Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
H arry woke up to Jack’s naked back in front of him, which was new. Jack normally wore a T-shirt and boxers to bed, and so did Harry.
But not last night.
Last night, after shower sex that had left Harry breathless and tingling, they’d gone to bed naked. It had been both thrilling and intimidating. A part of Harry had wanted to duck out of bed and get dressed, but Jack’s touch on his bare skin had been gentle, and his tattoos had been right there, and by the time Harry had traced his fingertips over them half a dozen times in a hypnotic motion, he’d forgotten that this was new and scary.
And waking up like this, it made being with Jack seem real, in a way it hadn’t quite before. Harry slid a palm down the knobs on Jack’s spine. Jack snuffled and huffed in his sleep and burrowed into his pillow, but he didn’t wake up. Harry watched him sleep while he thought about last night. He’d never gotten naked in front of anyone else before, and he’d never had a mouth on his dick—had never really wanted to. But it turned out he wanted those things if Jack was involved, and he hoped they did them again—preferably without Tristan in a walk-on role.
Harry debated lying here and touching his naked boyfriend for a bit longer, but Jack looked so peaceful that Harry didn’t want to wake him. Instead, he slid out of bed and dragged on a pair of boardies that were lying on the floor and made his way to the kitchen. Harry wasn’t anywhere near as good a cook as Jack, and his scrambled eggs always turned out like crumbly bits of rubber, so he decided to play it safe and set about making ham, cheese and tomato toasties for them both. Then he got the coffee started and spent the next few minutes dithering over whether it would be cliche to nick one of the flowers from next door’s front garden to put on the tray. There weren’t any flowers in their garden, unless they counted dandelions.
Once breakfast was done, he piled everything onto their slightly dented tea tray and made his way up the stairs and nudged the bedroom door open with his elbow. He’d half-expected Jack to be asleep, but he was laying half-awake on his back with the sheets pooled around his waist, wearing a lazy smile. His eyebrows raised when he saw the tray, and Harry flushed and ducked his head. “I thought I’d cook for you for a change.”
“Thanks. Hang on.” Jack clambered out of bed, and it was only slightly weird seeing his naked arse. He pulled on a pair of boxers before heading out the door to the bathroom. When he came back a minute later, he got back in bed and propped himself against the headboard. Harry put the tray down and sat on the bed next to him. Jack took a sip of coffee and his eyes fluttered closed, and had anyone ever had eyelashes so long, or a smile so enticing? Harry didn’t think so—but then again, Harry wasn’t sure he could be counted on as impartial where Jack was concerned. He smiled to himself, and Jack caught it. “What’s that look?”
Harry bit his lip. “You’re really attractive, that’s all.”
Jack grinned around a mouthful of toastie, melted butter making his bottom lip glisten temptingly. “You’re pretty hot yourself.”
Harry knew, without a doubt, that if he chose right now to move the tray, straddle Jack’s lap and kiss him, Jack would be into it. But he also knew that Jack wouldn’t care if the only thing that happened in bed was breakfast. Just because they’d done more last night didn’t mean there were any expectations this morning. Harry appreciated it more than he could say that Jack was okay with him setting the pace.
They ate their breakfast in comfortable silence, then Jack carried the tray downstairs. Harry followed him to the kitchen to find Tristan making coffee for a lean, dark-haired guy who was gazing at Tris like he’d hung the moon. Harry had a new understanding of what might have caused that look—he suspected he’d been wearing it himself last night after Jack had rocked his world.
“This is Callan,” Tris said. “He’s a pole dancer. Super flexible.”
“Cohen,” the dark-haired beauty corrected.
“Cohen,” Tris corrected himself, and pointed finger guns at Cohen.
Cohen laughed.
Harry had thought for a long time that he didn’t understand sex and relationships, but maybe he just didn’t understand Tristan. He wasn’t sure how he would have felt if Jack forgot his name, or just never called after they’d been together for a night, but somehow Tristan seemed to get away with doing that to the guys he picked up, and they didn’t even seem to mind. It was weird—or maybe it was a case of birds of a feather fucking together, or something. Wanting sex was only new for Harry, and he couldn’t imagine being so casual about it, but Tris always seemed happy, so he guessed it was one of those things that was different for everyone. As far as Harry could tell, for Tris, sex was about as significant as going out for coffee, whereas for Harry, it was an intimate degustation menu at one of the fancy restaurants he was always getting thrown out of—something that he only shared with someone special.
“So, what do you two adorable bunnies have planned for today?” Tris asked, sweeping his golden hair back and securing it with one of the elastics he wore around his wrist. “Because there’s a trivia night tonight at the pub, and the drag queens want me to find someone who knows something about sports. I’ve seen you watching cricket, Harry.”
“We can’t, sorry,” Jack said, washing up their breakfast things in the sink. “We’ve got Tate’s bachelor party today, at the Powerhouse.”
Tristan blinked. “Unless that’s some club I’m not aware of…”
“No, it’s the museum,” Jack said.
Tristan and Cohen exchanged a dubious look.
