Chapter Thirteen
Marcello
It’s just a drink. It’s just a drink. It’s just a drink.
That’s what I tell myself as I wait outside the gym, my face lifted up to the late afternoon sunshine.
I’m back in my well-worn work clothes – a greying white T-shirt that’s been washed too many times and my jeans that always smell of coffee – wishing I was wearing something different.
Something clean. Something a little smarter.
But it’s just a drink
It’s just a drink. It’s just a drink.
I’m surprised we haven’t done this sooner, if I’m honest. Sure, we grab coffees after our runs on Saturday mornings, and Giles has popped into the café a few times for his and Radia’s coffee order, lingering long enough for us to chat, but we haven’t actually gone for a drink together, like this. Like a date.
Jesus, no. It’s not a date. It’s just a drink.
A smile breaks out on my face as I imagine Giles’ reaction to me standing here waiting on him and thinking that us grabbing a couple of beers together is a fucking date.
He would laugh at me, his broad grin making his moustache bounce, and he would tell me to shut up.
He would gently but firmly tell me I’m not his type.
He would call me what I am – stupid for thinking that he’s interested in me just because he’s queer.
But he was trying to impress me in the gym. He said so himself. And then there was that moment that followed. The one where I looked at him, taking him in from head to toe and I felt the air around us change, an electricity making the hair on my arms stand up and my back straighten.
Or was I just still full of adrenaline after dropping a weight on his neck?
I cringe at myself as it replays in my mind. At least I can use it as motivation to get stronger. Because I want to be somebody Giles can rely on. I want to keep spotting for him. I want to keep hanging out with him.
I’m still too confused to say whether this is because I also want to stick my tongue in his mouth and find out what that thick cock of his feels like in my hand, but I am going to do my best to not focus on these feelings.
I refuse to make it my next hyperfixation.
I refuse to let it overwhelm me. I refuse to let it confuse me more than it already has.
“You ready?” Giles’ deep voice surprises me from behind. I immediately straighten up off the wall I was leaning against.
“Yep. Sure. Ready. Let’s go,” I rush out.
“You okay?” he asks, frowning. He’s dressed in his work clothes too, although rather than a bowtie he’s got the top two buttons of his shirt undone.
I meant what I said when I told him that his suits impress me.
They always have with how well-fitted they are, how unapologetically bold and colourful their tartan prints are, and how each and every one hints at the solid, muscular physique that is underneath them.
Okay, maybe I haven’t always thought that last bit.
But I’m thinking it now. Wondering how these suits can affect me more than the shorts and cut-off T-shirts he wears to train where his skin and muscles are actually on show.
But this suit he’s wearing with its purple, blue and green chequered design, the jacket slung over his shoulder and the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up slightly because of the heat, has me wanting to know what it would be like to undo the buttons of his waistcoat.
Wondering what it would be like to slide it off his shoulders and then take my sweet time unbuttoning more of his shirt, one mother of pearl button at a time.
Wondering if his nipples would be hard as the shirt’s removed.
Wondering if my fingertips on his skin, as I pull the shirt from his body, would make his dick swell.
Oh fuck. This is not just a drink for me, is it?
*****
I don’t know if Giles is aware of the busying, bumping thoughts in my head, but he is helping me avoid them by keeping the conversation flowing and in a direction that has nothing to do with his physical… attributes.
“I tried my hardest to put them off the lime green, I really did. I even gave them a quote that was totally inaccurate, a huge rip-off, in fact but even that didn’t deter them.
I don’t even know why we had a lime green sample.
It was so offensively lurid, I should have thrown it out, but it’s what they wanted.
” Giles leans one elbow on the table between us as he tells the story, his eyes animated.
“A whole wedding party dressed in lime green? Jesus. What was the bride wearing?”
“Groom,” Giles corrects me and takes a quick sip of his pint. “It was a queer wedding. Two men.”
“So they were both wearing lime green?”
“Yep.”
“My God, and I thought queer men were supposed to have more fashion sense?”
“Not all of us.” Giles sits back and adjusts his waistcoat with a smirk.
