Chapter Five
“No, Jack, I don’t want his fucking phone number. I’m not interested, not anymore. The guy’s a total twat. I wouldn’t go out with him if he were the last bloody man alive.”
“He knows he fucked up and is sorry. He likes you. He really fucking likes you. He wants to apologise and see you again.”
Jack pleads with me, just like he has done every day for the last week.
“He made it pretty obvious he thought he’d be doing me a real favour by going to the damn reunion with me. Right now, I’m ready to tell Monty to fuck off too. I don’t need this crap.”
“Maybe you should.”
He glares at me. “Stand up to Monty for once in your life.”
He throws the TV remote onto the table and storms out of the room.
“What the fuck!”
I follow him. “Where the hell did that come from?”
“If this is really that much hassle for you, then don’t do it. Tell Monty what a wanker he is. That you’re not friends. That you have never been friends and never will be.”
“You’re right. I will. I’m meeting him again tomorrow, and I’ll tell him then.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
His annoyance has gone as quickly as it started.
“No, thanks. Like you said, I should stand up to him. I’m twenty-eight years old. I can tell him no.”
I’m saying all the right things, but I’m not sure either of us believes it.
“One more thing. And don’t frown at me like that. Give Kit a second chance, but for real, not as a fake boyfriend. You won’t need one after you’ve told Monty. Kit’s a great guy, and he likes you. And if you’re honest, you admit you like him too.”
“Maybe. Don’t get that look on your face. After that night at the bar, I’m not sure about him anymore, but I promise I’ll think about it.”
“Fine, I won’t mention him again. Now time for Queer Eye.”
With that, both of our stroppy moods have gone. I’ve given Jack what he wanted; I always do. Why am I such a pushover?
The next day I’m back in The Olive Branch with Monty the arsehole and tell him I won’t do the speech. He puffs out his chest and turns an ugly shade of puce. Is there a time when puce is not ugly?
Despite my refusal, he continues to build up his argument. Why can’t he say, “That’s fine, old boy. We’ll use someone else”? I don’t understand why he wants me to do it. I take a large gulp of my gin and tonic, readying myself to do battle and not let him push me around like he used to do.
“Nonsense, Blinkers. You can’t back out. I won’t have it. You said yes, and I’ve had all the programmes printed.”
“No, you haven’t, Monty. You’re still waiting for more sponsors. It’s not a big deal. You can ask one of your cronies. I’m sure one of your tribe works in the sports department at the BBC now, and didn’t Joss Merrifield climb Mount Everest or something like that? I’m sure they’d love to talk about their endeavours. I’m a boring old banker. No one will be interested in my job.”
“Yes, Joss is going to be talking too. But the new head asked for you specifically. He wants what he calls a diversity of speakers.”
Monty has finally come to the crux of why he wants me.
“You mean, he wants a gay speaker. He has a quota of boxes needing to be ticked. I’m the token gay man. Great, fucking great.”
I slam my glass down on the table. “It’s still no.”
“That’s enough. You’ve said you’ll do it, and you will. Stop being a pansy and buck up,”
he snaps. It seems the bully in him is rearing its ugly face again.
“Sorry I’m late, babe. Work was a nightmare.”
Kit leans over and drops a kiss on my mouth. “Let me grab a drink. Monty, what can I get you? Have you eaten, Ollie?”
I open and close my mouth like a goldfish. What the hell is Kit doing here?
“Good to see you, Kit. You can talk some sense into your man here. I’ll have another glass of Merlot.”
Monty smirks at me. If he’s thinking he’s going to get his way, I gladly rob him of that notion.
“Sorry, Kit, but I’m leaving now. I’ve told Monty I’m not doing his speech. You shouldn’t have come all this way. Didn’t Jack say I wasn’t going to do it?”
Monty frowns. He must be wondering what’s going on between us. The closeness we pretended to have last week has gone, and now the air is colder than Siberia in January.
Kit looks at me, pleading with me not to push him away. I hate this. He’s everything I want in a man, but he acted like such a dick last week. As I stand, he lays his hand on my arm and shifts so he is with his back to Monty.
“Please, Ollie, don’t leave yet. I’d like to talk to you, prove to you I’m not a dickhead.”
His voice is low, too quiet for Monty to hear.
“Fine, get a drink, and I’ll finish with Monty.”
