Chapter Nineteen
Nash
When Nash wakes, he finds Christopher curled up against him, like the world’s gangliest little spoon.
In the weak morning light, he counts the freckles that start behind Christopher’s ear and run down his shoulders to the soft curve of his stomach, a constellation of dusted cinnamon.
Nash can’t help but look at his long eyelashes and listen to the soft not-quite-snores he makes as he sleeps.
Thankfully, Christopher is also radiating enough heat to keep both of them warm.
Sleeping with him was probably not the smartest idea Nash has ever had. After all, it’s only just Christmas Eve, and they are guaranteed to have to get through another few days with each other until it’s time for Nash to go home.
Hopefully they can stick to their usual bickering and not make too big a deal out of things.
It’s just sex after all. Surely they can just carry on the way they were, even having seen each other naked.
That’s all Nash wants. But the way Nash watched Christopher’s soul repeatedly try to exit his body over just sharing a bed makes him suspect it’s not going to be so casual.
Probably because Christopher’s baseline behaviour is always a little awkward.
He’s not just gangly; he’s emotionally gangly and misplaced and too big for the room.
Perhaps it was an inevitability that Nash would get swept up by those big blue eyes the minute Christopher turned his normal bossiness to something much more fun. Nash has always been a sucker for big guys who like to be bossed around in the bedroom. Turns out Christopher seems into it too.
Plus, it was really hot.
Like really hot.
Who knows if it will happen again. Really, they probably shouldn’t. First rule of being slightly famous is, don’t sleep with your fans, though he’s not sure if that counts when they’re so begrudgingly a fan of your work once they’ve met you.
Either way, he kind of hopes they get to do it again, even if they shouldn’t. He’d like to. It was fun.
Christopher’s soft snores form a gentle rhythm that his own breath matches. Nash wonders if they were like that in their sleep, just naturally in tune with each other. In some ways, it does feel as if they are.
His mind wanders back to last night, to the way Christopher’s long hands trailed his body. To the little gasps Christopher made when Nash went down on him.
He’s not had a connection like that for .
. . well, quite a long time. Yes, there’s been good sex, but this felt like really good sex.
The kind of sex you have with a good friend or an ex you still like, or if it’s a one-night stand, the kind you stretch out over a weekend.
Almost as if . . . no, he’s not going to go there.
It was just blowing off steam.
Blowing off something, anyway.
What a great nearly-Christmas present to end up in bed with a hot Englishman. He did always have a thing for the Hugh Grant type.
Christopher’s alarm goes off on his phone, and he grumbles, patting the bed around him in order to turn it off.
For someone that everyone else reads as affable and polite, it’s quite funny that he wakes like an angry little creature who has been personally affronted by the morning.
It’s as if they swap personalities in their sleep.
But then, he’s seen all sorts of sides of Christopher in the last few days.
Christopher wriggles away and a rush of cool air punctuates the separation of their bodies as the alarm stops.
‘Morning,’ Nash whispers and Christopher flinches.
Just as expected, there is no way this man is going to be casual about the fact they slept together. But at least that means Nash can have a little fun with it.
‘Um, yes, good morning,’ Christopher replies, looking very invested in whatever is happening on his phone screen.
‘I’ll make some coffee, shall I?’
Still not looking over to Nash, Christopher nods, pressing his lips firmly together.
‘What was that?’
‘Yes. Please. Thank you.’
Oh God, he’s reverted to basic programming. A post-coital C-3P0.
Nash decides to make the coffee and give him some space, but when he comes back into the bedroom with steaming mugs and plates of toast for two, Christopher is somehow showered, fully dressed and has made the bed.
And when he takes the cup and plate, Christopher just returns with a little nod and quiet thanks and goes to eat them on the couch.
So, he’s going with stiff and distant. All right then.
This is the worst kind of awkward Christopher could have opted for, and if Nash is honest with himself, he feels a bit peeved.
Like, man, is it that bad that Christopher slept with him?
Shouldn’t Nash be the one feeling weird?
God, he doesn’t even know how to feel now that Christopher is basically ignoring him.
He shuts the bedroom door and takes a hot shower, though it’s only hot for approximately two minutes. British plumbing is not something he could ever get used to. Or British central heating. Or the weather in general.