Jack grinned when he caught it. “I know, right? But at least there won’t be strippers. Lady strippers.”
Cohen shuddered.
“Is it more or less awkward if it’s guy strippers?” Harry asked suddenly, wondering where attraction fitted into the whole stripper thing. Would he want to look at guy strippers now he had a thing for a guy? He didn’t think he would, and he certainly couldn’t imagine finding it arousing. He’d once been backstage with Ambrose at some theatre thing, and there had been nothing exciting at all about seeing a bunch of different people stripping down to get into a bunch of different costumes. He’d even had to help a girl pour baby powder into her leather catsuit, which had been the closest he’d ever gotten to that particular part of a girl, and all he’d felt was sympathy because it was super hot under those theatre lights.
“More,” Jack said.
“Less,” Tristan said.
“If you want to find out, I can do a demo,” Cohen said.
Jack put an arm around Harry and drew him close. “We’re good, thanks, mate.”
Tris looked between them, and his brow furrowed. “How are you going to Tate’s bachelor thingy?” he asked, pointing at Harry. “Doesn’t Jack’s family think you’re evil incarnate?’
“They’re not coming,” Jack said. “It’s just Tate and a few of his mates. Dad thinks buck’s parties aren’t appropriate for ministers.”
“Well, he’s right—not the good ones, anyway,” Tris said. “So you’re going on an actual date? That’s so cute.”
Warmth flooded Harry’s chest as Jack squeezed him a little tighter.
“Yeah,” Jack said. “I guess it is an actual date.” Then his brows tugged together. “God. Our first date is the Powerhouse. That’s so lame.”
“I went on a first date once to the library,” Cohen piped up. Then he grinned. “I’m now banned from all libraries in the local council area.”
“I don’t think we’ll be doing anything that will get us thrown out of the Powerhouse.”
Harry nodded.
“You know, that really would make an incredible name for a club,” Tristan said. “It’s probably copyrighted or something though. Well, enjoy your first official date, you pair of cutie-pies!”
“We will,” Jack said.
Three hours later, Harry was shitting himself as he and Jack got off the bus in Ultimo. He wished Tris hadn’t pointed out it was their first real date, because now it felt weird. Like it wasn’t just him and Jack going out in the afternoon to meet Tate and some of his mates—it was significant. There were expectations now, or something, although Harry didn’t know what they were. He was only sure that he’d fail to meet them. He was wearing jeans and one of his nicest T-shirts, and Jack was dressed the same, but should he have done something more than that? Should there have been a corsage involved?
No, that was probably just his panic talking.
Also, how was he supposed to act when he was on a date with someone he lived with? Why was there no clear marker between the ‘living with you’ part of the day and the ‘and now we are on a date’ part? There should have been a gong or something, so Harry knew exactly when things changed.
Then Jack reached out, took his hand and said, “Do you want to go somewhere nice for dinner after this?” and everything fell into place, just a little bit.
“Okay,” he said, and they walked towards the museum together.
The Powerhouse display was pretty much what Harry had been expecting. But Tate seemed to really be into it, and he was the groom, so that was what mattered, even though Harry figured they’d both heard Tate rhapsodising enough over the Model B3 Hammond organ from 1955 to last a lifetime. Harry and Jack held hands as they went around the displays though, and that alone made the outing worth it. Afterwards Tate invited them for drinks with his mates, but Jack shook his head. “We’ve got dinner plans.”
The restaurant was about a kilometre away, just off Broadway.
“I always thought tattoo artists were meant to be badarse and edgy, but he’s so boring ,” Jack said with a laugh as they walked. The late afternoon sunlight made everything look golden and lengthened the shadows. “I can’t believe Mum and Dad were so worried about the whole tattoo artist thing, when Tate is actually the most boring person in the entire universe.” He said it with a smile, though.
“I guess boring isn’t a bad thing when he’s going to marry your sister,” Harry said.
“Boring is perfect.” Jack smiled. “I mean, I think they’re crazy to get married this young, but what the hell do I know? Just because I don’t have my shit figured out, that doesn’t mean Mia and Tate don’t.”
“Mia does seem to have her shit together,” Harry said, “so I guess as long as they’re happy, that’s what counts.”
“Mia’s far more together than me,” Jack agreed. “God, she’s getting married in a week. I still can’t believe it.” They stopped in front of the restaurant, and he turned wide eyes on Harry. “I wish I could take you.”
Harry laughed. “We talked about this. I went out of my way to make your parents hate me. I’m not going to show up as your date at your sister’s wedding. It would be a disaster. We’re saving telling them until after the wedding, once Mia’s dropped the baby news.”
Except, a small and crazy part of Harry wished Jack could take him too. He felt like he’d aced this first date thing, so surely that meant he was ready to level up to family events. Well, the wedding was out, but maybe he had the baby’s christening to look forward to? Mia and Jack’s dad was a minister. There would probably be a christening. Harry hoped that Jack had talked to them by then.
