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Chapter 9

Carl pulled Grayson along the walkway into the city, where he inquired after pedicures at a salon. If they could come back in a couple of hours, there'd be slots free, and Carl snapped up the offer. "In the meantime, we can browse some shops, get something to eat."

They meandered their way quietly down a busy footpath and then Grayson ducked into a bustling bookstore. Not Carl's first choice, but anything if it picked up Grayson's spirits. While Grayson checked out novels of integrity, Carl ended up at a wall of magazines. Instinctively, he reached for one and froze as a sudden violent shudder ran through him. Explains it all. The memory of Green Gruff's words felt like a snigger in his ear.

Carl dropped his hand and shuffled backwards, banging into Grayson, who steadied him at the hips and glanced from Carl to the magazine. "Grab it if you want."

A sigh tried forcing its way out but Carl gulped it down. He pointed towards the exit and the street beyond. "I'm gonna check if there's space for us at that café over the road. Take your time."

Carl found a two-seater table at the window and stared glumly outside.

Then the sun came suddenly out from behind bubbly white clouds, beaming brightly on the street, casting it yellow. Through the bustle of pedestrians, Grayson's figure cut a clean path towards him. Though still in his sad grey, his tall frame, dark hair, and darker eyes made him difficult to ignore. He opened the door with a fresh rush of air, and a striking jolt jostled Carl. Like seeing someone he knew after a day with no customers at the store. A promise of interaction, and it crackled.

Carl waved him over, and Grayson seated himself, their knees knocking in the small space. He pulled a magazine from under his arm, and Carl recognised it as the one he'd refrained from checking out in the bookstore.

Carl kept glancing at it as they ordered coffee and food; Grayson watched him with that probing gaze that had Carl squirming and refilling his water.

"You're into horoscopes, right? You called me a Scorpio, there to stir stuff up?"

Carl fidgeted with a serviette in an effort to stop his fingers from snapping up the mag and checking it out. Only repeating Green Gruff in his head kept the urge at bay.

Grayson observed the shredded remains of the serviette and flipped open the magazine. "Let's look. What's your sign?"

Carl swallowed tightly. It was stupid to be so into this stuff. It wasn't like it was really real. Maybe if he spent more time reading actual books, he'd have better life prospects.

Grayson took out his phone. "You're twins. I'll just look up Jason—"

"You'd get it wrong. He was born before midnight; I was born after. We straddle the cusp of Sagittarius and Capricorn."

"Capricorn. Excellent."

"Wait, did you trick me?"

"You'll probably find it's a Scorpio trait. Let's see... ah, Capricorn—"

Carl plucked the magazine out of Grayson's hands and flipped to Scorpio instead. "We're both strong natured."

Their coffees and food arrived, and Grayson picked at his, waiting for Carl to diagnose him. His eyes were on him with a focused concentration that made Carl's skin prickle. One of the first sentences under Scorpio included "radiates intensity and crackles with charisma" and... check. But he'd leave that out—Grayson's ego didn't need that much stroking. It also said a Scorpio was hard to ignore, which... check again.

Smart. Check. Shrewd. Check. Will always save the day. Check.

"What's it say about me, hm?"

Carl cleared his throat and read. "You don't switch off from work. I've seen your calendar and this is painfully accurate. You're a natural investigator. If there are secrets involved, so are you. Well, seeing you've peeled me of mine, this also is true. You're ceaselessly curious with an intensively calculating gaze to match. Gosh, it's like this was written with you in mind. Ah, here we go: Scorpio is most likely to form a cult."

"How is that—"

"Groupies."

"Go on."

Carl ate around a smirk and glanced at the list of Scorpio turn-offs: dull, stupid people—

He shut the magazine and slapped it on the edge of the table. "This food is delicious."

"So violently delicious?"

Carl prodded a fork in the air. "Stop looking at me like that."

