Chapter one #2
The woman finished her call and slipped the phone into her bag, her gaze wandering upwards until it landed on Jake. She smiled.
Knowingly.
And Jake felt that smile right down to his fucking toes.
Harrison had mentioned someone coming up, hadn’t he?
A friend staying for the weekend. That was why this weekend hadn’t worked for them.
Not that either of them had actually put it like that.
They didn’t say things like I wish I could see you or when are you free?
They just traded messages, floated possibilities and pretended it didn’t matter when none of them quite came off.
Because whatever this was, it wasn’t that. Wasn’t something defined enough to bring other people into. Fuck, half the time it barely felt as though it included the two of them.
Harrison pulled the woman into a hug then.
Easy. Familiar. Close enough to make something unpleasant tighten beneath Jake’s ribs, even though he knew how fucking ridiculous that was.
Then a taxi rolled to a stop at the end of the lane, and they exchanged a few words Jake couldn’t hear.
She pulled back, said something that made Harrison laugh, then glanced up at the roof one last time.
That same knowing look.
Oh, fuck off.
She climbed into the taxi. Harrison lingered at the roadside, watching until it pulled away, then turned back to the cottage, sliding his hands into his pockets. Then he tipped his head and looked up again.
Straight at Jake.
Jake dropped his gaze and bent back over the roof, letting his curls fall forward to hide the heat in his face and the stupid fucking thud of his heart.
This.
This was why he didn’t do this. Why he didn’t wait around for one person when there were plenty of others he could have without all this fucking uncertainty.
Why he didn’t let himself care. Because then he started noticing who got Harrison’s weekends.
Who stayed at his house. Who could make him laugh like that.
Who got his time and his attention when Jake seemed to spend most of his own waiting for the bastard to have some left over.
And Jake had absolutely no fucking right to care about any of it.
Which, unfortunately, wasn’t stopping him.
“Do you want a…” Harrison lifted a hand to shield his eyes as he glanced back up to Jake.
Jake waited for the inevitable offer of a brew.
Briefly entertained the possibility of a considerably less respectable invitation, too, before dismissing it.
Harrison Black could barely admit he fancied him half the time.
There was fuck all chance he was about to proposition Jake from the bottom of a ladder in broad daylight.
Except Harrison didn’t finish the question. His gaze seemed to snag somewhere on the way up, and his brow creased instead.
“Do you have to do it like that?”
Jake blinked. “Like what?”
Harrison made a vague gesture at the roof. Or possibly Jake. Hard to tell.
Jake glanced down the length of his own body as though searching for the problem. Work boots planted securely against the slate. Tool belt slung low around his hips. Bare chest already slick with sweat from the morning sun.
“Oh.” He looked back down. “Work?”
Harrison’s expression flattened.
Jake cocked his head. “You’re staring an awful lot for a man complaining about it.”
“Surely there’s a health and safety risk doing that topless.”
“There’s also a health and safety risk in distracting a man at height.”
“There’d be considerably less risk if you wore a top.”
Jake chuckled and splayed a hand over his bare chest. “You accusing me of not putting safety first? I’ll have you know I carry all the appropriate protection when I need it.” He glanced down, caught Harrison’s gaze, and licked his lips. “Lubrication, too, when the job requires it.”
Harrison’s jaw tightened, as though physically restraining himself from rising to it.
Jake grinned. There he was. That was the Harrison he’d been missing.
“Love a brew if you’re offering.” Jake smiled down at him, pretending this was easy.
Pretending he could keep doing this.
He could play it slow and easy. Let Harrison set the pace, call the changes, decide when the next beat dropped.
He could do that. He was a drummer. He knew what it took to sit back, hold the rhythm, wait for the rest of it to catch up.
Pull himself a step behind the tempo when pushing forward would only ruin the track.
Didn’t mean he liked it.
Didn’t mean he didn’t feel every second dragging, every beat he wasn’t allowed to hit.
Still…he stayed there.
Held the line.
Waited for Harrison to bring him back in.
Harrison nodded, turning for the door, then stopped. “Actually… could I ask a favour?”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “Currently doing you one, mate.”
“An additional one, then.”
“For you?” Jake smiled. “What d’you need?”
Harrison winced. “Car’s still in town.”
“Figured.”
“And…” He glanced back down the empty lane, then up again. “I’ve got some stuff in storage. Last day I’m allowed the unit before they’ll fine me. If you’re not busy, could use your help?” He angled his head at Jake’s Transit. “Particularly your van.”
