Chapter 9
NINE
After a full day of being surrounded by people, Joshua’s flat felt disconcertingly quiet.
He dropped his bag just inside the door and moved on to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water that he chugged in one go, stomach churning around it.
The dirty plates and glasses from yesterday’s breakfast with Tristan and Mo were still sitting in the sink, along with two delicate teacups—the ones with the blue flower pattern that Joshua hardly ever used.
His gaze skipped over them, returned only to skip away again, like a flattened stone bouncing off water.
Eventually, he picked them up for a clean, then dried them off before putting them back into the cupboard. Out of sight.
The flat was still too quiet. He stopped by the living room to switch on the telly without even checking the programme, then turned towards his bedroom. The others would be over in a few hours, just before kick-off. There was plenty of time to squeeze in a nap.
His bed was just the way he’d left it, naked without its sheets.
Joshua stood in the doorway for several seconds before he entered. Heavily, he sat down on the edge of the mattress and felt it give under his weight. Just one body, though. Just the one.
He set both elbows on his thighs and lowered his head, briefly closing his eyes. It was all right. Or it would be. Leo had been a momentary glitch in the system, and Joshua would get over him in a little while. Starting today.
When he raised his head again, he caught sight of black fabric, shoved halfway underneath the bed. With his toes, he tugged it out. Leo’s T-shirt. Joshua exhaled a rough breath.
Fuck. This wasn’t fair.
Why had Leo left it? To mock? Or was this what he considered adequate compensation for the shirt he’d stolen from Joshua?
Joshua still didn’t get why Leo had chosen to dress in his shirt in the first place.
It spoke of an attachment that didn’t exist. Or had Leo kept it to—no.
Joshua shoved away the idea of Leo keeping it as a trophy.
Surely he wouldn’t be that cruel. But then, did Joshua know him at all?
Someone saying his name snapped Joshua out of his thoughts. What…? Oh, of course, the TV.
He jumped up and followed the sound back into the living room.
It was some gossip show, a smiling presenter with stark blond hair and her face caked with make-up, features oddly static as she talked about his disappearing act, no trace of him since that truly astonishing interview.
With the nation juggling its attention between football and a game of hide-and-seek that Prince Joshua had clearly won, wasn’t it time for him to show himself?
Explain where he wanted to go from here?
Joshua disliked her instantly. Even more so because her words hooked into his skin and wouldn’t come loose as he tried to shake them off.
Leaving the telly on, he stepped out onto the terrace, fell back onto the sofa bed and closed his eyes. The low hum of the city buzzed around him, ever-present yet distant, and he felt strangely removed from it, as though he occupied a parallel universe. Orbiting.
Imagine the impact someone like you could have.
Fuck Leo. Fuck him, fuck him for having managed to lay claim to every cell of Joshua’s body, for thoroughly embedding himself into Joshua’s life. How utterly ironic when Leo played all his cards close to his chest.
It didn’t mean Leo was all wrong, though.
Not when it came to Joshua’s ability to make a difference.
Joshua would never be able to offer the kind of practical, one-on-one advice Leo did, probably didn’t possess the kind of life experience to pull it off in the first place—but if he stopped hiding, if he manipulated the public attention rather than the other way around…
Maybe, if he put his weight behind it, he could make a difference.
Nate was running late, and Joshua was amused by how Mo was growing more nervous with each minute that passed. Since Joshua was a good friend, he resisted teasing Mo about how he’d spent an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom earlier to get his hair just right.
When Mo checked his watch for the third time in less than five minutes, Joshua leaned down to where Mo was perched on the carpet in front of the sofa, his back propped against Joshua’s calves.
“You look brilliant,” Joshua said, quietly so as not to interrupt the heated discussion Tristan and Ed were having about guitar strings, of all things.
“Nate will be here any moment, and he won’t know what hit him.
Now relax, please? You’re making me nervous.
More nervous. I don’t need that when we’re about to go up against Italy. Even if it’s cute.”
“Suck it,” Mo muttered back. “I am not cute.” He combined it with twisting around to brush a kiss against Joshua’s bare knee, right where his shorts ended.
“But you are,” Joshua told him. “Very. Let me revel in your glow, please.”
Mo shot him an unimpressed look and was about to comment when the bell rang.
