The Varlet and the Voyeur

  Bryan scoffed. “Such bullshit. It’s not like he did anything illegal. Why are the paps making this such a big deal? In my heyday, I’d done a thousand times worse and no one blinked an eye.”

  Coach looked reluctant to respond, so I said, “Because it’s weird. What I’ve done is weird.”

  It wasn’t illegal. It wasn’t unethical. But it was unusual.

  “You’re notoriously private, quiet, stoic in interviews,” Ronan said, crossing his arms. “You don’t drink, you don’t date, you don’t go out. You have no social life outside of the Rugby Club and volunteering with the Dream Foundation as far as the media is concerned. You’re—well—this makes you look like a loner with a history of—of deviant behavior.” After stumbling over the phrase deviant behavior, Ronan grimaced and looked to Coach Brian. “I spoke to Annie about it.”

  Ronan was referring to his wife, Annie Catrel. She was a media consultant to the rich and famous and had helped Ronan rebuild his image a few years ago. Now he was the most vendible member of the team with sponsorship deals for millions.

  “What else did Annie say?” Bryan glanced between Ronan and me.

  “She said, if Will had a history of being a party boy, man about town, having affairs, no one would care about his—uh—proclivities. But it’s the very fact that he’s so reserved that’s the problem. He’s been put on a pedestal by the public, never makes a misstep.” Ronan gave me a bracing smile. “She’s willing to come in and help. She’s in New York right now, but suggested a conference call today whenever you’re available.”

  “I think that’s wise,” Coach nodded, glancing at his watch as he stood. “I have to meet with the board. They’re going to want answers and an action plan.”

  “Do you want me to be there?” I asked, also standing, wanting to take the fallout burden from my Coach. “I’ll take full responsibility, obviously. Deal with all the questions.”

  Coach gave me a tight smile that looked sincerer than I’d expected and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “You’re a good kid, Will. I think I can manage the board. You three”—he glanced at Ronan and Bryan—“call Annie now—while I meet with the higher-ups—and get me that plan.”

  Coach left, shutting the door firmly behind him while Ronan pulled out his cell, sparing me a sympathetic look.

  “Don’t worry, mate,” he said. “You’ll get through this. Annie is a genius.”

  “It’ll all blow over, you’ll see. No big deal.” Bryan added around a big yawn.

  Ronan lifted an eyebrow at Bryan as he brought the cell to his ear. “You were yawning during drills earlier, and for the last few days. Eilish was also dragging when she worked on my shoulder. What’s going on? Need a new mattress?”

  Eilish was the physiotherapist for the team and Bryan’s fiancée. He and Eilish had a young son together named Patrick.

  Bryan shook his head, his expression darkening. “No. It’s one of Eilish’s friends.”

  “One of Eilish’s friends is the reason you haven’t been getting sleep?” Ronan smirked.

  Bryan rolled his eyes. “She’s staying with us and woke the house up at three in the morning, thought she saw a spider and screamed her bloody head off. Then, the next night, her dog started to bark, woke up the neighbors, so—get this—she makes everyone a batch of cookies and invites them to tea.” Bryan pointedly glanced between us, like he was letting this statement sink in. “At three in the bloody morning! The woman is driving me nuts.” He shook his head. “Luckily, Patrick slept through the whole thing. Nothing wakes that kid up.”

  “How long is she staying?” Ronan pulled the phone from his ear and pressed a button on his screen.

  “That’s the worst part. She was living with her—”

  “Hello?” Annie’s voice on the other side of the call sounded over the speaker. “Ronan?”

  “Hey love. It’s me, Bryan, and Will. We’re calling about—” he breathed out, frowning, blinking a few times. “We’re calling about that thing I discussed with you earlier.”

  “Yes, I assumed as much.”

  I’d met Annie several times over the last few years, usually at Club events or parties Ronan had thrown for the team. She’d always been nice. But now, she sounded detached, businessy. I didn’t know if this was because we were talking to her in an official capacity or because her opinion of me had changed.