“You’re using me.”
“Not my fault there are multiple uses for you.”
“Have a few more if you want them.”
For once, Harrison didn’t ignore it, and he held Jake’s for a beat too long. “Maybe after.”
Fuck.
Jake’s grin came before he could stop it, something warm and stupid fluttering low in his stomach. Maybe after. Two words were apparently all it took to make several weeks of voluntary celibacy seem like an excellent life choice.
So he grabbed the T-shirt he’d discarded beside his tools and got moving. “Aye, then.”
He took his time coming down the ladder.
Not obviously. He had some dignity. But Harrison waiting below with every rung he descended had him all sorts of giddy.
That pull towards him was always there now, constant and low beneath Jake’s skin, made worse by weeks of almosts and not-quites and never having the bastard close enough for long enough to do anything about it.
His boots hit the ground and he stepped towards Harrison until there was barely enough room between them to justify it, then made a performance of finding the right way round on his T-shirt. Turned it once. Frowned at it. Turned it again.
Harrison watched him.
More specifically, Harrison tried very hard not to watch him.
Jake bit back a grin. Then he lifted the shirt slowly, raising his arms above his head, knowing exactly what the movement did to his body.
Stretched his torso long. Pulled everything taut.
He paused before dragging it down, the cotton caught between his hands above him, and looked at Harrison through the space between his raised arms.
Harrison’s gaze had dropped.
Chest.
Stomach.
Lower.
Then snapped back to Jake’s face. “Put the bloody thing on.” He stepped forward, caught the hem himself and yanked it down over Jake’s head.
Jake laughed into the cotton before his face emerged through the neck hole, curls going everywhere. Harrison was still right there, hands momentarily caught at Jake’s sides where he’d dragged the shirt down.
Jake looked at him.
Harrison looked back.
For one glorious second, neither of them moved.
Jake winked.
Harrison released him and shoved him in the arm. “Get your keys.”
Oh, yeah.
The dry spell might still be worth it.
A moment later, they were in the van, Larkspur Lane disappearing behind them as Jake drove, far too aware of Harrison in the passenger seat.
Of the space he occupied. The occasional brush of denim when the van lurched around a bend.
The faint scent of him. Usually Harrison smelled clean.
Soap, aftershave, whatever expensive shit he probably put on without thinking about it.
This morning there was something else beneath it.
Something stale and slightly sour that had seeped into his skin overnight.
Alcohol.
Jake knew that smell. Knew it from mornings after gigs and waking beside people whose names he’d occasionally had to work too hard to remember.
Booze, sweat, sleep. The aftermath of a night that had gone on longer than intended.
And his mind immediately supplied several possibilities involving Harrison and the woman who’d just climbed into that taxi.
Jake told his mind to fuck off and said, “Gazelles.”
Harrison glanced across from the passenger seat. “Sorry?”
“Your trainers.”
Harrison looked down at them. “What about them?”
Jake shrugged, keeping his attention on the road. “You look like you spent the nineties listening to Oasis.”
“Do I?”
“That or Blur.”
Harrison shook his head through a laugh.
Jake glanced across. “Stone Roses?”
“You’re just listing bands now.”
“Trying to establish what sort of youth you had.”
“One considerably less interesting than the one you’ve invented for me.”
Jake pouted. “Shame. Had this whole image of you off your tits in a field somewhere.”
Harrison gave a quiet laugh and turned to look out of the window. He went quiet again. Distracted. Not quite there. Looked rough around the edges, too. In a way Jake had never really seen him before, and perhaps that was all it was. A hangover.
“You and your mate have a good night, then?” Jake asked, aiming for casual as the van bumped through a dip in the road.
Harrison scrubbed a hand over his forehead. “You could say that.”
Jake glanced across. “Can smell it, mate.”
“Christ.” Harrison dropped his hand to his thigh. “That bad?”
“Wouldn’t stand too close to a naked flame.”
That earned him the ghost of a smile, but it disappeared almost immediately.
“I would’ve invited you,” Harrison said after a moment. “Introduced you. But I…”
Jake waited.
Harrison didn’t finish.
“Didn’t know how?” Jake supplied.
Harrison winced. “Something like that.”
And there it was again.
Whatever this was between them, apparently neither of them knew what to call it once anybody else was in the room.