Chapter 7 #2
“I asked first,” Nate said. They walked several paces in silence, past a houseboat where three blokes were camped out on deck, sipping their beers with barely a word being spoken in the time it took Leo and Nate to leave them behind.
When Leo turned to look at Nate, his head was ducked, gaze on the ground.
“I don’t think,” Nate started quietly, carefully, “they’re like that anymore.
Mo mentioned he hasn’t got laid since Spain. ”
What the fuck?
“Okay, now I am worried.” Leo’s voice was too loud, travelling in the tranquillity of the night.
Nate looked up. “You’re worried?”
“Not worried worried.” Leo tucked his T-shirt into the waistband of his black jeans and pulled his leather jacket tighter around himself.
Soft with use, it was the only piece of clothing he’d kept from his time on the street, and when he’d found it again a couple of days ago, it had taken him a minute to wrestle down the onslaught of memories stitched into its seams. “I’m merely a concerned third party.
Joshua is very vulnerable right now, after all, and so Mo really shouldn’t—”
“You think Mo would take advantage of him?” Nate interrupted, a rare note of sharpness to the question. He stopped in the middle of the path, shrouded in shadows. “Fuck, Leo. They’re friends. And Mo wouldn’t.”
“I’m not saying he’d take advantage, that’s not what I meant. I just meant, maybe…” Leo exhaled. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”
Nate was quiet for a beat, studying him. Then he shrugged. “You’re jealous. For the record, it makes you act like a dick.”
Something in Leo sagged, like a rollercoaster tipping over a drop. “I have no right to be jealous.”
“Doesn’t mean you’re not.”
“I know they’re not romantic. Joshua and Mo. I know that, but I don’t want…” Leo’s voice sounded weak to his own ears, brittle. The night got tangled around his words. “I don’t want anyone else touching Joshua. No one but me.” Fuck. “Fuck, I can’t—”
“Hey, guess what?” Nate cut in, sounding strangely delighted. “I really think Mo told me that for a reason, the whole not having had sex. Like, to make the point that he and Joshua aren’t fucking around anymore. That they’re strictly friends now.”
It took Leo a few seconds to work through Nate’s meaning. Then his shoulders dropped, breath escaping him in a long rush. “Biggs, you fucker.” He started walking again. “You played me. You totally played me. You tricked me into admitting that I’m…”—Jealous as hell—“worried.”
“Learned from the best, didn’t I?” Nate skipped a couple of steps to catch up.
While clearly proud of himself, an edge of concern had seeped into his voice, and when Leo glanced over, Nate was watching him carefully.
With a sigh, Leo nudged their shoulders together.
Camden Lock was just up ahead, the branches of weeping willows brushing the water’s surface, and they crossed the bridge to the other side of the Canal, everything calm and peaceful, safe for the scattered tourists leaning on the railing. It could have been any normal night.
“Let’s make a detour past the Palace,” Leo suggested. “I want to see how bad it is.”
Nate didn’t reply, but he shifted a little closer, unspoken reassurance in the repeating bump of their elbows.
Buckingham Palace was under siege. Floodlit, it stood like a beacon in the night with flocks of reporters in front of the gates, curious onlookers mixed in with them to create the impression of a feeding frenzy.
Leo and Nate stood side by side, overwhelmed, Leo’s sense of equilibrium oddly shaky.
God, if he hadn’t encouraged Joshua, this would not be happening.
The media wouldn’t have called on the hunt.
It had been Joshua’s decision. Still, Leo had played a part in it. What if he’d been wrong, what if they’d all been wrong and this would end horribly?
Once again, he fought down the impulse to grab Joshua and run. He’d never been more grateful that the location of Joshua’s flat wasn’t common knowledge.
“Let’s go,” Nate said after what might have been minutes, might have been hours.
Leo nodded and made himself turn away, move.
* * *
The tip of Mo’s cigarette sparked orange, smoke curling up towards the dark sky. Joshua fanned the smell away from his face, then fell onto his back. “Can we sleep out here?” he asked. He hated how it came out: lost and thin. “I think I need to remind myself that there’s a normal life out there.”
“Course.” Mo’s cheeks hollowed around the last drag, then he dropped the stub and extinguished it with the bottom of his beer bottle.
Rolling into Joshua’s side, he tucked an arm around his waist and they lay quietly for a short while, breathing together.
The gentle, regular rhythm of their rising and falling chests eased the tension behind Joshua’s forehead, his muscles loosening gradually.
He turned his head to press his nose into Mo’s hair—cigarettes and hair spray, spicy aftershave Joshua would always, always connect to him.
