Page 9 of For Fake's Sake and other stories

“Thank you, Sam,” Kit says, then turns to me. “I’ve got the table in the corner.”

“Do you flirt with everyone you meet?” I ask when we’re sitting down.

“What? No. Why do you ask?” A red flush creeps up his cheeks.

“It’s what you seem to do, that barman, the waitress at the pub last week. Me. You started the conversation with me when we first met.”

“I’m being friendly, that’s all. Sam asked for my number. I didn’t flirt with him.” Kit frowns. “Are you jealous?”

I’m regretting saying yes to this drink. “Of course I’m not jealous. We hardly know each other. You said you were seeing someone. Are you? Why are you here with me if you’re seeing someone? I’m not the type to be a part of any games.”

Kit gives me a strange look as if he’s trying to tell me something and sighs. “I was hoping you would be the person I’m seeing.”

“Oh.” That wasn’t what I was expecting to hear. He didn’t make any moves last week, didn’t call me or anything.

“But it seems I’m wrong.” He picks up his beer and, looking at me over the top of the glass, takes a sip.

“I’m confused. Last week, you made it perfectly clear you only agreed to my hare-brained idea to do me a favour, and now you say you want more.” I sip from my gin and tonic, savouring the crisp, sharp tang of the gin slipping over my tongue.

“I fucked up last week. I’m sorry. I really would like to see you again, maybe take you out for dinner.”

“I don’t know, Kit. I’ll have to think about it.”

“C’mon, I owe you for last week’s dinner at least.”

Before I can answer, two plates of hot roast beef sandwiches are placed on the table by none other than Sam the barman. He gives us a wink. “Enjoy, gentlemen. If you need anything, just holler.”

To my surprise, Kit doesn’t watch Sam getting back behind the bar. Instead, he smiles at me. My heart stutters. Damn dimple. I duck my head, my cheeks warming. I hate toadmit I’m starving, but the large growl from my stomach gives me away. I pick up one of the wholemeal doorstep sandwiches and bite into it. Fuck! This is divine, the right mix of mustard and butter that melts into the bread from the hot roast beef. I devour the first one as if I haven’t eaten in weeks. I wipe my mouth and finally glance up. Kit regards me with a funny look on his face.

“What?”

“Um, no, sorry. Nothing.” He bites into his sandwich, chews quickly, swallows, and takes another swig of his beer. We don’t say anything but enjoy our food. I’m having an internal battle. Kit is cute and hot, but he sometimes acts like an arse and flirts with everything with a pulse. Before the end of the meal, I have to make a decision. I don’t know what his intentions are, but I’m damn sure he’s going to want to take this further. Whether it is seeing each other again or hooking up for the night, I have no idea, though.

Monty staggers up to us. I thought he’d left, but he’s looming over our table, smirking. Oh god, what’s he going to say?

“It looks like you need to work on more than your speech, Blinkers. Your man looks miserable. Aren’t you doing your job properly? And by job, I mean blow jo—”

“I think it’s time you got home, Monty. Do you want me to call a cab for you?”

“Don’t be such a prude, Blinkers. You were the same at school, never wanting to say what gays, like you two, like.” He points at Kit, who shifts in his seat. “I’m sure you can get him to open up. Ha, even that sounds dirty. Everything sounds like that when it’s gay. You must be laughing all the time.” He shakes his head. “Get him to talk at the ball. I don’t care what you have to do to him to make him agree. Just do it, Kitty.”

“That’s up to Ollie. I’m not sure I can make him agree to anything,” Kit bristles, probably at being called Kitty.

The buzz of Monty’s phone prevents him from making any more degrading and homophobic remarks. “Here’s my ride. Night, boys. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He stumbles off. His annoying donkey laugh echoes around the room.

Kit bites down on his lip. He seems to be having a conflict in his head. Sighing, I put down my sandwich and wipe my mouth and hands on a napkin. “What’s wrong?” I’m probably going to regret asking, but I need to know what he’s been thinking about.

“I’m sorry. I seem to make a mess of everything whenever I see you. You think I’m a dick, but I promise I’m not. Please can we start this again? I’d like to be your friend, and I want to see you put that jumped-up prick in his place. Let me be your boyfriend for the night. I’m perfectly house-trained, and I know how to behave at gala functions, as I have an overbearing mother who lives for charity events. Please, Ollie.”

“I really don’t want to attend, but like you, I grew up knowing that to some, appearances are everything, however shallow the reason. I like the idea of ruffling his feathers, but I’ll have to think of how I can achieve that.”

“What does he want the speech to be on? Jack said something about friends or something like that. Did he also go to your school?” Kit can flip from topic to topic so fast it’s giving me whiplash.

“It is. It’s the value of friendships made during school years. Monty wants me to talk about how fabulous it is to be in a top same-sex boarding school and the lifelong alliances made there. Whereas I would rather stick needles in my eyes than agree to that premise, as he and his cronies made my life a living hell.” I pick up my sandwich again. “And no, I met Jack duringfresher’s week in uni. We were part of the LGBTQ bar crawl and have been best friends ever since.”

Kit opens his mouth and shuts it again.

I have a good idea of what he wants to know, but is he going to ask? I hold my tongue and count down from ten. I make it to six.

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