“I know you said you haven’t always dressed like this. That it was your graduation suit that made you like dressing like this, but sometimes I like to imagine you’ve always been like this. Like, when you were a kid, you rode your bike and kicked a football around while wearing a three-piece suit.”
“Ha, can you imagine?” Giles laughs to himself. “Then I would have had even fewer friends than I did.”
I frown at that. “You didn’t have many friends growing up?”
Giles takes another drink from his beer, a noticeably larger mouthful. “Not a ton, no.”
“How come?” I ask before I can check myself but as soon as the words are out I realise they could be asking more of Giles than he’s prepared to give.
“I wasn’t very… relaxed as a kid. I didn’t socialise easily,” he says and it both feels like a lot and too little. I want to know more, but I also don’t want to pry.
“You know I don’t think I had a real friend until my ex-girlfriend,” I say and it feels like I’m thinking out loud.
It’s Giles’ turn to frown. “I’m sorry?”
“Kris, my ex. We were together for around four years in my late twenties. My last proper girlfriend if I’m being honest.” I wince at the admission.
“But anyway, after we broke up, we stayed friends. Really good friends. And I can see now that all the ‘friends’ I had before were more ‘mates’ if that makes sense,” I say, being very liberal with my air quotes.
Giles nods. “Makes complete sense.”
“That’s sort of sad, isn’t it?” I stare blankly at a point in the bar just behind Giles’ head.
We’re sitting to the side in a typical London gastropub.
There are bottle-green glossy tiles on the walls and wood furnishings everywhere.
The clientele surrounding us are a mix of workers in slightly dishevelled office wear, creatives in casual outfits and a few flat-capped old men at the bar who look like they’ve been there longer than most of the staff have been alive.
“Toxic masculinity,” Giles says so softly I almost miss it.
“Huh?”
“Toxic masculinity,” he says a little clearer and our eyes snap to each other.
“It teaches men to suppress our emotions and that in turn stops us from connecting with people. I guess we normally talk about it in the context of romantic relationships, but I think it’s even more true when it comes to friendships. ”
I let his words sink in. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”
He fidgets a little then, shifting his weight on his chair and moves to lean both elbows on the table.
His pint is nearly empty and I should offer to get the next round as he bought the first. “But you know, in an attempt to put a middle finger up at aforementioned toxic masculinity, I’m glad we’ve become friends. ”
Friends. Of course that’s how Giles sees us. And why wouldn’t he? I’m a straight man and besides, he’s totally out of my league.
“I’m glad too,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat that materialises as if I’ve said something not wholly true.
“Tell me more about Kris,” he says after giving me a quick moustache-bouncing smile. “Why did you break up?”
I huff out a short laugh before taking a sip of my beer. “Well, I turned her gay.”
Giles’ forehead crinkles. “What?”
I laugh again. “Well, not exactly, but also yes, kind of. She realised she was a lesbian and so being in a relationship with a six-foot-two hairy Italian man wasn’t the best fit for her.”
“Wow.” Giles takes another drink, downing what’s left in his glass.
“Honestly, it wasn’t a huge shock. I also could tell something wasn’t quite right between us but I didn’t have any other experience to compare it. And I liked her company. A lot. I figured that was as good as a relationship needed to be.”
“I think that it’s a pretty good start.” Giles looks down briefly. “But I’m guessing the sex wasn’t exactly amazing.”
“It certainly wasn’t for her,” I joke and we both laugh together.
“It’s good that you’re still friends,” he says eventually.
“Yeah.” I smile to myself. “She’s my best friend. She’s from the States and was new here when we met. I guess I sort of became her family away from home.”
“It’s a credit to you that you reacted that way. Other men would have been too insecure to keep a friendship.”
My eyebrows pull together. “Are people really that stupid?”
“Oh, yes,” Giles says. “I’ve lost so-called mates over being queer.”
My eyes widen. “Really?”
“Yep,” he says and then looks down at his glass. “Shall we get another one?”
“I’ll get it!” I start to get up.