“Hey, Mo?” Joshua laced their fingers together. “Leo said he wanted to kiss me. Earlier today. Before the interview.”
“Did he now?” Mo didn’t sound surprised. There was a smile tucked into his voice.
“Yes.” Joshua closed his eyes and imagined he could watch the word float into the night. “I mean, we didn’t. No time, and, I don’t know. It was so out of the blue that I couldn’t even react. Maybe he just said it to shock me. Like, because I was really nervous?”
Mo’s response consisted of a low hum, which honestly wasn’t helpful.
“I think”—Joshua inhaled on a sigh—“he avoided me tonight. Or, not like he avoided me as such, but like… avoided being alone with me. And earlier, he left as soon as the interview was done.”
“Does he know you want to kiss him too?” Mo asked. “Along with other things you want to do to his body, I’m sure. Did you clarify that?”
Grabbing a pillow, Joshua shoved it under his head and thought back to that moment outside the White Drawing Room—the slow sweep of Leo’s lashes, the husky quality of his voice, the way he’d been pressed all along Joshua’s front.
How Joshua hadn’t got in so much as a word before Emma had startled them apart.
“I’d never reject him,” Joshua whispered. It felt heavy in a way he didn’t quite understand.
“Well, yeah.” Mo twisted a little closer, raised his head and bit Joshua’s chin, then moved back with a soft snicker. “Like, the thing is, you and I and Tristan know that. Question is, does Leo?”
After flicking Mo’s nose, Joshua rubbed his chin while he considered the question.
Joshua had been pretty obvious, right? But Nate had probably thought the same, not factoring in Mo’s astonishingly thick skull.
Maybe Leo was on a Mo level of oblivious?
He didn’t seem the type at all, always so aware of everything, but you never knew.
“Maybe not,” Joshua admitted. “But I can’t exactly corner him when he’s avoiding me, can I? And I don’t want to do it over the phone. That’d be weird.”
“We’ll just have to create an opportunity for you, then.
” Mo sounded positively gleeful, as though he was scheming already.
Joshua wasn’t sure he approved; Mo’s plans had landed him in trouble more than once, more than twice.
A particularly shining example was that time they’d ended up in a drunk tank even though they’d been completely sober.
Johnson’s predecessor had bailed them out before the press had caught wind of it, and the lecture Joshua had had to endure in return had been a small price.
The press. Not thinking about that, no.
Burying a hand in Mo’s hair, Joshua used his other hand to tug on Mo’s arm until they were pressed together, one of Joshua’s legs slotted between Mo’s thighs.
It was comfortable, and only when they’d both settled in did Joshua think to ask, “Should this be weird? I mean, with the way we—you know. And now talking about Leo and me?”
“Mate. Sometimes, I find it hard to believe you were ever trained in eloquence.” Mo lifted himself up to grin at Joshua. “And nah, don’t see why this should be weird. Up to us, isn’t it?”
Joshua grinned back. “Exactly. Just, some people don’t seem to get it. Us. Like, Leo keeps asking me, and I think—maybe he gets it now. What about Nate?”
Dropping back down to rest his head on Joshua’s chest, Mo reached for the afghan to cover them both up.
Only then did he reply. “Yeah, pretty sure that he gets it. But it’s still like…
Feel like I’m out of my depth with him, you know?
Being friends when there’s always this thing where we could be more? ”
“I’m your friend,” Joshua said, “and we did plenty more.” To illustrate, he cupped Mo’s bum and gave it a friendly squeeze. Mo reacted with an exaggerated moan that echoed strangely in the quiet night, making both of them snicker.
A month ago, they might have taken it from there, playing around until one of them moved in for a kiss, just to test the mood. A month ago, Mo hadn’t met Nate, and Joshua hadn’t met Leo.
“Except”—Mo slumped into Joshua’s side, tone wistful—“you were always my friend first, and anything else was just… you know. Whatever.”
“Hey,” Joshua protested, pinching Mo’s bicep. “Have a little respect for my ego, thanks.”
Mo snorted. “Not like you’re not a good lover, babe. Taught you some of those tricks myself, didn’t I? It just wasn’t ever key to our relationship, more like a very nice bonus.”
It was true. Somehow, their friendship had never been questioned, and only now did it occur to Joshua that they might have been extremely fortunate in how they’d always been on the same page.
He pondered it for a moment before he asked, “Did you ever wonder how come… Why we never fell in love? With each other, I mean. If you look at us, all the ingredients should be there, but it just never happened.”