  If her opinion had changed, I had no bitterness about it.

  “Will, I want you to know that this is a judgment-free zone.” Her tone softened a little as she addressed me. “My job here is to help the public see you for the person you are, not the person the media is making you out to be.”

  “What if I am the person the media is making me out to be?” I glanced at my hands.

  This seemed to give Annie pause, and Bryan grumbled something indistinct.

  Finally, she said, “The worst of the stories leaked to our agency this morning—which will be printed no later than next week—called you a sexual deviant and implied you prey upon prostitutes, pay them to have sex with each other while you watch. Is that true?”

  My hand curled into a fist, a burst of fury igniting in my chest, though I’d never show it.

  With a steady voice, I responded, “I’ve never paid a prostitute. I’d never pay—would never prey upon—anyone. As to whether I’m a sexual deviant . . .” I told myself to relax my hand. “I guess it depends on who you ask.”

  She made a small noise, it sounded sympathetic. “Will, I know you. You are not this person they’re making you out to be. If you feel comfortable doing so, please explain the situation to me. Who are the Gallaghers?”

  “They’re a married couple. I met them on a website. I’ve been watching them when they—when they’re intimate.” I wasn’t embarrassed for myself. But as I looked at Bryan and Ronan, and I witnessed their discomfort, I was embarrassed for them.

  “Okay. How long has this been going on?” Annie didn’t sound embarrassed. She sounded professional.

  “Two months.”

  “And was any money ever exchanged?”

  “No. It was a mutual arrangement. They enjoyed being watched so we all got something out of it. But there was another couple, before the Gallaghers. The O’ Farrells. I didn’t pay them either. I’ve never paid anyone.”

  “You didn’t pay them? But you watched?” Annie sought to clarify.

  “Correct. The O’Farrells approached me, wanted me to watch. They actually wanted to pay me at first, but I didn’t take the money.” I glanced at Ronan, found him studying me with interest. “The arrangement worked for all of us.”

  Annie paused, then asked, “How long did that go on?”

  I hesitated, but then said firmly, “Three years.”

  “Three years,” Annie repeated, like I’d surprised her. “You and this other couple—the O’Farrells—you watched them have sex for three years?”

  “Yeah.” I looked at Bryan. His hand covered his mouth and he was staring at me with wide eyes. I met his stare evenly. I wasn’t ashamed. I defied anyone to find a single exploitative or shameful thing about what we’d done.

  They were consenting adults, as was I.

  They were already married.

  They liked an audience.

  I liked to watch.

  Annie cleared her throat, her tone becoming official once again. “Where would you do this? Where did this happen?”

  “At my apartment.”

  Bryan’s eyebrows jumped, likely because—before he and Eilish got together—Bryan and I shared an apartment.

  “What happened? Why did you stop?” Annie asked.

  “The O’Farrells moved to Galway.”

  “Wait, I have a question,” Bryan interrupted, looking incredulous. “Why did you say yes in the first place? To the O’Farrells? Why consider it at all?”

  Staring at my teammate evenly, I debated how best to answer. Should I tell them? I wasn’t exactly proud of my past in this regard.

  “This is a safe place
, Will,” Annie said softly. “Any information you can give me about your history, something to give me context, would be helpful.”

  “I’ve done it once before,” I said on a rush, my stare dropping to my hands. “When I was fifteen.”

  The room fell silent and I thought I heard Ronan try to quietly clear his throat.

  “What happened?” Annie prodded.

  I rubbed my forehead. “We had a . . .” I shook my head, disbelieving that this was actually happening, that I was actually saying these words. “The county where I lived had a fall festival.”

  “In Oklahoma?” Annie was typing or clicking her mouse on the other side of the call.

  “That’s right. I was in the barn, drinking tequila with a friend, Carlos. A couple came into the pen across from where we were and . . .” Do I really have to finish? “Anyway, I couldn’t see them clearly, I never found out who they were, but I saw enough, and heard enough. And I liked it.”

