Chapter Seven

Alex

T he wine bar was as fancy as I’d heard, but I was relieved that it was also not too busy, dimly lit, and the music was at a discreet level. You had to wait to be seated, that’s how fancy it was, and the man who greeted us led us across a smallish room and into a booth along the wall. We both slid onto the seat along the back. It could have comfortably held six. I didn’t want to sit opposite him and talk over the vast table, so I shuffled right around to sit next to him. Much better. He smiled at me.

The room was decorated in silver and red with a beautiful tree winking with fairy lights at the far end. The lights changed colour, dappling colours across his beautiful face, his eyes lustrous with reflections. I caught my breath over how stunning the lighting made him, even though I didn’t think he could get any more attractive.

The waiter handed us both a drinks menu and went away and I perused. The first thing I noticed was the prices. They nearly made my eyes water.

“Are you having a cocktail?” Lucas asked.

“Are you?” I countered, wondering if I should. I didn’t want him to pay, but I also didn’t want to dig into my rucksack for tip money. He’d got the cab before I could fumble any money free and I felt embarrassed. Perhaps before he could pay later, I could pretend I was going to the toilet, then go over to the bar and pay with one of the fifties he had given me.

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t. I’ve had enough. You have one.”

I wavered, looking at the list again and trying to ignore the prices.

He leaned closer, breath warm against my ear. “Please don’t hesitate because of the money. Only the hangover.”

I smiled and kept my eyes fixed on the page. I knew he was watching me. My belly was on fire and my cock was stirring once again. While I hadn’t been sure if I wanted to go home with him, now I was. His proximity was electrifying. I wanted him badly. Enough that my dick was wetting my underwear. But I didn’t want a one-night stand. I was sick of them. But would a man like him want any more than that?

I did want a cocktail. I wanted something strong to settle my nerves and enable me not to talk like a twat. Well, if it was strong, it would make me talk like a twat but anything would be an improvement on some of the stuff I’d said to him tonight.

When the waiter came back, I asked him for a Porn Star Martini. He asked Lucas what he wanted and Lucas responded that he would have a rhubarb and apple fizz. My mouth watered because I loved rhubarb. I would have that next if I was still conscious after the cocktail. When the waiter went away, Lucas said, “Do you want something to eat? We could go somewhere if you’re hungry.”

I shook my head even though I was. I didn’t want to move.

He regarded me. “So, tell me about yourself.”

Here it came. He wanted to know if waiting was my full time job. “What do you want to know?”

“How long have you been working at the restaurant?”

“Seven months.”

“Okay. What did you do before that?”

“I was a postman.”

Lucas arched a brow. He looked amused. “And before that?”

“I worked in a vet’s reception.”

“And before that?”

“How do you know there’s a before that?”

“A wild guess.”

I smiled. “You think I’m flighty.”

“Did I say that?”

Our gazes held. “I was a car salesman.” I spoke again before he could. “Before that, I was at university.”

That was what he wanted to know. He wanted to know if I could match up to him.

“And?” His tone was gentle. Maybe he knew what was coming.

“I was studying English Literature.”

“What happened?”

I looked down, fiddling with a coaster on the marble surface of the table. “I had a breakdown. I dropped out.”

He was silent for a moment. Then, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

I bit my lip, wishing so much that I hadn’t told him.

“Were you hospitalised?”

“Yes.”

“How long for?”

I glanced up at him, studying his dark blue eyes. What did he want? Just to know I was okay now and not some sort of psychotic axe murderer?

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m prying.”

“It’s okay. It was for a month. Then I lived back with my parents for a while.”

“Were they supportive?”

“Yes. I did come out at the same time to them, though.”

“Oh. But they were okay?”

“Yeah. My dad was pretty upset, but he seems over it now.”

He gave me a long look. “Do you think your breakdown was precipitated by trying to come to terms with your sexuality?”

“Yes. It was that, it was being away from home at eighteen, and it was the stress of uni.”

“I’m sorry.” His eyes were tender with empathy. He touched his fingers to my hand.

I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat.

“And now?” he asked. “How are you now?”

I shrugged. “I’m okay.”

“Are you really okay?”

Tears rushed without warning to my eyes. I tried to laugh. “I didn’t realise I was coming for a counselling session.”

“Sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry.”

“S—” We both laughed.

“Are you on anti-depressants?”

I shot him a look. “Do you give all your dates the third degree about their mental health like this?”

He looked rueful and apologetic. “Only the ones I’m interested in.”

Warmth blossomed in my stomach. “Will it go against me if I say yes?”