"I'm a natural investigator. Ceaselessly curious—" Grayson stopped upon analysing the possibly trajectory of the water in the glass Carl lifted. "Okay, I'll drop it."

Carl sipped. "You know what's good for you."

After eating in silence for a few moments, Carl asked, "Did I drop stuff on my shirt somewhere? Why do you keep frowning at it?"

"Is it safe to answer?" Grayson said, eying Carl's water.

Carl folded his arms, and Grayson carried on, "You wore more flannel the first few times we met. Now you're in these tight and even tighter clothes."

"I've been trying to look more like Jason, so when he comes back others won't be too surprised."

"How comfortable are you in these clothes?"

Carl unfolded his arms and slouched in his chair. "They pinch a bit."

"Flannel's better, isn't it? What's most comfortable. What you actually want to be wearing."

Carl stared at Grayson and narrowed his eyes. "Are you saying things underneath things?"

"And you claim you're not clever."

Carl picked up one of his crusts, stuffed it in Grayson's mouth, and wagged a finger at him. "I promised I'd never stuff anything into your mouth again. But there's something about you that makes me want to break my word."

Grayson swallowed, gaze a sudden sparkle, and that sparkle mirrored itself low in Carl's stomach. "You promised this would be a two-way street, remember? You give advice. I give advice." He leaned in and said quietly, "Do you know that your eyes are scowling, but your lips are smiling?"

Carl couldn't stop the sparkles, dammit, but at least he could slap a hand over his smile. The scowl disappeared too. He was miffed at Grayson telling him it was better to be himself, and at the same time chuffed at the veiled praise of being clever. Also he was... Anyway, he could hold multiple feelings at once. Even if they did rattle about in his chest.

He flushed and motioned Grayson to finish eating. "Let's get moving."

Carl sankinto his plush chair with a relaxed sigh. Warm, bubbling scented water soaked their feet and gentle hands tended to each one, trimming and shaping and cutting away cuticles. His feet felt baby soft with all the moisturising, and he let out long, delighted moans. Grayson kept glancing at him, but other than asking for his toenails to be painted magenta, he didn't speak.

Not until the pedicurists had left, telling them to wait at least five minutes before putting on their shoes.

Carl murmured, "That was amazing. I love to be touched. Massaged."

"Everyone in here got that." Grayson cleared his throat, and it turned into a rather violent coughing fit.

Carl scooted off his chair and plunked himself beside Grayson, clapping his back. "You all right?"

Grayson nodded and ended up coughing again; Carl kept a hand roaming his wide back until he'd calmed.

"My cold is much better. Just had a strange tickle in my throat."

Carl rested his wrist on Grayson's shoulder and told him to wait a few more minutes before trying to leave. He looked at Grayson's cough-flushed cheeks and his gaze swept to his even redder ears, and there—Carl hadn't noticed before... He leaned in, gently touching Grayson's ear along the shell.

He trailed his fingers off the soft, scarred skin. He whispered softly at his ear, so they couldn't be overheard, "How did you get that?"

Grayson stilled next to him, a quiet sort of still, like he'd suspended his breath.

"Is this seat free?" A patron asked, gesturing to Carl's chair.

Grayson lurched to his feet so fast Carl tumbled onto the floor. By the time Carl had told the patron to go for it and picked himself up, Grayson was at the counter paying for the both of them.

"I wanted to get this," Carl said, coming up to him.

Grayson made for the exit sharpish. "Thanks for the foot afternoon. I've got... places to be. You know me, busy, busy."

"Whoa, hold on." Carl caught him by the sleeve outside and jostled him to the store wall to avoid being trampled. "I saw your calendar. You're wide open."

Grayson kept his eyes on the road and the buses coming down it. "I took work home to finish."

"Then consider me your PA today. I'll help."

"It's accounting stuff. You'd be better doing something else."

Carl grimaced. "Accounting."

"Lots of Excel sheets."

Ugh. Not his favourite. But, "I'll manage. For you."