  “That’s kind of hot,” Bryan muttered, and both Ronan and I tossed him a glare.

  “What?” Bryan held his hands up. “It is. And, don’t feel badly about it, mate. I don’t know a single fifteen-year-old boy who would’ve done differently.”

  “Why do you know any fifteen-year-old boys?” Ronan teased.

  “Fuck off.” Bryan rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

  “Okay. That’s helpful, Will. Let’s get back to the O’Farrells.” Annie was all business again. “After they moved, you looked for a new couple? That’s how you found the Gallaghers?” She gave me the sense she was writing something down.

  “Not immediately. I had no intentions of finding anyone new. I figured I would just stop. So I moved in with Bryan. Sharing a place, having a roommate, meant I wasn’t thinking about it as much. But when he moved in with Eilish and Patrick, I started looking for a new couple.”

  Bryan made a small noise that sounded concerned, whispering, “Christ. I had no idea.”

  I shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “If you needed someone to stay with you, a—a sponsor or something, I totally get that.” Bryan’s usual carefree expression was replaced with genuine concern.

  “I don’t get it,” Ronan cut in. “Is this your kink, then? You like watching people? Why not just watch porn?”

  I shook my head. “Pornography and the porn industry objectifies and takes advantage of emotionally unstable and underprivileged populations. It’s an exploitative industry and I won’t support it.”

  Ronan blinked at me, flinching like I’d tossed water in his face. “You—you don’t watch any porn? Ever?”

  “Never,” I said resolutely.

  His stare flickered over me, as though he suspected something. “Are you . . . are you a virgin?”

  “Ronan,” Annie chided, “that is none of your business.”

  “I’m not a virgin,” I answered anyway, a rare bitterness slicing from my abdomen to my sternum; I hid that too while I avoided Bryan’s stare. He knew part of my history, not all of it but definitely enough to have an opinion about my past.

  “So you don’t like having sex?” Ronan sounded honestly curious. “Just watching other people do it?”

  “Maybe he had a bad experience, and doesn’t like women anymore.” Bryan’s tone was casual, but the grain of truth behind the words had me glaring at him again.

  “Bryan Leech!” Annie’s tone was now stern. “You leave William alone.”

  “It’s fine.” I met Bryan’s pointed stare calmly. “I don’t mind. But before I address that statement, let me ask you this: how many women have you slept with, Bryan?”

  Bryan winced a little, not answering.

  “And—if you can remember each of those women, each of their names—can you honestly tell me that most of the time, with most of those women, you weren’t leading them on? You weren’t taking advantage of your fame and position to exploit them? Take what you wanted without giving them a second thought?”

  My friend looked ashamed and his eyes fell.

  “So, yeah. I liked having sex. But not enough to lie to another person in order to have it.”

  Bryan mumbled something like “I’ve never lied” but didn’t lift his attention from the table.

  “What about a relationship? A partner?” Ronan still looked and sounded confused. “Something committed.”

  I hesitated, because I had very specific ideas about what I wanted from a partner, but now wasn’t the time to get into that.

  Finally, I settled on, “I’ve been on dates.”

  “And…?” Ronan pressed.

  “I’m not going to sleep with a woman until I know it’s serious. It’s never been serious. Like I said, I won’t lead a woman on just to have sex with her.”

  “But you wouldn’t need to lead anyone on and you wouldn’t need to lie.” This objection came from Annie. “You make it sound like all women are cow-eyed milkmaids being led around by sinister male abusers. There’s plenty of women who like a good no-strings-attached arrangement just as much as Bryan did once upon a time. Give us ladies a little credit for knowing our own minds.”

  “Yeah”—Ronan gestured to the phone—“listen to Annie. There’s a ton of other blokes out there having good—fully consensual—times with the ladies. If no woman wanted recreational sex then recreational sex wouldn’t exist.”

