Chapter 7 #2
“Bye.” He scrambles to hang up, feeling so out of sorts and shaky he expects his legs to give out any second.
“Fuck.” It doesn’t matter how much time passes, how old he gets; he’ll never be over his parents’ bullshit.
He fucking hates it. At least he’s at a pub already, so he can drink himself stupid and forget about that blasted conversation for a while. Things are starting to look up.
Or not.
Putting away his phone and turning around, he freezes on the spot, feeling the blood drain from his face. “Fuck.”
Ash’s unusually concerned expression gradually morphs into an amused one.
“I mean, if you insist…”
“Don’t fucking start,” Kieran warns, heading back inside without waiting for a response.
Seriously, is he fucking cursed, or what? How does he always run into Mr. Asshole at the most inconvenient of times? Did he put a tracker on him or something? Or is Kieran really just the unluckiest bastard in the whole world?
Back at their table, he angrily sinks into his chair, earning a few confused glances. He ignores them, pulling out his phone to order.
“You alright, mate?” Shane asks, an eyebrow raised.
“Fine.” He can feel everyone’s gaze on him. He ignores that too.
What he doesn’t quite manage to ignore is Ash making his way across the pub to greet some wide-eyed twink sitting at the bar, wearing an alarmingly tight pair of jeans.
And by greet he means wrap an arm around his waist, pull him into his body, then deliver an unnecessarily long and intimate kiss to his cheek.
Though the twink doesn’t seem to mind at all.
In fact, he clings to Ash even after he has pulled away, gazing up at him with pulsating hearts in his eyes that can be spotted all the way from Kieran’s table. How embarrassing. And inappropriate.
Kieran’s not a prude, nor a homophobe, but there are things you just don’t do in public.
Not that he’d expect any better from Ash.
The guy probably fucks everything that moves, without so much as saying ‘hello’ first. Of course he wouldn’t have any sense of propriety.
Just look at him, acting so affectionate towards another notch on his belt!
He has some nerve, shamelessly flirting with—no, harassing—Kieran, then turning around and promptly forgetting about him.
It was the same at the bar last week, annoying Kieran until he’d had enough and left. He’d bet Ash stayed behind and found some other victim to take Kieran’s place, brought them home, had his fun, then sent them off on their merry way.
What a manwhore.
Not that Kieran cares. Ash can do whatever he wants with his dick, Kieran would just appreciate it if Ash left him out of it. It’s basic decency, for fuck’s sake. Instead, Ash keeps trying his luck, then changing course when his plans fall through.
“What are you scowling at?” Shane asks, sounding amused.
Kieran jolts, quickly averting his gaze and smoothing his expression. “Nothing.” And he wasn’t scowling, he was glaring. He does that a lot, nothing unusual about it. Ash isn’t special.
“Uh-huh.” Shane’s eyes turn towards the bar. He huffs and looks at Kieran curiously. “Friend of yours?”
“No.”
Shane’s lips twitch. “Ex-boyfriend, then?”
Kieran tries to cover up his horror, but isn’t sure he succeeds. “No.”
Shane laughs, shrugs, and falls back into conversation with the other guys.
Kieran throws one last judgmental glance at the bar, then finally orders a drink. Hello, tequila, come to Papa.
Working through his first margarita of the night, he puts extra effort into engaging in mind-numbingly boring conversation with his coworkers. He even manages not to look in the direction of the bar the whole time.
It gets harder when his second drink arrives. He can feel his attention span decreasing with each sip. All too soon, he finds himself turning away from the conversation and towards the infuriating scene on the other side of the pub.
Even with his vision slightly wavering, he can’t not notice how close those two are sitting.
An inch closer and the twink will practically be in Ash’s lap.
While he’s not quite there yet, he’s getting his hands on any part of Ash he can, one hand proprietarily placed on his knee, the other stroking his bicep.
While Ash is keeping his hands to himself, he fucking lets it happen, smiling contentedly while sipping his stupid fucking Pina Colada.
Kieran’s attention is so stuck on the twink’s hand on Ash’s bicep that he nearly topples backwards when he notices Ash is looking at him. For some reason, he can’t bring himself to look away; it feels almost physically impossible. Through the strange trance, something even stranger happens.
Where Kieran expects Ash to be wearing some haughty, pompous expression, smirking like the asshole he is, he completely misses the mark.
The twink’s lips keep moving, talking Ash’s ear off as he’s been doing this whole time, but Ash doesn’t pay him much mind. He watches Kieran, but it feels a little off, as if he’s looking through him. Instead of arrogance, his expression is one of intrigue, his head slightly cocked and lips parted.
And then, as if watching it happen in slow motion, his lips touch, the corners curving up in a smile. Not a smirk; a fucking smile.
It successfully pulls Kieran out of his head. He throws the remnants of his drink back so violently he chokes a little, then quickly orders another one.
“Wow,” one of the guys, whose name Kieran thinks might be Nick, says. “You really like your margaritas.”
Kieran just grunts, and prays the drink arrives quickly.