Grayson shifted from foot to foot. "Okay, what is a ribbon and where does it appear?"

Carl scratched fingers through his hair. "On a... doll?"

"It's the main interface at the top of the Excel window allowing access to commands. What's pivoting? Dropdowns?"

"Shifting . . . onto your knees?"

"You'll be very bored." Grayson escaped between two groups of tourists towards the road. "You stay and have fun in town. I'll take the bus."

Carl frowned and watched as Grayson hurried across the road, slumped onto the bench at the bus stop, and ground his head against his palm.

Carl didn't chanceupon Grayson for the rest of the day, or the following morning—despite a visit to Under The Raindough. Not that he had to be glued to the hip with him now that they were friends. It was just curious, since before, Grayson had haunted every other street corner.

"If being friends makes him disappear, I should have tried that at the beginning."

His musing was interrupted by the doorbell, and Carl started towards it at a sprint, only to slow to a crawl when he realised who it would actually be. He fished out his phone and texted Grayson.

Have that piano lesson!!! Help. Help.

The message was immediately marked as read, but Grayson was not typing back. Carl heaved out a sad sigh and managed to make it to the door.

It was hard not to regain his spirits when bright-eyed Leo bubbled his way into the house holding up all his music books. "Oh wow, Jason! Look at all these awards. Amazing. I can't believe you're letting me touch your grand piano!"

Carl ushered him to the impressive instrument and told Leo to go ahead and "feel the magic of the ivory under your fingertips. Absorb the power of the keys."

Grayson was right. He was fairly good at bullshitting.

"What's our first lesson?" Leo asked eagerly.

Carl glanced from the boy on the stool to the books he'd brought with him. "Of course, today is about gauging where you're at. If you'll play one of the pieces you know, I'll observe. See what good habits you have, and what ones need training out of you."

"Minuet in F Major?"

"Minuet," What on earth was a minuet? Could he possibly sweat more? "Excellent choice."

Leo played, and Carl nodded soberly and jotted things on a notepad that were remarkably like Scorpio traits and compatibility, pondering Grayson's encouragement to read his horoscopes if he liked them and wear flannel if he was more comfortable...

He scribbled them out and grimaced. The other times he'd played Jason, there'd been the fear of getting caught, yes, but the experience had also been energising. Praise scattered his way made him feel confident, seen. But today... Today playing Jason only felt stressful. "Ah, um, play a few more."

Leo did, and when the clock struck half the hour, Carl's perspiration had practically made a puddle on the floor. "We'll stop there for today."

"What do your notes say? Is it bad?"

Carl shook his head. "It's clear you love music and that shows in your playing. I hope you keep your enthusiasm, it helps when you have to perform a piece that you might not be as comfortable with."

Leo nodded. "What will we do next lesson?"

"Wait and see. Playing the piano takes much patience. Consider this practice."

"Sure! Mum asked if you could pop by the bakery after we'd finished?"

"Lead the way, Master Leo."

Carl followed Leo to the bakery with heavy steps. His original intention had been to help Leo against his bullies, but did going this far make Carl the bully?

Carl gulped. He needed to get out of any more fake lessons. The last thing he ever wanted was to cause anyone pain.

"Leo," Carl said thickly. "You remember how I said I was stupid—"

"Look, Grayson's here." Leo ran into the bakery.

Carl let out a deep breath, entered after Leo and, seeing him happily chatting to Grayson who was typing on his laptop in the corner, veered to the counter for Sage.

Sage brightened. "Thanks for popping by. I wanted to ask you over for dinner tonight. You'll come, won't you? Please?"

"Sure." How could he say no to such big, puppy-dog eyes?

Sage called over Carl's shoulder. "You want to come too?"

"I'm . . . good," Grayson said.

Leo batted his puppy-dog eyes and Grayson scrubbed the shadow forming on his jaw.

Sage added, "I really want to thank you both for helping so much with Leo."