  I shook my head, because I’d had this conversation with myself a hundred times and—based on my experiences—always arrived at the same conclusion. Voyeurism, with consenting married adults was the least exploitative solution, the least likely to cause harm or disappointment to anyone involved.

  “We’re not other blokes, Ronan”—I couldn’t help but argue—“and you know it. We’re famous athletes. There’s always going to be an unavoidable imbalance in the power dynamic. With that comes additional responsibilities, not a free pass.”

  “I agree with Will,” Bryan said unexpectedly, drawing our attention. His expression was sober.

  “You can’t be serious.” Ronan glared at our teammate.

  “I am serious. If I knew then what I know now, the people I’ve hurt . . .” His eyes clouded and he appeared to be frustrated by a memory.

  “We’re getting off track.” Annie sighed, and I heard her typing on her computer. “And as much as I fundamentally disagree with Will about the agency of women—”

  “It’s not about the agency of women,” I tried to explain. “It’s about—”

  “Regardless, that’s not the central issue.” Some irritation bled into her tone, which she quickly masked as she continued, “Your image is the issue, and how to—moving forward—avoid any further missteps. So I have to ask, Will, you said earlier that having a roommate helped you not think about it, helped you abstain from couple-watching. Do you need a roommate now? To help you from seeking out the Gallaghers or another couple?”

  I thought about that, and my instinct was to say no. I had no desire to seek out the Gallaghers. They’d broken the rules.

  And I wasn’t a child. I didn’t need a babysitter.

  But then I swallowed the instinctual response and I forced myself to admit that lately things had spiraled out of my control. I thought the Gallaghers and I were on the same page, I was wrong. Aideen Gallagher had refused to respect my boundaries, but I never should have sought them out to begin with.

  If Bryan had still lived with me, I probably wouldn’t have.

  The truth was, even now, I was tempted to seek out a new couple. Since calling things off with Aideen and Kean Gallagher, I’d been fighting the urge on a daily basis. Watching the O’Farrells and the Gallaghers had ignited—or reignited—something in me I couldn’t ignore.

  I liked to watch.

  And it would be so easy to hop online and make it happen. I wanted it, more than just an outlet—a safe, well-defined means—for sexual satisfaction.

  But voyeurism wasn’t an option anymore, not if it brought shame to the team. And I knew that if I had someone at the apar
tment, someone to keep me focused on what was important, hold me accountable, then I wouldn’t look for another couple.

  I would stop.

  A babysitter . . . I grimaced.

  “It can be a temporary arrangement,” Annie suggested, “just until the situation can be managed. Maybe a life coach, someone who will check in on you, keep you to a schedule, keep you busy and distracted.”

  “There’s no shame in asking for help.” Bryan’s statement had me looking at him.

  Before I could catch myself, I said, “I’m not ashamed.”

  “We’ll find him a roommate.” Ronan said this like the matter was settled and rubbed his hand over his face. “Now what can we do about the rest of it? According to Annie, the headlines that’ll be printed next week will call him the Perverted Flanker.”

  “I have some ideas.” Annie ceased typing. “I’d like to try find the prostitute who sold this story to the papers in the first place. If Will is telling us the truth, then her story is false. Perhaps we can convince her to retract it and—”

  “No, I don’t want to do that,” I interrupted firmly. I wanted to put this behind me. I didn’t want anyone digging around trying to find the woman. It just felt like prolonging the torture. Once a story was out, it stained your reputation. A retraction wasn’t going to fix that.

  “But it could really help our cause,” Annie argued.

  “I said no,” I replied, holding firm.

  There was moment of awkward silence before Annie got back to business. “Okay, well moving on, the best way to improve a person’s character in the public eye is to borrow someone else’s credibility. So, Will, how do you feel about dating a few supermodels, musicians, and actresses?”

  I grimaced. “I won’t lie.”

  Ronan grunted. “What are you talking about?”

  “I won’t pretend to be something I’m not.”

  Ronan stared at me in plain disbelief. “You’re going to tell me that you have something against dating supermodels?”