I can’t help but give in to him, although I don’t think this is going to go anywhere. He’s a smarmy one, and I’ve had my fair share of them.
Monty has crossed his arms, following our interaction with interest. My fingers itch to slap the smug look of his face. “Look, Monty, I’m not committing to this. I’m not sure I’m the right person for you.”
I hold up my finger to stop him from speaking. “Let me finish. I’ll think about it and get back to you.”
Before he can say anything to berate or bully me, I march away. Kit is still at the bar, and I make my way to him. I catch the end of his sentence.
“…sorry. I’m flattered, but I’m seeing someone.”
He gives the barman a sexy grin and picks up his drink, the red wine for Monty, and another glass that probably is for me.
“Hi.”
I sidle next to him. “Monty’s finally leaving.”
I look over my shoulder, but the arsehole is still sitting there, watching me. “Or maybe not,” I mutter under my breath.
“I’ll take the wine to him,”
the barman says. “Your food will be with you soon.”
“Thank you, Sam,”
Kit says, then turns to me. “I’ve got the table in the corner.”
“Do you flirt with everyone you meet?”
I ask when we’re sitting down.
“What? No. Why do you ask?”
A red flush creeps up his cheeks.
“It’s what you seem to do, that barman, the waitress at the pub last week. Me. You started the conversation with me when we first met.”
“I’m being friendly, that’s all. Sam asked for my number. I didn’t flirt with him.”
Kit frowns. “Are you jealous?”
I’m regretting saying yes to this drink. “Of course I’m not jealous. We hardly know each other. You said you were seeing someone. Are you? Why are you here with me if you’re seeing someone? I’m not the type to be a part of any games.”
Kit gives me a strange look as if he’s trying to tell me something and sighs. “I was hoping you would be the person I’m seeing.”
“Oh.”
That wasn’t what I was expecting to hear. He didn’t make any moves last week, didn’t call me or anything.
“But it seems I’m wrong.”
He picks up his beer and, looking at me over the top of the glass, takes a sip.
“I’m confused. Last week, you made it perfectly clear you only agreed to my hare-brained idea to do me a favour, and now you say you want more.”
I sip from my gin and tonic, savouring the crisp, sharp tang of the gin slipping over my tongue.
“I fucked up last week. I’m sorry. I really would like to see you again, maybe take you out for dinner.”
“I don’t know, Kit. I’ll have to think about it.”
“C’mon, I owe you for last week’s dinner at least.”
Before I can answer, two plates of hot roast beef sandwiches are placed on the table by none other than Sam the barman. He gives us a wink. “Enjoy, gentlemen. If you need anything, just holler.”
To my surprise, Kit doesn’t watch Sam getting back behind the bar. Instead, he smiles at me. My heart stutters. Damn dimple. I duck my head, my cheeks warming. I hate to admit I’m starving, but the large growl from my stomach gives me away. I pick up one of the wholemeal doorstep sandwiches and bite into it. Fuck! This is divine, the right mix of mustard and butter that melts into the bread from the hot roast beef. I devour the first one as if I haven’t eaten in weeks. I wipe my mouth and finally glance up. Kit regards me with a funny look on his face.
“What?”
“Um, no, sorry. Nothing.”
He bites into his sandwich, chews quickly, swallows, and takes another swig of his beer. We don’t say anything but enjoy our food. I’m having an internal battle. Kit is cute and hot, but he sometimes acts like an arse and flirts with everything with a pulse. Before the end of the meal, I have to make a decision. I don’t know what his intentions are, but I’m damn sure he’s going to want to take this further. Whether it is seeing each other again or hooking up for the night, I have no idea, though.
Monty staggers up to us. I thought he’d left, but he’s looming over our table, smirking. Oh god, what’s he going to say?
“It looks like you need to work on more than your speech, Blinkers. Your man looks miserable. Aren’t you doing your job properly? And by job, I mean blow jo—”
“I think it’s time you got home, Monty. Do you want me to call a cab for you?”
“Don’t be such a prude, Blinkers. You were the same at school, never wanting to say what gays, like you two, like.”
He points at Kit, who shifts in his seat. “I’m sure you can get him to open up. Ha, even that sounds dirty. Everything sounds like that when it’s gay. You must be laughing all the time.”