Of course Grayson helped with Leo too. Probably tutored him in computer studies. Or showed him how to write a CV.

Carl glanced at Grayson, who kept staring at his computer screen while saying, "It's no biggie. I don't need thanking."

"Please? Please come."

Grayson started packing up his things, avoiding looking their way. What was up with him?

"Sorry, I'm booked up tonight." He checked his phone. "Gotta run." He waved to Leo and battled a few chairs on his way to the door.

Sage tutted. "Then let's us have dinner together," she said.

"Should I bring anything?"

"Just yourself. You're single right?"

"Huh?"

"My cousin Poppy—actually Alex, but everyone calls him Poppy—has been wanting to come round for dinner for a while. Can I invite him too? Maybe you'll hit it off."

Chair legs skidded over the floor and Carl jerked his head towards Grayson, suddenly back and searching the floor for... something he left behind?

Sage looked at Carl, waiting for an answer. "Oh. I'm recovering from a breakup."

"So sorry. When did that happen?"

"About a year ago."

"A year! Well then isn't it time to dip your feet back into the dating pool?"

"Um..." He was here to nurse his heart back to health, not bash it about some more.

"Even if it's just for a fling."

Fling.

The word hit him with a strange giddy plummeting. Of course he was put off ever falling in love again, but... a fling. Giving in to desire. Having fun...

There was something weirdly liberating in Sage's suggestion. Enjoying a moment. Sex. It wasn't like he couldn't. "I mean, I am single..."

Another chair protested against floorboards as Grayson, much slower this time, made his way back to the door.

"It's a date then," Sage said, clapping.

"Not a date."

"No, no, you'll only meet him. He'll be totally into you, though. You're his type."

The door shut loudly, startling Sage and Leo. And Carl murmured, "Gosh, the wind in Wellington is really something."

He stayed another few minutes enjoying a coffee at the bakery, and then made the two-minute trek home, where he found Grayson outside his gate holding a bike.

"Thought you were busy," Carl said, crossing to him.

Grayson's gaze was darker under the shadows of his helmet and it hit Carl with a zap. "Client's sick, they cancelled. Got time for a bike ride?"

Carl grabbed Jason's bike, jammed Toto on his head, and told Grayson to lead the way. They pedalled leisurely down to the beach and along the coast under a warm, curiously calm sky.

He breathed in the scent of salt water and almost felt the crashing of the waves against the rocks. Seagulls squawked overhead and their bikes hummed. A few small boats dotted shimmery turquoise-and-navy water, and Grayson riding ahead looked like he was in a scene from a movie.

Carl enjoyed the view. So much, he careened into Grayson's back wheel when he halted at a cosy, quiet beach not too far from where surfer Grayson had saved Jason's bike from pre-teen thugs.

Carl clambered off his bike and helped Grayson pick up his. They locked them up together, and set off down some stairs to the soft sand. Carl immediately kicked off his shoes, tied them together and draped them over his shoulders. He sank his feet into the warm, yellow sand. Grayson did the same, and pointed towards a driftwood log where they could sit.

Side-eyeing Grayson, Carl said, "You ignored my messages for help."

"You seem very capable of finding roundabouts." They seated themselves on the short driftwood, arms and legs barely a seashell apart.

Carl's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he checked the message. "Look, Sage sent a picture of her cousin. He... really pops."

Grayson's head bowed close to Carl's as he peeked at the screen. "Used a filter for sure."

"Good jawline. Kind-looking eyes."

Grayson had his judgy eyes riveted to Poppy's face. "Plain."

"Don't worry," Carl murmured, "he doesn't have to do it for you."

"That one picture is enough to have your heart thumping again?"

"For a fling, I'm...curious." Carl looked at Grayson and admitted something he'd barely let himself think. "Do you think..."

"Do I think, what?"

"I was sure I'd say no to Sage when she first suggested meeting Poppy. I mean, I'm here to heal, not... But a fling sounds safe. Doesn't have to mean more. And yet..."