“No. I’m on them too. Isn’t everyone?”

I wanted to take him in my arms. It would be ignorant of me to ask him what a man with his money and looks had to be depressed about. Instead, I said, “Do you want to tell me about that?”

He eyed me. “Will it go against me?”

I laughed. “I don’t think anything you could say could go against you.”

“What, not even if I say I want you to dress up as a horse later and indulge in pony play?”

We were laughing when the waiter arrived with the drinks and a bowl of olives that he put near me. I made sure to push them away when he’d gone.

“Not a fan?”

“They make me sick just looking at them.”

“Me too.”

“Good. I don’t think I could have allowed you to kiss me again if you ate them.”

He leaned over to me, his nose almost touching mine. “Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” He brushed his lips against mine in the softest kiss I had ever had. My toes curled. I thought I would swoon like a Regency heroine. He smiled and turned his attention to his drink. I watched his Adam’s apple as he swallowed and wanted to trace its bulge with my tongue. I’ve always liked a man’s Adam’s apple, I’m not sure why.

I took a drink of my cocktail. I was still waiting for him to answer my question. He was silent for the longest time. I felt the need to fill it. “So, do you hand pick those models for your underwear?” I was teasing him, but jealous at the thought of it too.

A shadow crossed his face, his jaw tensing. “No. Nothing to do with me.”

I studied him. What had I said? “I would expect you to have your pick of them, not be slumming it on Grindr.”

He scowled into his drink. “I’m not interested in models.”

I regarded him, curious about his vehemence. “Okay.” I still wanted him to answer me about the anti-depressants but accepted that wasn’t going to happen. Another time. If there was one.

He looked at me. “How do you like working at the restaurant?”

“It’s okay.”

“Do you get many dickheads groping you like that one?”

I shook my head.

“I’m glad to hear it. Do you want to model for me?”

I stared at him, shocked to my core.

“Sorry, I realise how sleazy that sounds,” he said. “I’m not a pervert. I don’t pick up men and offer them modelling contracts. I’m not going to ask you for sexual favours.” That was a shame , I thought. “But you’re beautiful. Way more than any of those blokes we’ve hired before.”

My heart thumped. “I don’t know what to say.”

“How about you say, I’ll come to your office to discuss. Next week after the tedium of Christmas has died down.”

I licked my lips. “I could do. Don’t I need like an agent or something?”

“No. But bring someone with you if you feel that I’m actually going to ask you to suck my cock in return for the gig.”

I reddened. “I don’t think that.” Particularly as I’d suck your cock with nothing in return. Just for the fun of it.

“I’m glad, but still, I realise how this looks and how it sounds.” He shook his head. “Shit, I really didn’t mean to ask you that.”

“It’s okay.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“All right then. Tell me something else about you.”

“What do you want to know?” I drank some more of the cocktail and felt my senses swim just a little.

“What do your parents do?”

“My mum’s a librarian, my dad teaches English lit at university.”

“That’s where you got the love of English lit from. Are you a bookworm?”

I grinned. “You better believe it. Are you?” I held my breath for the answer which was all important to me.

“Yes. I have a room just for my books at home.”

I smiled in delight. Now I needed that invite back to his.

“Any brothers and sisters?”

“No. What about you?”

He turned his attention back to his drink. I sensed him closing down once more. “What about me?”

“Parents?”

I’d struck a nerve. He shook his head. “I don’t have any family. I grew up in foster care.”

I swallowed. I didn’t know what to say. He took a gulp of his drink and almost finished it. Hesitating, I said, “Do you know who your mum and dad are?”

He clenched his jaw. “I last saw my mum when I was nine. She came to take me out on a visit and she was drunk. I never saw her again. I’ve never met my dad.”

I looked around the room at the happy, smiling faces and back to his sober expression. I placed my hand over his. He looked at me. He turned his palm face up and entwined our fingers. His skin was soft and warm. We sat in silence for a long moment.

“Did you go to university?” I asked.

“Yes. I did business and economics in Manchester. Boring as fuck.”

“But it paid off.”

He shrugged. “I suppose.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing. What are you doing?”

He was trying to deflect the attention back to me. “Going to my parents in Devon. You must be doing something.”

“If I want to, but I don’t.”

“So you have invites?” I knew he had. I’d heard him on the phone saying he would try to drop in.

“Yes.”

“Who from?”

“People at work.”

“Any friends?”

“A couple.” He avoided my gaze.

“You don’t fancy going to any of them?”

He shrugged. “They’re going to be noisy dinners, with children. I like to be on my own. I do enough socialising at work.”