The restaurant Jack had picked was French, but not so intimidatingly French that the menu wasn’t also in English. Harry hadn’t been there on any of his bad dates, which was partly why they’d picked it. It was nice. It was also unquestioningly romantic. Their table had a candle and everything, which Harry felt was a bit of an overkill considering it was still light outside, and they were both in T-shirts and jeans, but maybe they could come back another time at night, wearing suits. Nice suits. Not ones from the op shop.
They had a table for two in a little alcove that overlooked the window onto the street.
Harry ordered duck, because that seemed safer than snails. He wondered who first saw a snail and decided it looked like it needed to be drenched in garlic butter, because it was one of the worst ideas he’d ever heard. Which was stupid, because he’d eaten Moreton Bay bugs before, and no way in hell did that sound any more appetising than snails. Snails were probably nice—millions of French people couldn’t be wrong—and they were no grosser than seafood, but Harry didn’t really want to test it out right now. All he knew was that if he ever saw kids eating snails on the playground, he yelled at them for it. He didn’t go scurrying over with a frypan, a knob of butter and instructions for a gentle sauté.
Jack ordered the duck too. Harry wasn’t sure if it was anti-snail solidarity, but he liked to think so.
Once the waiter left, Harry fidgeted and straightened his cutlery.
Jack smiled at him and reached out and put a hand over his. “I’m guessing this isn’t like your usual dates. ”
“No, usually by now I would have told the whole restaurant that if they heard any beeping not to worry, it’s just the battery on my ankle bracelet running low.”
Jack laughed, throwing his head back, and the warmth of his laugh chased Harry’s nerves away. Harry was struck once again by how attractive Jack was and how lucky he was that he got to date him. So what if he couldn’t go to the wedding? It was just a one-off thing. It wasn’t like Jack was hiding the fact they were dating from anyone, apart from his parents, and there were extenuating circumstances when it came to his parents. Harry turned his hand under Jack’s so they were palm to palm and gave a squeeze, and Jack squeezed back.
It was relaxing, being on a date where Harry got to be himself and where he didn’t have to invent new and interesting ways of offending people for a change. He hoped they got to do it a lot more. Not fancy French places all the time, because he was a broke student and Jack’s apprentice wage wasn’t anything flash, but just. Going out. Being together. Kissing at the bus stop. Not that they’d ever done that, but it seemed like the sort of thing couples did—at least, they did in music videos and home and contents insurance ads.
“What are you thinking about?” Jack asked. “You’re wearing this dumb smile.”
“Kissing at bus stops,” Harry said. “More specifically, kissing you at a bus stop.”
The corner of Jack’s mouth quirked up. “You’re weird, did you know that?”
Harry shrugged. “I’m embracing it.”
Jack’s smile widened. “I’m planning on embracing it too, after dinner. I’ll even kiss you at the bus stop.” His eyes sparkled. “But how about…?”
Harry’s breath caught as Jack leaned over the table. Then, realising Jack couldn’t reach, Harry leaned forward too. The tablecloth skewed. Cutlery rattled. Harry might have almost set fire to his elbow with the candle. But there was a kiss . A first-date kiss in a French restaurant.
When he leaned back again, Harry was blushing. So was Jack.
And there was a middle-aged woman knocking on the window. “Yoo-hoo!”
Harry blinked.
The woman knocked again, pointing and smiling. She was pointing at Jack, then further down the street to where the entrance to the restaurant was, then back at Jack again.
“Oh shit ,” Jack said.
Then the woman vanished, only to reappear moments later inside the restaurant.
“Jack!” she exclaimed, bustling between the tables. She was mostly round, with curly grey hair, several different shopping bags, and bright red-rimmed glasses. “Darling, how are you? It’s been ages! I’m just down to do some shopping for the wedding, and you are the last person I thought I’d run into!” She turned the full force of her beam to Harry. “And who is this handsome young man? You know, your mother was saying you weren’t seeing anyone, but I said to Gavin, ‘Oh, Jack’s a good-looking young bloke. There’s no way he’s still single!’ And here you are! On a date ! It is a date, isn’t it? Unless you make a habit of kissing all your dinner companions like that!” She laughed.
The fact it was a date obviously hadn’t deterred her from crashing it.
“Um.” Jack cleared his throat. “Auntie Cassie. What—what are you—no, wait, you already said. I… Hello ?”
Harry swallowed nervously and wondered if there was protocol for this, if having your date interrupted by a random relative happened often enough to warrant it. For the sake of couples everywhere he hoped not, because frankly it felt awful. Especially the part where Jack looked absolutely horrified, like he’d eaten the snails after all and was fighting the urge to throw up.
“It’s great to see you,” Jack continued, “but don’t let me keep you from your evening.”
Auntie Cassie looked at Harry expectantly, then back at Jack.
Jack stood up. “Let me walk you out.” Then, he said to Harry, “I’ll be five minutes.”
He led his bemused aunt out the door, and Harry sagged back in his seat.
Yeah, the part where Jack looked like he wanted to vomit was bad. But the truly craptacular part? Was where he hadn’t introduced Harry at all.
All of a sudden, he didn’t feel like kissing Jack at the bus stop after dinner.
He didn’t feel like kissing Jack at all.