased to note the Cantabrian had mostly forgiven him.
(Trent had a nasty little thought that Saturday nights were probably the best time to have a fight with Matt, on the basis that Sunday mornings were for forgiveness.)
Still, now Matt had brought it up, Trent noticed Tim’s antics more than he usually did. And he was able to come to the conclusion that Matt was indeed taking the whole thing too personally. Tim didn’t demand Trent’s attention when he was with Matt - he did it when Trent was with anyone.
It wasn’t that he only focused on Trent - he annoyed everyone with such gusto that Tom Latham in particular began to develop a hunted look whenever Tim moved in his direction. But if he wasn’t distracted, Tim immediately came to Trent.
And Trent realised how often he went along with it. He didn’t even think. He could be talking casually with Matt and Neil when Tim would grab him to tackle Craig McMillan, and he’d stop mid-sentence to chase after Tim and wrap Macca in a two-person hug that almost knocked their batting coach down.
It was just how it always had been. Tim might be the head pest, but Trent was definitely his preferred backup.
Packing his bags late on Monday night, still bubbly over their victory, Trent took advantage of the Tim-free atmosphere in his room to think. He would be very glad to not be stuck with anyone in Christchurch. Ed Sheeran might have made the rain delay more bearable, but his fans had occupied so many hotel rooms the whole team was forced to double-bunk.
Trent still didn’t think that that Tim was attracted to him, or had any particular desire to drive a wedge between him and Matt. Tim just didn’t like to share - and that wasn’t exactly new information.
What Trent didn’t know was if he could do anything about it, or even if he wanted to. Tim might not be his best mate, but he was at least one of his best mates.
And Matt... Matt wasn’t his wife. Sure, Trent liked him, particularly fucking him, but he didn’t expect what they had to last out the year. Not that he would be letting Matt know that yet, because Trent never wanted to risk cutting off a sure thing.
When Tim returned, slightly buzzed but nothing out of control, Trent batted him away as the bigger man tried to tackle him from where he was zipping up his suitcase. Tim sat on Trent’s bed and looked at him with that toothy grin he was so bloody used to, which always managed to piss him off. And then he grinned back, because - fucking Southee - Trent couldn’t help himself.
“You’re not trying to get in my pants are you Tim?” Trent said suddenly. He hadn’t planned to say it, wasn’t even sure why he said it. Tim wasn’t drunk enough to make a move on, or to forget this conversation.
“Yeah, nah. You couldn’t handle what I’m packing, not with your tiny little mouth.”
Trent let out a derisive snort.
“Don’t tell me your toy-boy thinks I want a piece of you,” Tim laughed gleefully, “Again? It’s like we can track how serious all your jealous little boyfriends think it’s getting by how sure they are that I have terrible taste in men.”
“What do you mean, again?”
“Adam asked me. And Slink got all huffy for like, three weeks before I told him he was safe, because if I’d wanted to get with you, you’d literally be on my dick that minute.”
Great, Trent thought, half the guys I’ve been with have helped build this giant fucking ego.
Tim grinned wider, “Are you gonna have a shower before bed?”
“Yeah.”
“Well you’ll have to wait till I’m done!” Tim leapt up and bounced off the wall into the bathroom, slamming the door.
“Don’t use my conditioner for your handy!” yelled Trent, before realising anyone in the next room probably heard him.
He picked up his phone as it pinged, pleased to find there was a message from Matt inviting him over. Trent grabbed his jandals and checked to make sure he had his keycard. He didn’t bother telling Tim he was going - Tim would be around in the morning.
Trent was sure Tim would always be around.
God help him.