Chapter 2 #2
My smile is wide and hurts my face when Max’s boyfriend appears. Felix has a head full of messy curls and is the owner of the sharpest tongue in London.
His face lights up when he sees me. “Oh my god, stranger.” He steps forward and drags me into a hug. I stoop down and squeeze him until he protests. I finally release him, and he steps back. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you. I’ve missed you.”
“I missed you, too.”
Max sniffs. “Well, this is all a bit disappointing. The least I could expect when my two lovers meet would be them fighting over me. It’s not exactly pistols at dawn, is it?”
Felix snorts. “I think you should probably be very grateful for that, because there would always be a risk that we turned the weapons on you.” I laugh, and he drags my jacket off me. He examines my face, his eyes full of merriment. “You staying?”
“Do you mind?”
“Rather you than Max, but we can’t have everything in life.”
“Hey,” Max says, but he’s grinning. It seems to me that since the day he reconnected with Felix, he’s never been without a smile. I wonder if I’ll ever have that sort of relationship with a man and then dismiss the ridiculous thought. I had it once, and it was built on shadows and lies.
“Have you eaten?” Felix asks. He grimaces. “Of course not. Look how thin you are.”
“It’s fashion week. This isn’t thin. It’s optimal weight.”
“I’m making you something to eat,” he says and holds up one hand when I go to protest. “Something light.”
He gestures me into the lounge and disappears into the kitchen. I settle on one of the squashy sofas. The big window offers a view of London lit up like a fairground and I relax into the cushions with a sigh of relief.
Max appears, thrusting a glass into my hand.
“Gin and tonic.” He frowns. “You’re very pale.
” His keen glance slides over my face. There’s no lust, no sexual intent, no assessing my potential.
Just the simple care that he shows his friends.
His eyes narrow. “Felix is right. You don’t look well.
” He hesitates. “You’re not doing anything, are you? ”
I shoot him a smile. “You’ll have to narrow the field a bit. I do a whole lot of very interesting things.”
He opens his mouth but closes it when Felix bustles in with a bowl. He puts it in my hand and settles down next to me on the sofa. “Caesar Salad. I made it tonight.”
“It looks lovely,” I say, swallowing nausea. It’s probably very tasty, because Felix is a good cook, but the coke and the evening’s events have spoiled my appetite.
Nevertheless, I pick up my fork and take a bite. My stomach immediately roils, turning the food to ash in my mouth. I swallow hastily, and when I look up, Max is watching me, his eyes dark and knowing. They should be. I doubt there’s much Max hasn’t done in life.
He frowns, and it’s likely I’ll undergo a Max intervention soon. His interference usually feels like being picked up in a hurricane and dropped on my head, but he does make me laugh, so that makes his tactics forgivable.
He settles down on one of the armchairs, and I pick at the food as they talk about a wedding of one of their close friends. I watch them as they talk. Their deep connection is accompanied by snark and sarcasm, but the love is very plain.
I set the bowl on a side table when I’ve eaten enough not to be rude, and Felix grins at me. “Zeb was asking about you.”
“How is he?” I like Max’s stepbrother. He has a gentle steadiness about him.
“Oh, fine. On his honeymoon, probably pulling Jesse out of scrapes.” He grins. “He was telling the tale of how he first met you.”
“Oh my god, was that the weekend I met Max?”
Max laughs. “The engagement party. Now that was a weekend.”
Felix grins. “How exactly did you meet? I’ve never asked before. Zeb said it was in a nightclub.”
There’s no jealousy on his face—just a lively curiosity. And why would there be? He has Max’s heart and his whole attention.
“Not exactly a nightclub,” I say. “We just told Zeb that.”
His eyes widen. “Oh my god, was it a sex club?”
I start to laugh, and Max rolls his eyes. “Why would you go for that option?”
“Because it’s you and Xavier.”
I shrug. “True.” Max looks at me, and I grin. “It was at a funeral.”
Felix chokes on his drink. “Max did a booty call at a funeral?”
“Why do you leap to the conclusion that it would be me doing that?” Max says indignantly.
