Chapter Thirteen
I stroll back into my apartment and walk down the hallway to the living room. Jack’s shouting at the TV as he kills whatever mutant army is on the Xbox. He pauses the game and looks me over. Of course I’m still wearing last night’s tuxedo sans bowtie and cummerbund.
“The walk of shame suits you, Ollie. You look like you’ve been thoroughly fucked.”
He grins. I hold up my hand, wiggling three fingers. He howls with laughter. “Good for you, Ollie.”
I grab a beer from the fridge and offer it to Jack, then get one for myself. “You took a risk last night, mate.”
Leaning back against the cupboards, I take a long drink and rest the bottle on the counter.
“Nah, you two are perfect for each other. And head over heels too.”
He shakes his head. “You’re both stubborn pricks, but I could see you’re the real deal. Or you could be if you tried.”
“Yeah, well, it seems that we’re now officially boyfriends. And he fucks like a dream. I came so hard I saw stars. His dick is like—”
I laugh when Jack sticks his fingers in his ears.
“La la la. I’m not listening. I have to work with him. And you better not have given him a hickey. Tory will burst a blood vessel.”
He takes his fingers away.
“Well, now you mention it, he may have one, but I’m pretty sure you’re not going to see it.”
I smirk. I love the purple bruise high up on his inner thigh. Memories of what he did to me after that pop up, and my mouth goes dry.
“Why are you back here if you’re fucking like rabbits?”
Jack asks.
“Because we both have work tomorrow, and I’m expecting a call from the new head. He approached me on Saturday and wants to discuss my ideas. I want to get some of the proposal ideas ready. This is important to me. I don’t want to fuck it up by not being prepared.”
“You did an amazing job last night, Ollie. They were hanging on your every word, and a lot of people shedded tears. This project is going to work because if you keep giving speeches like that, they’ll be writing you cheques and soon other heads will be asking you into their schools. I’m so proud of you.”
“Yeah, well, now I’ve got to make it happen and keep my job.”
I sigh. I’m sick of finance. The whole cutthroat environment is getting old. I didn’t mind it at twenty-one and straight out of uni. I thought I was the dog’s bollocks, but I’d happily give up my place for younger men and women who want it all.
“You must have enough saved to quit and do something else. You said you wouldn’t stay there long. It’s been nearly eight years.”
“I know, but if I quit and devote all my time to the foundation, I’ve still got to pay myself a wage when I have nothing to do. How long will my savings cover that?”
“That’s why you’re doing this as a consultant. You can charge up to six or seven hundred quid a day. It’s your knowledge that they’re paying for.”
“That’s just it. Do I have enough knowledge? I need to speak to LGBTQ therapists, youth groups, a ton of people.”
“You could start with Banner,”
Jack says.
“What? Gage’s friend.”
Gage owns the house we live in. He has the top floor flat.
“Yes. He’s a therapist for LGBTQ teenagers and young adults. How do you not know this?”
“I don’t know. I’d forgotten. Do you think he’d be interested?”
“He might, but if it’s not something he can be a part of, he’ll know someone who will.”
Jack shrugs. “You’ve got nothing to lose by asking.”
“Yeah, I’ll ask Gage for his number. Nice one, Jack.”
“You don’t have to sound quite so surprised, arsehole.”
He cuff the back of my head.
“You hide that you’re clever so well. It shocks me.”
I rub over the sore spot. “I’m gonna go and try and put something together.”
“’Kay.”
Jack takes his beer and heads back to his game.
When I get into my room, I pull out my phone and search my contacts for Gage’s number. It’s not too late to call my landlord.
“If you’re giving me notice on your flat, then no, I won’t accept it,”
he answers without any preamble.
“What? No! Why would I want to move out?”
Why the hell would he think that?
“Oh, okay. That’s good.”
He chuckles. “What can I do for you?”
“Um, could you give Banner my number. I’d like to talk to him about something.”
“You know he’s in a relationship, Ollie. You may’ve missed your chance.”
I hear the smile in his words.
“What? No, no, it’s nothing like that. I, um, need some advice, that’s all.”
I stammer like an idiot.
“Oh, well, I’m with him now if you’d like to speak to him?”
“That would be great, Thanks, Gage.”
“No worries.”
Gage calls out to his friend, and a muffled conversation goes on. Then Banner’s voice greets me.
“What can I do for you?”
“Hi, I wonder if you have some free time one day this week for me to talk to you about a project. Well, it’s a foundation, actually. I want to make LGBTQ students in private sector education safer and better understood and looked after. You could have some information I would find useful.”
“That’s amazing, Ollie. I’d love to help. When would be best for you? Could you come to my office after work? I’m free on Tuesday or Thursday evening this week.”
“Thank you, that’s brilliant. Where do you work? I can figure out how long it will take me to get to you.”
“I’ll text you the address, along with my work and mobile numbers, and you can let me know what time.”
“Great, thanks. Sorry to interrupt your Sunday. I’ll be in touch.”
I end the call and let out a long breath. Having more information from him will be so helpful. Maybe he’ll also be able to offer some of his time.
I turn on my laptop and write out some ideas to discuss with Henry Garvey tomorrow. I’m immersed in all of my ideas when Jack pokes his head around my door. “You want to eat? I was going to order pizza.”
I look at the time in the corner of my computer screen. “Shit! Is it that late already? Yes, pizza sounds great.”
I save and close down my documents, then switch off my computer.
We spend the evening catching up on Netflix, bingeing on the programmes we love, but I find it difficult to concentrate as flashes of Kit and what he did to my body play in my mind. I still feel him, the muted ache that reminds me it was real. He wants me. He feels the same way about me as I do him. From the first moment we met, we were attracted to each other. If it hadn’t been for fucking Monty, we probably would have swapped numbers and started dating after the first meeting in the bar. But would we have fizzled out? Would we have bothered to get to know each other the way we do now? Or would we have got physical so quickly and burnt out? I’m thinking that even though we acted like twats by not owning our feelings and admitting that we wanted more to make it real, we now have the better outcome. We know each other. We’ve talked about our lives, our backgrounds. All the things we would need to make our relationship look real. And now it is.
By the time I get to bed, I’m itching to text him. We haven’t arranged to see each other again, but I want to. Before I can think of what to say, my phone buzzes in my hand.
Kit: My bed smells of you. Why aren’t you here?
Me: God, I wish I was.
Kit: Tomorrow?
Me: Yes, please.