Page 6 of Pansies

Alfie turned slowly back.

God, even mindlessly angry, he had such pretty eyes. Soft green, apple-coloured, framed in gold lashes, bright behind glass.

And that was not a helpful thought.

He was confused. Annoyed and trying not to be, and lonely and attracted and a fucking mess. “I suppose I just thought you looked”—hot—“like you needed another drink. And that you might be”—hot—“interesting to talk to.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Riiight. So you buy me a drink, and we talk, and our souls connect and our minds meet, and what then?”

“What then?”

“Yes. What then?”

Alfie tried not to squirm. In his experience, womendefinitelydid not do this. When you said,Can I buy you a drink?they didn’t immediately call you out on the subtext. He genuinely wasn’t sure if he was meant to be punching the guy or trying to kiss him. Right now, he kind of wanted to do both.

He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Look. I’m sorry. Yes, I made some assumptions, and I can see that’s offended you. I tried to talk to you because…because…I fancied you, alreet…” Shit, his accent. “But that doesn’t mean I expect anything. Or that I’m going to, y’know, force you against the Rattler.”

A tinge of colour crept over the man’s pale cheeks. But then his face went blank again. “You fancy me. Yeah. Okay. Very funny. You can fuck off now.”

It was probably good advice. And a less lost Alfie might haveheeded it. “Mate, what’s your problem? I tried to hit on you, you didn’t like it, I’ve said I’m sorry. What more do you want?”15

There was a long silence. The man traced a circle round the rim of his wineglass until it shrieked. His hands were thin, like the rest of him, the nails ragged, stripped to the quick, the skin dry and flaking. He had a piece of green wire coiled round the fourth finger of his right hand. “This is a joke, right?”

Alfie was pretty sure he was missing something, but he had no idea what it was.

“Which bit?”

“All of it. Any of it.” The stranger adjusted his glasses, pushing them back with the heel of his hand, holding Alfie prisoner on the other side. His mouth—God, he had pretty lips as well—curled into a sneer. “You’re just supposed to be gay?”

Okay. Enough was enough. “Why, was I meant to check with you first?”

“Hah.” That one little word contained a whole world of un-amusement.

Alfie drained his glass with grim determination, left three quid on the counter, and turned to go.

The other man’s voice called him back one last time. “And you fancy me?”

Alfie glanced over his shoulder. “Yes, I blummin’ fancy you. My mistake.”

2

Alfie got out of there before anything else could go wrong. The cold air came at him like some kind of anti-hug, but it was actually almost nice. It felt real, unlike everything that had just happened.

Which waswhat, exactly?

He told himself that this was going to make a great story for when he got back to London. How he came out at his best friend’s wedding with the line “I like cock” and then got savaged by a guy he could snap with one hand.

His gaydar had probably been irreparably stunted by twenty-eight years in the closet. He was like one of those animals that got raised in captivity and couldn’t cope among their own kind when they were released into the wild. One of those whales that just hung around near the rescue boat being sad and confused.

“Prove it.”

He spun round. The pissed off guy had followed him out.

“What?” It was only a short distance to his car. He’d feel a bit of a prat running away from a tiny bloke in a pink jumper, but he was also starting to wonder if he hadn’t tried to pull a genuine mental case.1

“You want me?” For the first time, a trace of something that wasn’t outright hostility crept into the other man’s voice.Something a bit uncertain, a bit…needy. Alfie knew he was being an idiot, but it sort of turned him on. “Then prove it.”

Alfie’s first instinct was to tell him he was nutters and make a dash for his car.

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