I studied him. “Max googled you and it said you didn’t really go out much. Is that right?”

“Yes. Don’t tell me, you’re a social butterfly who never stays in?”

“No,” I said. “I like to read and go to bed early.”

He smiled. “In that case, why don’t we—” He stopped as a shadow fell over the table and let go of my hand.

A tall, olive-skinned handsome man in an ostentatious purple velvet suit stood there. He looked like a seventies pimp. He was dark-haired with cheekbones you could cut yourself on and perfect designer stubble. I bristled, because he had to be one of the models Lucas didn’t like.

“Well, well, well, Lucas Rainford out on the piss on Christmas Eve. This is a surprise.”

Lucas regarded him coolly. “Hello.”

“Who’s your little friend? I thought you didn’t like models?” He sounded Spanish, his accent thick and exotic.

Lucas’s jaw pulsed. “He’s not a model.”

The man perused me like a pair of shoes in a shop window. “Hmm, no, I can see that.”

I flushed and wished I could crawl under the table.

“What do you want?” Lucas looked like he was about to lose it the way he had with the man from Grindr.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“No, thanks.”

The man continued to eye me. “Where did you find him?”

“I am here, you know,” I said in irritation.

“All right, sweetie. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Has he fucked you yet? I wouldn’t bother.”

Lucas stood, nearly spilling my drink. “Off you pop, José.”

José laughed. He winked at Lucas and wandered off.

Clenching his jaw like his teeth would shatter, Lucas sat down again. “Why don’t we go?” he said.

I nodded and finished off my cocktail.

The snow had got thicker, a dense blanket shrouding everything. We shivered for a minute on the pavement outside the bar. “Do you want to go somewhere else or do you want to go home?” Lucas asked. He seemed miserable and deflated. It sounded like he very much wanted to go home.

“Do you want to call it a night?” I asked, hoping he would say no, fearing he would say yes.

“I don’t really want to go anywhere else.”

There was my answer. “Okay.” I glanced down the road for a taxi.

“Do you want to come home with me?”

I stared at him.

“I didn’t fuck him,” he said.

Our gazes held. I nodded.

The taxi ride seemed to go on forever. The car crawled along through snow heaped streets and I lost all my bearings. I didn’t know London that well, only the area where I lived and worked. I asked myself what I was doing going this far away with a man I didn’t know, a man who was bigger than me and looked physically powerful. A man with a temper, it seemed.

He looked at me in the dark with streetlights playing over his face. “You look like you’re regretting the idea. Do you want me to ask him to turn around?”

I swallowed.

“I’ll make sure you get home safe. You can trust me.”

“So said Jeffrey Dahmer.”

He laughed. “Now I’m worried about your thoughts.” He stared at me, leaning across the seat and lowering his voice. “Hey, if you’re feeling afraid for any reason, then I’m really sorry. Let’s go back. I’ll drop you at yours. Or I’ll get out here and walk. It’s not far.”

I hesitated. The driver was looking in the mirror. It was Christmas Eve and I had spent some of it with this exciting, gorgeous man. Was I really going to turn down the chance to fuck him?

I was still unsettled by José at the bar. I was no longer as blasé about going home with strange men as I used to be. The world had changed in the seven years I had been sleeping with them. I remember my mum’s talk on the subject when I moved to London.

“You know, if you ever meet a man at a club or whatever and go home with him…” I had gaped at her, my face burning. “You should think twice. Maybe stay where there’s people. Or tell someone where you’re going.”

“Mum,” I said.

“Times have changed,” she said, holding her hand up. “You’re in London. I worry about you. I would say the same to any daughter I had.”

But you wouldn’t say it if I was straight.

I glanced at Lucas. What were women’s thoughts when they went home with a stranger? Did they always have an undercurrent of fear or unease? Should I be afraid? What would a woman think about him? A tall man, well-built and quick to anger. Would she be afraid to go home with him?

He looked back at me for a long moment. Then he leaned towards the driver, holding out a note. “Pull over here, please.”

“Hey,” I said as the taxi came to a halt.

Lucas opened the door, letting in a flurry of snow. “Take my friend home, please.”

“Hey, hey, wait!” I scrambled after him. “Don’t go. I’m not afraid of you.”

He stopped and turned around. “We should have just gone for another drink,” he said. “I don’t want to put any pressure on you. I shouldn’t have asked you to come home with me. It’s not what I do.”

“So why did you?”

“Because I like you.”

“I like you too. So let me come home with you.”

He regarded me. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” I was. I wasn’t sure if I was going to fuck him, but I did want to spend longer in his company.

“All right then. Come on.”