With a brief glance at the countdown, Joshua nudged Mo aside and jumped to his feet.
All right, fifteen minutes till kick-off.
Crisps, tonic water and gin were readily available, and they’d all dressed in national jerseys.
Well, except for Tristan, who’d stubbornly painted the Scottish flag onto his cheek even though Mo had greeted him with, “Mate, did your team even make it into the group stage?” They were all set for a successful match; the English team had better shape up.
The viewer showed Nate looking straight into the security camera downstairs, the darkening road deserted behind him.
Joshua buzzed him into the building and waited at the open door, most of his focus on the sound of a squabble in the living room; Ed was ribbing Mo about how a non-swimmer had become the face of the Acqua di Giò campaign.
The distraction was to blame for how Joshua didn’t notice that there were two sets of footsteps—not until he caught movement at the edge of his vision.
No.
Fuck no.
Half-hidden behind Nate, Leo climbed the final steps.
His red jersey hung loosely on him, posture betraying discomfort as he stared at Joshua with apprehension written into his careful smile.
His hair had been styled into a swooping fringe, but underneath, his eyes looked tired.
Still beautiful, though. Always fucking beautiful.
That bastard.
“Joshua, hi.” Nate’s quiet voice cut into the silence that had settled around them, with Joshua blocking the doorway, Nate on the landing and Leo a step below. Leo was still staring at Joshua.
Deliberately dragging his gaze away, Joshua frowned at Nate. “Hey, glad you could make it. But I thought Mo told you the invitation didn’t extend to others?”
To Joshua’s own surprise it came out reasonably composed, although he didn’t achieve the clinical coolness he’d managed to cling to during his phone conversation yesterday.
It had been easier when he didn’t have to see Leo flinch out of the corner of his eye.
Seriously, though. Had Leo expected Joshua would be happy to see him?
Why was he even here? He probably just wanted to meet Ed.
“Yes, right.” Nate sounded wildly uncomfortable. “I’ll just… If you just let me pass, I’ll leave the two of you to—um. Discuss this. Yeah?”
“I don’t see how there is anything to discuss,” Joshua said harshly, directed at Nate rather than at Leo. He did step aside to let Nate in though, and moved right back to block the doorway.
“I’ll be inside?” Nate made it sound like a question. While Joshua wasn’t sure whether Nate had addressed Leo or himself, he didn’t bother glancing back to check. He nodded jerkily instead.
“Right behind you. Just need to take out the rubbish.” The moment the words were out, Joshua hated himself for them. This nasty, vengeful person that took delight in the way Leo’s eyes widened in hurt—Joshua didn’t want to be that.
This isn’t like you.
“Joshua,” Leo said, very softly. “Please don’t.”
Swallowing, Joshua leaned his hip against the doorframe and crossed his arms. He inhaled through his nose.
The nauseating pressure behind his forehead made it hard to think.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “That was out of line. My point stands, though. You’re not invited, and you’ve got some nerve showing up here. ”
“I…” Leo cleared his throat, blinked and lowered his gaze to the floor. “I really need to talk to you. Set some things straight.”
Like how Joshua had been a bloody fool for believing they’d had a connection when Leo had never made a single promise? Thanks, but no thanks.
“Not interested,” Joshua said.
Leo’s gaze skimmed up Joshua’s legs, over his torso, briefly clung to his face and then skittered away. “Please, little prince. You should know that I never—”
“Don’t little prince me,” Joshua interrupted. He felt sick to his stomach. “And save your excuses ‘cause I don’t want to hear them. So let’s just… stay out of each other’s life.”
Leo was quiet for a short while, his shoulders drawn tight and lips pressed into a firm line.
He’d never seemed less self-assured. The light in the stairway flicked off automatically, plunging them into sudden shadow.
How delightfully symbolic. Joshua fumbled for the switch, and Leo squinted into the brightness, seeming momentarily disoriented before he collected himself and met Joshua’s eyes.
“Nate is my best mate, Mo is yours. I don’t think Mo is playing with Nate—I will fuck him up if he is, but…
Yeah, I don’t think so. Which means that you and I will be in each other’s life.
Whether you like it or not.” Leo’s voice had gained an edge of confidence.
“This would be my usual pub night with Nate, remember? We’re overlapping already.
D’you really want to spoil this for them? ”