Page 17 of Best Man
He grabs my elbow gently and steers me to a table in the far corner by a big lilac bush. Bees are dancing lazily amongst the flowers and the air is heavy with the scent.
“I mean,” he says, “that we should work out our story. Where we met, how long we’ve been together. That sort of thing.”
“I never even thought of that,” I say in astonishment as I sit down on the sun-warmed bench.
He smiles wryly. “That’s because you’re very straightforward. I bet you haven’t told many stories.”
“Lies, you mean,” I say baldly. “No, I haven’t. I had enough of…” I stop abruptly, unable to believe I was just about to bring my father up.
He shrugs. “It’s okay. And they’re not really lies. They’re more what my mum used to call fibs. Something that doesn’t harm other people. We’re not harming anyone, are we?”
I shake my head. “Of course not.” I consider his words and find that I’m peculiarly okay with them. “Alright,” I say slowly. “Where did we meet?”
“Patrick doesn’t know what I look like, does he?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No, he knew your name at one point, but I don’t think he’ll remember it now. He doesn’t retain people’s names well unless he needs them for something.”
“Okay then, we met at a club. I think it was Magenta,” Jesse says promptly. “You spilt your drink on me and promised to pay for the dry cleaning. That’s how you got my phone number.”
I look at him with my mouth open. “I’m very smooth,” I say slowly.
He laughs. “As butter,” he says mockingly. “Now, what job should I have?” He clicks his fingers. “I know. I’ll be an architect.”
I blink. “Do you actually know anything about architecture?”
He grins. “I know buildings have roofs and doors and windows. And I was fucking brilliant with Lego when I was little.”
I groan. “This is going to be a disaster.”
He laughs. “Lighten up.” He leans forward, his face alight with enjoyment. “It’s a game,” he says in a low, teasing voice that goes straight to my cock. “We’re who we want to be and there’s fun in that.”
“Fun?” I echo, and he nods.
“Fun.” His face becomes businesslike. “Okay, we’ve mentioned that we like eighties music, so that’s covered. What books do you like?”
“Crime thrillers and mysteries. What about you?”
“Gay romance.” I blink and he smiles. “Really. There are some brilliant books around. I’ll lend you one. I’ve got a couple in my case.”
I stare at him. “I never imagined you–”
He looks at me wryly. “Did you think I couldn’t read?”
“No, of course not.” My words are fast and embarrassed. “I just thought you’d be too busy.”
“Shagging?” He bursts into laughter at my undoubtedly horrified look. “I’m kidding.” He pauses. “Well, not about the shagging. I love that.”
“Of course you do,” I say faintly.
He smiles. “But I like reading too.” He sits back as the waitress hands us our plates and cutlery and I watch as he charms her. It isn’t a false charm. Patrick could be very charming when he wanted to, but a lot of it was only surface deep. Even while he was doing it, I’d see the thinness to the veneer covering him. Jesse doesn’t have that because his charm is true. He genuinely likes people and his interest in them seems to make them come alive under those warm, twinkly eyes.
He turns back to me when the waitress disappears and unfurls his napkin with a flourish. “Okay,” he says, a businesslike tone to his voice now. “Likes and dislikes?”
And so for the next hour that’s what we do. We sit in the sunny pub garden working our way through a laundry list of our likes and dislikes, and I’m alarmed to find how many we have in common. Alarmed and enthralled. I sigh. That about sums up my attitude towards Jesse Reed.
THREE
JESSE