He sits on top of the covers still in his towel. The bed is still kind of warm with their heat, and he has to resist the urge to clamber back in soggily. He quickly dries himself off and puts on some fresh underwear before deciding he needs to slow down.
There is, blissfully, nothing on his phone, probably because everyone is asleep.
He opens his finsta and likes a few photos of his friends’ dogs.
His main account has been updated by Tessa for the last few weeks, mostly just photos from his last shoot, or shots from various holiday movies, reminding people that nothing says Noel like Nadeau.
He has to hand it to her, that is pretty catchy.
He can’t stay in here forever, as much as he’d like to. Because the sooner he leaves this room, the sooner he has to interact with robo-Christopher.
He takes a deep breath, and with one confidence-boosting smile at the mirror, he walks back to the living room.
Awkwardness hangs in the air, like when you’re trying to pass a stranger in a tight hallway and both of you are trying to let the other person go first. Is this how Christopher feels all the time? No wonder the man can’t settle.
In another world, they could just be having breakfast together and talking about the day and not be shrouded in a cloud of weirdness just because they slept together.
Apparently, this is beyond Christopher. They should get out of the house, give Christopher a task to do, rather than watch him try to absorb himself into the couch.
‘Shall we go?’ he asks, and Christopher near enough spills coffee everywhere.
He leans forward, his cup and it seems his face dripping coffee. ‘Where?’
‘Where else? Community centre. See what adventures await us.’
‘Yes. I’ll just . . . go clean myself up.’
Nash decides, just for once, to let that one go.
Once they’re dressed (or re-dressed in Christopher’s case), they’re outside and over the road in a flash. Christobot storms ahead with his gigantic legs – which Nash can’t stop thinking about wrapping himself around – without so much as a glance backwards to see how Nash is even doing.
It’s so early that there’s hardly anyone inside the community centre once they arrive. Even the lady who makes the horrible hot drinks isn’t here.
‘Hiya!’ It’s Shaz, here already, her voice echoing across the empty room from where she stands with Tamara.
‘Good morning.’ Christopher is still in polite robot mode, but to be fair, it’s so close to his general awkward demeanour with strangers that Tamara seems not to notice. Shaz, however, does glance at Christopher before looking over at Nash with a searching glance.
‘Don’t look at me. He’s always like that,’ Nash mutters. ‘Do we need to go up to Myffy’s this morning?’
Tamara shakes her head. ‘The bonus of living on a smallholding is that we have a 4 x 4 that can drive through most obstacles, so we whizzed Polly home and dropped Priti off there again first thing, so she’s with her all day.’
‘We’ll pop in later, if you’d like?’
‘That would be good, if you’re up for it, but I have a possibly bizarre request for you both first.’
Finally, a task that can distract them.
‘What’s bizarre about it?’ Nash asks.
‘Well, I’ve had a rather interesting email.’
‘Has someone told you you’re cursed unless you forward it on to ten other people?’ interrupts Shaz. ‘Though I’ve always wondered how that would even de-curse you, because surely you’re just sneezing the curse around?’
Tamara gives her the kind of withering look that only comes from knowing someone for far too long. ‘Very witty. Here to escape the kids?’
‘You bet. I told my mother-in-law she is on grandparent duties and the look she gave me was worth it all.’
Tamara continues, ignoring Shaz. ‘I think you should all read it yourselves. See what you make of it.’
She spins the laptop round, and they all peer over. Naturally, Christopher has to crouch down to read the screen, the absolute giant.
Dear Ms Yang,
I write to you today as a concerned constituent who hopes that you can knock some sense into one of your other constituents.
My terribly stubborn neighbour, Dai Edwards, appears to have lost all his power (this is what happens when you don’t install two backup generators like I suggested).
The silly man will not leave his farm and while I have no intention of talking to him, I’d also rather he does not freeze to death. Please go sort him out.
Regards,
Anonymous
Underneath is a second email from the same account, replying to the chain, that just says P.S. You never saw this email.
‘How very odd. I wonder why whoever this person is doesn’t want Dai to know they’re trying to help him?’ murmurs Christopher.
‘And why have they signed it “Anonymous” when their email address is right there?’ asks Nash, expanding the email address out. ‘thelmaagogo@gmail . . . is that someone’s name?’