Chapter 2 #2
“Right.” I inhaled slowly, then exhaled. So. This was happening, then—a gay bar, with Ashby. And I’d show up in jeans that hugged my arse and eyeliner that hopefully brought out my eyes, but the only one I really wanted to notice was him.
Shelly stepped back to study me, then nodded. “All right, take a look. I think you’re ready to break some hearts tonight.”
“Not actually part of my plan.” I checked my face in the mirror, and yeah, it was... different. But not half-bad. The hint of definition around my eyes made me look sharper, less boyish charm and more ‘take me home.’
“And you’ll go with Ashby?” Shelly asked as though she required a confirmation.
“Yeah.” I shot her a look and a slightly strained smile. “As friends. He’ll, like, point out guys who he thinks are into me.”
“Interesting,” she said, with the air of someone who’d just come across a fascinating new type of butterfly.
I gave her a proper look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, nothing.” Her tone implied the opposite. “Just, it’s you and Ashby. I didn’t think he’d be terribly keen to help you chat up random guys.”
“It was his idea.” Kind of, at least. Yeah, I’d started talking about how I wouldn’t feel comfortable venturing into some gay club all by myself, but he was the one who’d said, casual as anything, that he could show me the ropes.
Shelly assessed me for an uncomfortably long moment, silent.
“What?” I asked, striving for a casual air. “Do you know something I don’t?”
Another beat, then she gave a small shake of her head before pulling me into a surprise hug. “Good luck, kiddo.”
“Thank you, sis,” I said, low and serious to signal I meant more than just her words. Between my family and friends, I was a lucky guy—coming out wasn’t something that needed to scare me.
Shelly and I drew apart just as Mum called me from downstairs. “Honey? Ashby is here!”
“Coming!” One last look at the mirror, another second of fiddling with my hair. Okay. Okay. I turned away from my reflection, drew Shelly in for another passing hug, and grabbed my phone on the way to the stairs.
Halfway down, I caught a snatch of Ashby chatting with my mum, his voice warm and amused as he defended not stopping by quite so often, what with how he didn’t live next door anymore.
“It’s a five-minute walk from your new flat!” she chided, mostly playful, but the affection in her tone tripped me up. Ashby and I—we’d always ducked in and out of each other’s houses like we belonged. If I pushed for a change between us... Ah, hell. Too much thinking.
I rounded the corner and found him and my mum in the entryway. He glanced over, and for a hot second, his attention slid down and back up my figure. Maybe. Then he tossed me an easy grin. “Oh, fun. Is it too late to book crowd control?”
“Crowd control?” my mum asked, smiling a little, and Ashby swept out a hand.
“To make sure the lads form an orderly queue,” he said.
I snorted. “Look who’s talking.”
Because, yeah, he’d absolutely put some effort in as well—his dark hair looked intentionally tousled, a winter coat draped over his arm, and his jumper clung to his broad chest in a way that did things to me.
He was... Christ. He was gorgeous, and somehow, I’d failed to notice until our months apart jolted me awake.
He shrugged. “Didn’t want you to outshine me completely.”
“As if,” I said, and this was—uh. Flirting. Or was it just Ashby’s version of an ego boost, to help me find some guy who wasn’t him?
“Let me get a picture of you two,” my mum said brightly. Right, yeah, we weren’t alone.
“Mum.” My groan probably made me sound like a huffy teenager. Childhood patterns were hard to shake. “It’s just a night out.”
“It’s my darling boys looking good together. Humour me.” She waved us towards the Christmas tree in the living room, phone out.
Shelly, who’d followed me down, smirked like the cat who’d snuck into the dairy farm. “So sweet,” she cooed. “It’s like a wholesome Christmas catalogue.”
I could leave something squishy under her pillow. It had been a while since I’d done that.
“Needs more tinsel,” was Ashby’s verdict as he stepped into place next to me. He smelled good. Just a standard olfactory response—neural pathways triggered, basic chemistry.
“The tree?” I asked.
“Our Christmas catalogue.” He slung an arm around my shoulders. “Even if you think tinsel is a nasty holiday parasite.”
I grinned at him, and he smiled back, something soft in his brown eyes. It waylaid my answer, and by the time I finally had one—‘It’s a super-spreader with a high glitter load’—my mum lowered her phone. “Lovely,” she announced.
I hadn’t even noticed her snapping a picture, too caught up in Ashby. Jesus, I was a Christmas card come to life.
While Ashby inspected the photos, I put on my shoes and a jacket, foregoing a hat so as not to ruin my hair. Ashby’s van always needed a few minutes to heat up, but I’d be all right.
Outside, a slight dusting of frost coated the ground, sparkling under the streetlights. Pretty. We made our way towards his van, almost there before either of us broke the pleasant winter calm.
“You know,” he said, “I’m a bit surprised you already told your mum and sister.”
“About how I’m bi?” I asked and continued once he’d nodded. “I knew it’d be fine, so why hide it? I’m not ashamed or anything.”
He slid me a brief look, unreadable in the gloomy night. “It took me half a year to tell anyone, you know?”
“Yeah, but you were sixteen.” I still remembered how nervous he’d been.
I’d been stretched out on his bed like usual, waiting for him to put a movie on, and instead, he’d sat down on his desk chair, hands tucked between his thighs and shoulders hunched in as he said, ‘Hey, uh, there’s something you should know. ’
“Yeah.” Another look that lingered for a beat longer. “I guess I was.”
