“Look at you,” he sneers. “Talking posh like the gays do. I knew that scholarship was a bad idea. Gave you silly ideas.”
“I don’t think speaking posh is a membership requirement for the gays,” I say wryly.
Max chuckles, his hand falling to the base of my back. It’s an unseen gesture of support, and his hand is warm against me in the cold air. Unbidden, I relax into it, and I’m suddenly absolutely knackered.
My dad shrugs. “It’s that posh job too. You think you’re better than me.”
“I don’t think. I know it. Because I’ve never actually woken people up to threaten them.”
“You’re talking crap again, Felix.” He points a finger at Max. “I’m watching you,” he warns.
“Well, one eye is,” I mutter. “The other one’s looking at the pub over there.”
Max bites his lip and steps forward. “I’m watching you too,” he says in a deep and rather threatening voice. “I’ve got Felix’s back now, and it’s in your best interests to not come near him. I don’t want you speaking to him unless you can keep a civil tongue in your head.”
My dad takes a judicious and probably sensible step back. “Whatever,” he mumbles. “You’re welcome to the little shithead. No use to a person, that one. He’s a sly little fucker.”
I wince, but Max turns his back on my dad and steers me towards the door. My dad curses and stumbles behind us, but I focus on Max’s warm hand and the strength of him at my side. It’s strange and sort of amazing to have had someone at my side when my dad paid one of his visits. It’s always been just me before.
I want to lean into Max’s strength, use it like a protective shield. But I can’t do that, of course. Max hadn’t even wanted to stay the night, so why the hell should I treat him as though he’s my knight in shining armour?
I straighten my spine and force an unconcerned look on my face as I turn to him. It wavers slightly as he steps forward and drags me into a hug. “Ouf,” I say. His grip is tight.
“Are you okay?” he mutters. “That was a bloody awful scene.”
I rest against him for a second, giving in to the warmth of his concerned voice and all of his lovely attention. I love it so much that I step quickly out of his embrace.
“I’m fine,” I say carelessly. “He’s just pissed.”
“Would he have said all those things sober?”
I laugh. “Of course, but at least his breath wouldn’t be a hundred proof, and he’d manage to string whole sentences together.” He carries on staring at me, and I shake my head, saying lightly, “You’re either turning into the Incredible Hulk, Max, or you’ve put my T-shirt on by mistake.”
He looks down at the Little Mr Gobby T-shirt that Misha bought me last Christmas. The thin material is stretched over his taller and wider frame. “Shit, I thought it was drafty,” he mutters, and I laugh. His eyes seem very bright in the low light. “So your mum died when you were seventeen?” I nod. “I’m taking it that he never came through for you when she was gone?”
“No, thank God.” I shudder. “I’d never have turned into the magnificent physical specimen that you see before you, if he’d had a hand.”
He smiles, but his eyes remain intent. “And is that why you don’t want a relationship with anyone?”
I stare at him for a second. Is that true anymore? The thought sends panic sizzling down my body. “Of course,” I say. I walk over to put the kettle on. “I’m just a poor boy with daddy issues. But a very beautiful poor boy with fantastic dress sense.”
He shakes his head, his eyes knowing. “The most beautiful,” he says solemnly.
“Shit, you inhaled his breath, didn’t you? Don’t try to drive for at least an hour and don’t stand near any open flames.” He opens his mouth to ask probably a thousand more questions, but I stop him with a wave of my hand as I lean against the counter. “You’ve never displayed any interest in my life before.” He winces, and I smile to make sure he knows I’m not hurt by that. “Did you think I’d come out of an egg?”
He steps forward and cups my head between his hands. “A very spiky little egg,” he says, his voice very deep as he kisses my forehead with what seems like tenderness.
He steps back, and it’s impossible to sort out the mingled emotions in his expression. Or the ones in my chest. The combination of warmth and wariness is vaguely nauseating but sort of nice too.
“Did you want tea?” I ask. “It’s a bit shit waking up to that.”
His face shutters as he looks down at his watch. “Better not,” he says briskly. “As long as you’re alright, I’d better push off. It’s late.”
Maybe too late for me, I think a few minutes later, watching him lope off down the towpath, his long body limned with the light from the streetlamp.
I shake myself. “Business as usual,” I say out loud. “Get it together, Felix Jackson.
Chapter Six
Three Months Later
Felix
My phone rings with the jaunty little tune I’ve allocated to Max. I hover my hand over it for a second and then quickly click to accept the call before he changes his mind and rings off.
“Is this a booty call?” I ask breezily.
There’s a startled silence, and then he gives his low, husky laugh. “Not this morning, sassy boy. I’ve barely had time for breakfast yet.”
I smile. “You oldies and your need for sleep.”
“That’s me,” he says wryly. “Just need to put my teeth back in, and I’ll be up to scratch.”
“Lovely as this chat is, is there a purpose for it? I’m a busy and very important man.”
“Oh, Felix, is that your office voice?” he says breathily. “I’m hard already. Quick, tell me something about ink cartridges and stationery.”
“We’re out of paperclips and sticky notes,” I say in a voice of grave urgency. My smile widens at the sound of his laughter.
When he quietens, he says, “Wow, that hit the spot. You could advertise this as a sex line.”
“Lovely as that sounds, I don't think my boss would be too thrilled, and the paperclip speech might be a bit of a niche market.”
“They’re missing out.” There’s a slight pause. “I rang to see if you fancy grabbing lunch together?”
“Really?” I wince at the astonishment in my voice. And something worse—hope.
Another pause and then he says quickly, “I’m out your way this morning for a meeting, so it was just a thought. Doesn’t matter if—”
“No,” I interrupt quickly. “No, that sounds… nice.”
“Well, okay then,” he says rather awkwardly. “I’ll ring you when I’m in Seven Dials, and you can give me directions.”
After agreeing, I click End and set my phone down on the desk as carefully as if it were an unexploded bomb. In a way, it is, or at least it has the power to totally blow up my world.
This isn’t the first time that Max has rung me, but it’s the first time he’s wanted to meet me for lunch when it’s obvious that sex won’t be on the menu. We’ve been fucking each other for over three months now, and he’s made no move to change our status.