Page 64 of Best Man
“No, never. I asked him once and he said what could Hollywood offer him that he couldn’t find with my grandmother. He said no woman could ever have been more beautiful than her. It must have been the right decision. They were married for sixty years.” I shrug. “I think they were a bit nonplussed by my father’s matrimonial habits.”
He snorts. “Just a bit.” He takes off my hat and brushes my hair back from my forehead, his fingers cool against my skin. “Were you close to them?”
“Oh God, yes. They were wonderful. They looked after me when …” I hesitate. “When my dad forgot to. My grandfather was a bookie. Until the day he died, he would dress up in a full suit and his brown overcoat and his mates would come and pick him up and they’d go off to the pub. My grandmother always wore makeup and had the biggest laugh. She smelt of Charlie perfume,” I remember suddenly, marvelling at the way the memories are being pulled out tonight. “And every night after dinner they’d put the stereo on and dance together to Frank Sinatra. They died a week apart from each other. Like there was no real point when their other half was gone.” I swallow, and he kisses me quickly. “So, I like this era and the music. They seem close to me somehow,” I say softly.
“My mum would tell you that the ones we love are never that far away.”
“Do you believe that?”
He nods. “Oh yes. Definitely.” The sureness in his voice soothes something inside me, and I kiss him.
“Well, we’re going to have a nice night, Jesse. We’re going to eat some food, drink lots of cocktails, and you’re going to tell me some more embarrassing stories about yourself so I can flaunt my moral superiority.”
He nudges me, but we quickly order more drinks, and that’s what we do. We sit laughing close together, watching the dance floor and exchanging whispered observations about the people around us. We kiss and touch, unobtrusively at first, but he gets more daring as the evening wears to a close.
“I think I’ve changed my mind,” he says into my shoulder where he’s rested his head.
I kiss his hair. “What about? Brexit? TheBritain’s Got Talentfinal?”
He snorts. “No, about sex. I think we should definitely do some sex tonight.”
I start to laugh. “Do some sex,” I echo and he elbows me, his face alight with amusement and a true, pure sexuality.
“I think we should go home and fuck each other’s brains out,” he says cockily.
“What happened to getting to know each other?”
He smiles. It’s knowing and very intense. “We already know each other, don’t we, Zeb? We know each other better than anyone has everknown us.” His words are a challenge, and I run my fingers down the sharp angle of his cheekbones.
“We could go on dates until the end of time and nothing will change that,” I acknowledge, seeing his eyes flare.
“So, let’s go now. I need you inside me.”
A wave of heat runs through me but at this point the female singer steps up and begins to croon the opening words to “I’ve Got You Under My Skin.”
I stand up. “Come on,” I say, offering my hand. “Let’s dance.”
“What, now?” He gapes at me. “Really?”
I nod and smile. “Plenty of time for fucking. I want to dance with you first.”
“And it’s okay here?”
“It’s fine. There’s already a couple of men dancing together and two women over there. It’s a friendly place. Anything goes.” I wriggle my fingers at him. “I want to dance with you.”
“Like your grandad,” he whispers, and I snort suddenly, the deep moment severed the way he always manages to do.
“Well, I’m not quite that old.”
“Oh shut up,” he hisses, the twist in his lips showing his amusement as he stands up and follows me. “One dance and then we’re fucking?” he says out of the corner of his mouth.
“You old sweet talker, you,” I say, and he laughs loudly.
I step onto the dance floor, joining the other swaying couples, and draw him into my arms. He sighs immediately, betraying his pleasure, and I marvel at the fact that he fits like he’s been made for my body, and it’s as if every sinew recognises him. I pull him close, his head under my chin, and we sway together in the dim candlelight to the sweet song.
JESSE - ONE MONTH LATER
I lie face down on the bed, sweat pouring off me. Zeb is a solid weight over me. I can feel the scratch of his chest hair on my back and thelength of his cock inside me. I wriggle, and he chuckles and slaps my hip.