His tone was layered in something almost wistful, and I wasn’t sure why it made tension knot in my stomach. Maybe because this, tonight, was my chance to see if there was more to us than I’d always assumed.
Hopefully, it wouldn’t end with him chatting up his next boyfriend while I pretended not to care.
“Your nine o’clock,” Ashby said. “Sparkly blue top.” His subtle emphasis on ‘sparkly’ suggested a hint of ridicule.
I glanced to my right without much enthusiasm.
This was pretty much how the last twenty minutes had gone—Ashby and I leaning back against the counter, him pointing out blokes who supposedly showed an interest, and me pretending to care at least a little.
Multicoloured lights drenched the space in a dreamlike glow, and a throbbing bass line from the next-door dance floor thrummed in my chest.
“Your other nine o’clock,” he said drily.
Right. I turned my head and identified the guy, kept nursing my pint while avoiding eye contact. The sparkly top truly was very sparkly, shimmering each time he moved. Nothing wrong with that, but he wasn’t who I wanted. I shook my head. “Not my type.”
Ashby took a sip of his cider. “You’ve said that about every single guy so far.”
“I’m selective.”
“Sure you’re not hung up on Dom after all?” Ashby asked with a grin. There was an odd tilt to it, though, like a part of him actually meant it. And seriously. Seriously.
“I live with Dom,” I said, voice pitched to carry over the music. “He likes to cook naked when he’s drunk, and trust me, there is no part of me that wants to see that up close.”
Ashby’s laugh curled around me, seeped into my chest and lit me up. “All right, thanks for the image.”
“Sharing is caring.” Right after I’d said it, I felt a light pressure at my back—someone bumping into me while squeezing past. I glanced back just as the man cast me a lingering look.
He was… fit, yeah—and it still felt strange to even realise that, to lean into the idea.
Strong jaw and warm, interested eyes. My stomach lurched a little, and I ducked my head and quickly turned away.
Ashby was watching me, something sharp and intense about the set of his mouth. “Let me guess—not your type either?”
I held his gaze, sudden tension spiralling through my gut. He’d rejected me, yesterday. But this felt like an opening—the way he angled his body towards me, just slightly, and how he, too, had ignored the many looks flicked his way.
‘I don’t think a quick shag is what he’d want from you.’
“Like I said…” My heart thudded against my ribs as I held his gaze. “I’m selective.”
“Are you?” He sounded like he was feeling his way along some kind of realisation, still distant and foggy. Staring at me as though I might hold the answer.
“Hey,” someone said.
Ashby’s head snapped around, his expression instantly guarded. Huh. I shifted closer on instinct even as I turned more slowly to assess the intrusion.
Yeah, all right—the bloke was fit. If you were into the sulky type, at least. Short-cropped, brown hair and slightly squinty eyes, a tall, muscular frame. Something about the way his focus slipped from Ashby’s face to where our shoulders were pressed together made me raise my chin.
“Paige,” Ashby said in the tone of someone who’d stepped on a dead mouse. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Paige…? Oh. The ex. The ex who’d broken it off just recently. What an arse.
I slapped a beaming smile onto my face and tilted further into Ashby, reaching down to tangle our fingers.
He threw me a surprised glance, and I quirked one corner of my mouth just very slightly, enough for him to read my intent—like the dozen other times I’d roped him into this or that idea.
Play along, c’mon. Like when we’d redecorated Shelly’s entire bedroom in sticky notes, or when we’d ditched class, me faking a stomach bug that required Ashby taking me home.
“Honey,” I said sweetly, as though I were auditioning for some cheesy love-triangle drama. “Want to introduce me to your friend?”
Ashby blinked, then caught himself and leaned into my side just as Paige narrowed his eyes at him. “Seriously—already? You waited, what, a whole week to get with some new bloke?”
I was about to step in, but Ashby beat me to it. “Sorry if this hurts your pride, mate. But really, cheers for walking out on me—it freed me up to find someone who thinks I’m more than just a good fuck.”
Whoa, hang on. Was that what Paige had called Ashby?
“Ash,” I started, voice low, and Ashby shot me a quick smile, his face washed in blues and pinks by the sweeping lights.
“It’s okay, Kieran. I’ve got it.”
“Kieran?” Paige repeated sharply, like that changed something. His gaze flicked from me to Ashby. “As in your best mate Kieran? The one you just wouldn’t fucking shut up about?”
Oh? My heart gave a tiny, hopeful lurch as Ashby met my eyes for just a brief moment, then glanced away. The multicoloured lights made it harder to read him. “I’m surprised you remember,” he told Paige. “Listening wasn’t exactly your thing.”
Paige made a dismissive noise, only just translating over the heavy bass, and focused on me. His mouth pinched. “Aren’t you straight?”
I smiled, all teeth. “Evidently not.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I don’t buy it.”
Ashby scoffed. “And I’m supposed to give a fuck… why?”
Something sparked in my gut—not jealousy, no, more like exhilaration, a sudden loss of gravity, caught halfway through a leap.
“Hey,” I murmured, just loud enough for Ashby to hear me.
He turned his head, and our gazes held for a beat before I leaned in slightly, my pulse thudding in my wrists, my throat, my ears.
Jump.