Grayson drew in a breath. "Yet?"

"Am I using ‘fling' as an excuse? Do I actually want to do this as an act of moving on? Am I after proof that passion can spark again?" Carl hummed. "Am I getting over my ex?"

Grayson swallowed and prodded a blunt-tipped finger at his phone. "With this guy?"

Carl sighed. "You sound extremely disbelieving. I get it, your heart's not quite ready to move on. It will, though. One day, you'll meet someone and they'll jumpstart that heart of yours. Maybe quite suddenly."

"Suddenly," Grayson repeated tightly and kicked a spray of sand towards the water as he laughed hollowly. "Is this photo your ‘suddenly'?"

"In any case, some flirting over dinner might make me more confident that I'm close to a suddenly. Hmm, what should I wear?"

"It'll be colder at night and Sage doesn't often use her heat pump. Heap a few jerseys on. Puff yourself up."

"That might not look attractive."

"Even better. That way if you hit it off, you'll know it's not solely for your looks."

"But for a fling, isn't looks an essential part?"

"If it's a fling for a confidence boost, you'll be more empowered if he enjoys you with all your layers on."

Grayson had a point. He'd feel far more confident in himself and ready for a relationship if he knew his personality was as attractive as his face. "You might be onto something."

"I have a jacket made out of an old sleeping bag you could use. Made it for my mum when I was at intermediate school."

"I think I saw it alongside your tap shoes. I'll figure it out."

"You're really considering a fling?"

Carl bumped his shoulder against Grayson's. "And here's a bonus: you'll finally stop thinking I'm after you."

Grayson folded his arms and scoffed. "Or you're trying to make me jealous."

Light, ticklish laughter burst out of Carl. "You really are an adorable narcissist." He jumped to his feet, pulled Grayson off the driftwood and raced with him to the water, where a wave raced over their feet—a mighty cold bite that had Carl laugh-swearing. Grayson was used to it and cheekily kicked water over Carl.

That's it, game on. Grayson was much too quick for Carl to spray though, and it was him who ended up drenched. They made their way back to their bikes, sand caking their feet. "That felt good," Carl said. "I was starting to feel nervous about dinner but that helped. Thanks."

"You? Nervous?" Grayson said. "I find you very forthright."

"With you it's different. Tonight, I'll be flirting with a man."

"What on earth does that make me?"Grayson grumbled.

Carl snuck up the stairs in front of him and patted his head. "You look like a dog who lost its favourite toy."

Grayson pretended to bite Carl's hand as Carl yanked it back, laughing. "I know it's hard to accept that not everyone is in love with you—"

Carl's heel banged into the step and he started to fall backwards. Grayson shot out his arms and caught him around his shoulders, but the angle was off and the balance just not there. In a tumble they landed against the stairs, Grayson draped over Carl.

Carl blinked, and laughed over a river of shivers.

A fling with someone he didn't know was digestible. Safe.

There was nothing safe about a fling with a friend. Especially when that friend was a renowned heartbreaker.

Grayson was a warm pressure against his vibrating body, and it spurred Carl's incessant laughter on. He puffed each bout into the sea-salted crevice of Grayson's neck.

Carl wouldn't be that stupid. He'd continue to ignore all these bouts of electrical sizzliness. He'd absolutely slap himself silly if...

He'd never become a groupie.

A shiver rolled through Grayson, and the echo of it halted Carl's laughter.

Grayson finally found purchase on the steps either side of Carl and pushed up on his arms, taking the weight off Carl's chest. He stared down at Carl's face with big dark eyes, and Carl reached up and pinched his cheek. "We keep falling."

Grayson stared, and ripped himself off Carl. "The time. I've got to get to my next gig."

With that, Grayson raced up the stairs and freed his bike; by the time Carl had dusted himself free of sand and climbed to the road, Grayson was a grey spot rounding a curve in the distance.

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