“Great, but if you don’t mind, I’ll go with a sparkling water this round.” Giles’ hand reaches out and grabs my arm. It’s a very innocent touch, a simple hold to get my attention, but my eyes dart straight to where his fingers wrap around my elbow.
“I’ll do the same, Can't have more than one on my meds,” I say and I wait for him to let me go, but he doesn’t, not until I take my eyes away from his hand and meet his. He offers me a small smile and I feel the same electric charge I felt earlier.
Oh, fuck. Not again.
And then I walk to the bar to get us both what I have to tell myself yet again is just a drink.
When I return, I set the drinks down at our table with a new sense of purpose.
My attraction, or my possible attraction or my confusion about possible attraction to Giles, is not going anywhere.
I may as well explore it and see if I really am imagining these electric moments between us.
I may as well figure out if I am queer… or just having a very inconvenient and out-there mid-life crisis.
I mean, I know I don’t have the budget for a Ferrari but I would have been perfectly happy with a busty blonde half my age.
But instead, there’s Giles.
Giles who is thanking me for his sparkling water as I sit down.
“Giles, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” He straightens up, one of his hands coming to his shirt and undoes another button. Which doesn’t… help. I look away.
“How did you know you were pansexual?”
I see the shock of my question wash over Giles but he’s quick to gain control of it. “Err,” he shifts forward, his elbows resting on the top of his thighs, “I honestly can’t remember there being a big aha moment. I just sort of knew I wasn’t only attracted to women.”
“Really? Like all the time? You just started to fool around with boys at the same time you were kissing girls?”
Giles pulls his lips into his mouth and his eyes go to the ceiling for a moment. “Hmm, we may need to rewind a bit.”
“Okay,” I say and I’m suddenly desperate for whatever he’s about to say.
“Remember what I said about not having many friends and being a bit socially awkward?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that definitely extended to affairs of the heart too.”
“Affairs of the heart? I didn’t realise you lived in a historical romance novel,” I tease.
“Why not? I’m practically dressed like I do!”
“Go on,” I prompt after we chuckle together again.
“So, yeah, I didn’t exactly get much action from any gender until I went to university. There I had a few girlfriends and lost my virginity and that was all very lovely.”
“Sounds lovely.” I smirk as I lift my glass to my mouth.
“Indeed.” Giles nods. “But there was this guy on my rugby team. He had the most incredible hamstrings.”
I cough as I take a drink. “I’m sorry, what?” I splutter.
Giles laughs lightly. “You heard. He had brilliant hamstrings. Every time we’d be in a scrum together, I’d struggle to keep my eyes off them, off his flanks, off his backside.”
“Flanks? We’re back in that historical romance,” I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Giles rightly ignores me.
“That was probably when I first started to question just how straight I was and I wanted to experiment with that. But I couldn’t exactly go up to this guy and ask him out. I knew he was straight, or at least, that’s how he presented himself.”
“So what did you do?” I ask, hanging on his every word.
“I went out to a party organised by the languages department and took a boy I knew was gay home with me.”
“Just like that?”
“Pretty much.”
“But did you even like him?”
“Yeah, I did. I thought he was cute, but he didn’t have hamstrings you could write poetry about.”
We laugh again. We laugh together easily, Giles and me. Too easily, perhaps.
“And did that confirm it for you?”
“Did what confirm what?”
“Sleeping with a man, that proved to you that you were queer?”
Giles shrugs. “I guess it did. I mean, it was just as good as sleeping with girls. And it continued to be just as good as sleeping with girls. Not that I slept with many people after that. Not at university. My dad died and I wasn’t exactly in the courting mood.”
I ignore another opportunity to diss Giles’ vocabulary and hold his eye contact as I speak. “Yeah, that would have been the last thing on my mind too.”
Giles offers me what can only be described as a brave smile and I take another long drink.
“Why do you ask?” he says and I spend too long trying to determine if there’s anything but innocent curiosity in his question.
“Just interested.” Interested in you, I think, but I don’t say. Instead, I chime my glass against Giles’ and say, “Thanks for sharing with me. So, do you still play rugby?”