Felix rolls his eyes. “Exposure to many of your conquests.”
“Can’t be all of them,” I say idly, taking a sip of my drink. “You’d never have had time to live your life if you were meeting all of them.”
“Harsh,” Max says and laughs. “But probably true.”
“It was actually me who instigated the booty call,” I say. “I picked him up at the graveside.”
My smile drops away as the memory sharpens.
I remember the cold wind, the men and women in black, the sound of a bell tolling and muffled weeping, and always the sight of Reuben.
I’d felt as if I’d come out of my skin. And then I’d seen Max.
I’d watched him talk to Reuben, the friendship between them very obvious, and I’d moved in.
I recall Reuben’s eyes, sad and yet accepting in his pale face, and I feel a pain in my heart.
Becoming aware that they’re both looking at me, I make myself smile again. “It’s not the most unusual place I’ve ever picked up a man.” I mean to say more, but my thought is broken by a huge yawn that makes my jaw creak and my eyes water.
“Okay,” Felix says. “Go and have a shower. I’ll make up the sofa bed.”
Felix is good at this. He often distracts Max when Max has become lost in the past. He’ll allow him to walk a few yards down memory lane and then call him back with humour.
I smile gratefully at him and disappear into the bathroom.
The water is warm on my body, and I pinch some of Max’s shower gel, feeling it surround me like a hug.
When I come out dressed in my boxers and drying my hair with a towel, I find Felix alone in the lounge.
The sofa bed is out, and he’s just smoothing down the duvet.
“I’m sorry for crashing your night,” I say, putting the towel on the radiator.
He smiles at me, and it’s kind and warm. “You don’t ever need to apologise for that. You’re a mate.”
I slide between the sheets, and he sits next to me cross-legged.
He puts a pillow on his lap, pats it, and I slide over, setting my head in his lap.
His hands come down, and he starts to comb my hair with his fingers.
My eyes slide closed. I love having my hair played with, and he knows it.
It feels comforting and familiar because we’ve done this a thousand times.
When I’m down, I always head here like a dissolute homing pigeon.
They’re my family. And infinitely better than the ones I was gifted at birth.
Footsteps sound, and Max appears. He grins at us. “Would it make things better if I got into bed with the two of you? You know what they say. ‘A threesome a day keeps the doctor at bay.’”
I roll my eyes because we all know that this will never happen in a million years. He’s far too possessive of Felix to ever share him.
“No one ever said that,” I reply, tapping Felix to carry on stroking my hair.
Felix snorts. “I prefer the old proverb that says he who suggests a threesome with his ex gets his testicles clamped.”
Max laughs and bends to kiss him, his face alight with so much love I feel almost shy in its presence. “You sure? The offer will remain forever on the table.”
Felix grins at him. “Only if we wanted comic relief rather than hand relief.”
I laugh, and Max tuts. “How did you two ever become friends? Some malignant fairy must have been interfering in my life again.”
I consider that, and Felix laughs. “It was at the showing of Ivo’s artwork at that art gallery in Kensington when we met for the second time.”
“God, I remember that,” I say.
Felix nods. “You insulted Max’s sexual prowess. We were obviously meant to be.”
I roll my eyes. “I still say calling out another man’s name when you come won’t ever make it into a good sex guide.”
“Going to bed,” Max says quickly, and we laugh.
Later, I lie listening to the slap of the water against the boat.
I’m so tired, but I’m sure I won’t sleep.
The coke will have seen to that. I roll to my back, staring up at the ceiling and consider the memories we’d conjured earlier.
How is it that I can be such good friends with Max and his new partner, and not with Reuben?
How is it that just the thought of Reuben with a permanent boyfriend makes my fists clench, and my stomach turn over like I’m going to vomit?
And that now, even after so much time has passed, I still can’t be polite to Reuben?
The reluctant answer to that question is that Reuben means something more to me. He always has, and he probably always will. And tomorrow I’m going to be in the same room as him again.
I groan, push my head under the pillow, and hope for sleep.