He shakes his head. “Get him to talk at the ball. I don’t care what you have to do to him to make him agree. Just do it, Kitty.”
“That’s up to Ollie. I’m not sure I can make him agree to anything,”
Kit bristles, probably at being called Kitty.
The buzz of Monty’s phone prevents him from making any more degrading and homophobic remarks. “Here’s my ride. Night, boys. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
He stumbles off. His annoying donkey laugh echoes around the room.
Kit bites down on his lip. He seems to be having a conflict in his head. Sighing, I put down my sandwich and wipe my mouth and hands on a napkin. “What’s wrong?”
I’m probably going to regret asking, but I need to know what he’s been thinking about.
“I’m sorry. I seem to make a mess of everything whenever I see you. You think I’m a dick, but I promise I’m not. Please can we start this again? I’d like to be your friend, and I want to see you put that jumped-up prick in his place. Let me be your boyfriend for the night. I’m perfectly house-trained, and I know how to behave at gala functions, as I have an overbearing mother who lives for charity events. Please, Ollie.”
“I really don’t want to attend, but like you, I grew up knowing that to some, appearances are everything, however shallow the reason. I like the idea of ruffling his feathers, but I’ll have to think of how I can achieve that.”
“What does he want the speech to be on? Jack said something about friends or something like that. Did he also go to your school?”
Kit can flip from topic to topic so fast it’s giving me whiplash.
“It is. It’s the value of friendships made during school years. Monty wants me to talk about how fabulous it is to be in a top same-sex boarding school and the lifelong alliances made there. Whereas I would rather stick needles in my eyes than agree to that premise, as he and his cronies made my life a living hell.”
I pick up my sandwich again. “And no, I met Jack during fresher’s week in uni. We were part of the LGBTQ bar crawl and have been best friends ever since.”
Kit opens his mouth and shuts it again.
I have a good idea of what he wants to know, but is he going to ask? I hold my tongue and count down from ten. I make it to six.
“Was there ever anything between you?”
He tries for a casual question, but his features tense every so slightly.
“Hmm, it depends on if you consider the bottle of tequila we shared and then the toilet bowl we both threw up in as anything. Sexually? No, we’re not compatible.”
Kit huffs out a quiet laugh. “I didn’t know if I needed to be jealous of him, but I’m okay now.”
He finishes his pint and points at my drink. “You want another?”
“Yes, please, but ask Sam to put it on my tab. Actually, I’ll have a pint. Wait, I’ll go.”
I rise to my feet and head off to the bar. “How much do I owe you?”
“You don’t owe me anything. I’ll charge it to him next time.”
“No, let me settle it. I’ll take it up with him next time I see him.”
“You sure? It’s just under forty quid.”
“Christ, how long has he been here? Never mind. We’ll have two more pints and add Monty’s onto it too.”
I carry the two tall glasses back to the table. Kit stares at me as if I’ve grown a tail. “What?”
“You’ve just paid douchebag’s bill.”
“I have. It’s not fair on Sam that he’s a wanker who doesn’t pay.”
“I have a feeling I’m going to have to teach you how to stand up to Monty.”
Kit shakes his head, but a small smile plays on his lips.
“You only need to be my boyfriend for one night, Kit. So calm yourself.”
He flinches, but the hurt expression that flits over his face is gone just as quickly. We settle down and talk more about ourselves, asking questions we would need to know about each other. It’s easy, comfortable, almost as if it were a date rather than a meeting based on a lie.
I check my phone.
“I’d better go.
It’s got later than I thought, and I have a few things to do at home.
Thanks for the sandwich, Kit.”
I grab my messenger bag and sling it over my shoulder so the strap crosses my body.
I wave at Sam and walk outside.
As I trudge down the street, I ponder everything that happened. I like Kit. And to be honest, I want more from him than a fake boyfriend for the reunion. He hasn’t offered that, though, has he? Don’t get too involved in the pretence, Ollie.
Feet pound down the pavement behind me, and I move to the side to dodge whoever is racing down the street.
A hand lands on my shoulder and spins me around, and warm lips are pressed on mine in a hard and possessive kiss.
I stumble back, but hands on my hips stop me from falling.
Then the lips are gone, and I’m looking at a red-faced Kit.
He wipes his forehead and grins.
“See you soon, Ollie.”
With a two-fingered salute, he walks away.
Fuck!