Chapter 6 #3
“Well, no need to panic.”
He snorts. “Definitely not. You’re doing it all for me.”
I slide out of the sheets, batting away hands that try to grab me. “Stop,” I chide. “I have to go. I’m meeting a friend and I’m really late.”
I look around for my boxers and spy them hanging rather incongruously from the lampshade. After sliding into them, I don the rest of my clothes in quick jerks.
My partner in crime is now lying on his front, his sharp chin resting on his hands and his long legs swinging back and forth. His arse is full and round and I force down the urge to throw off my clothes and bite it.
I check my watch. “Fuck. I was going to my room for a shower. There’s no time for that now.”
His lips tilt in a crooked smile. “Is it wrong that I like the idea of you going to dinner still covered in my come?”
“I’m not sure, and I haven’t got time to figure it out.
You’ll have to explore the crisis in your ethics on your own.
” I lean down and grab a kiss. His lips are soft and part instantly under mine, his head falling back in a beautiful gesture of submission.
I growl and go to deepen the kiss but my phone chimes.
“Shit,” I groan, checking it and seeing an irate message from Jez. “I’ve really got to go.” I hesitate. “Thank you for today.”
“It was my pleasure,” he says gravely.
“I don’t know your name.”
“And you don’t want to, either.”
I’m taken aback by his perceptiveness, but I shouldn’t be. He’s sharp as a tack, and I bet he’s hellishly perceptive. “I think I’ll call you Sunshine Boy.”
“Well, I suppose it’s better than rain.”
“I never realised I’d fucked a philosopher.” I hesitate. “What are you doing this evening?”
What am I saying? Am I actually thinking of asking him along like some sort of date?
To my mingled relief and disappointment, he says, “I’m meeting an elderly relative for dinner.”
“Oh okay. Well, have fun.”
“Doubtful, but thank you.”
Unable to stop myself I kiss him again and then hold his sharp chin in my hand. His eyes look almost pellucid in the dim light. “Goodbye. Be good.”
He pouts. “I’m pretty sure that leaves zero room for fun.” I’m halfway to the door when he says, “Sebastian Flyte.”
“Sorry?”
He inclines his head gravely. “My name.”
“Oh well, that’s nice.” His lip twitches and I turn and grab my bags and hotfoot it out of the room. It’s only as the door closes behind me that I realise. “Hang on. That’s the hero of Brideshead Revisited.”
Realising I’m talking to a wood door, I turn around and make for the lift.
Once inside, I frantically examine my appearance in the mirrored wall.
I smooth down my hair which is giving me the appearance of someone who’s been pulled through a hedge backwards and spare a sigh of despair at the hickey on my neck.
By the time the lift stops at the foyer, I look pulled together, or as near to that state as I’m going to get tonight. I take a slow breath and after making a quick stop to leave my bags with reception, I make my way into the bar.
Jez is pacing by the window. He scowls when he sees me. “Where the fuck have you been?” he snaps. “You’re fifteen minutes late.”
“Sorry. I got held up by a phone call.”
He narrows his eyes. “Who?”
“Grey.”
He rolls his eyes. “Well, he can certainly talk,” he mutters. “Not anything I’d want to hear, but you do you, I suppose.”
“Jez,” I warn him. I go to walk past him to the bar and still as he grabs my arm. I groan as I see his eyes fastened on my neck.
“You pulled,” he says, starting to laugh. “Oh my god, you’re late to my family reunion because in the couple of hours since I left you, you managed to pull.” He cups my face between his hands and smacks a kiss on my lips. “You old dog.”
“Thank you,” I say with dignity and pull away to walk to the bar. “Beer please,” I say to the waiting barman. I look back at Jez. “Do you want anything?”
“A vat of concealer for that hickey.”
I tut. “Alcohol? Speak now or forever hold your peace.”
“Beer.”
The barman nods and walks away. I sneak a look at Jez, whose moody expression has resurfaced.
“So, where’s your son?”
He huffs. “The rude little shit is late.”
I take our beers from the barman, hand one to Jez, and take a lengthy pull of mine. I’ve got a feeling I’m going to need an alcohol buzz tonight. “Be nice,” I chide. “You said his grandmother told you he was shy. Maybe he’s working his way up to meeting you.”
“He’d better hurry. Another five minutes and I’m off.”
I stare at him. “You would actually leave when your long-lost son is in the building and this is your chance to meet him?” I can’t keep the disapproval from my voice. Sometimes I don’t recognise my old friend anymore. He seems to have been replaced by this impatient stranger.
He shifts awkwardly. “I can’t help it. We’re not all living saints, Reuben.”
“You don’t need to be a saint. Just try being a decent human.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
We’re interrupted by someone behind us saying, “Hello, I think you must be my daddy.”
It’s a low voice and horribly familiar. I spin around, my insides clenching.
I gulp. In front of me is Sunshine Boy. He’s dressed in tight, faded jeans with a hole in the knees and a T-shirt saying ‘Twink for Sale. Will Work for Pay’. His hair is wet from a shower but already falling into waves.
My mouth falls open, either in shock or an attempt to speak.
Jez moves past me. “Xavier?” he says in a wooden voice, holding out his hand.
Xavier? Jez’s Xavier is…Sunshine Boy. Fuck.
“So, you’re my daddy?” he says to Jez, shaking his hand. He directs a glance of appalled humour at me that Jez misses. “Well, I have to say that’s a relief. This situation could have been a whole lot worse.”
I stand there frozen, clutching my beer and hoping it doesn’t explode in my hand.
Jez frowns in confusion. I watch as he gives his son a brisk hug.
Xavier bugs his eyes out at me over Jez’s shoulder, and I fight an inappropriate burst of laughter that’s likely to turn into hysterics.
Jez steps back and gestures at me. “This is my best friend and the best photographer in the business. Reuben, meet my son Xavier.”