Page 22 of The Dramatic Life of Jonah Penrose
Bastien made a retching sound from the back of his throat. “Oh, get the hell over it. He’s fine. A bit... standoffish, but totally fine. Plus... God, he’s hot, isn’t he?”
Jonah scowled as he looked at his friend. “Stop it. You’re practically drooling. The guy wears embroidered dog jumpers out of choice. And you have a boyfriend.”
“Doesn’t stop me from looking, though, does it?” Bastien grinned and shimmied his shoulders in what Jonah could only assume he meant to be a seductive move. When Jonah didn’t give him the praise he clearly felt he deserved after his impromptu dance, Bastien shuffled his way back to the others, and Sherrie draped herself over him as she swayed to the music.
It didn’t take long for Jonah to finish the cocktail, his paper straw soggy as the ice cubes melted sadly at the bottom of the empty pitcher. It also didn’t take long for the man with the delicious beard and outrageously shiny hair to work his way over to him and even less time for him to shove his tongue down Jonah’s throat. His hands cupped Jonah’s cheeks as they kissed in the corner, the glittering light from the disco ball illuminatingthem in small bursts, their encounter private aside from those passing to use the toilets. He hadn’t made out with someone in a bar in years. In fact, he hadn’t made out with anyone in a bar in London. Back home in Cornwall he kissed a boy the night he turned eighteen when he got blindingly drunk and thought it might be a good idea to kiss whoever showed him attention. He ended up vomiting on his yellow trainers.
There would be no vomiting on his man, however. Jonah might have consumed an entire cocktail pitcher all by himself, but he could still walk in a straight line and so far hadn’t needed to pee every five minutes. They kissed for what could have been hours. Jonah didn’t care, he was more than happy to lose himself in a handsome stranger who kept guiding Jonah’s hands to his waist. Their bodies were flush against the wall, and Jonah could feel the man’s erection against his thigh, and, fuck, he was hard too; how long had it been since someone turned him on like this? Perhaps it was the thrill of grinding against a stranger in a public place that was driving Jonah totally wild, though he couldn’t say he ever experienced a desire for performative public sexual exploits before. Or maybe it was that he could feel himself finally unwinding, the tension in his shoulders giving way to something hot and burning in the pit of his stomach. He wanted this man to fuck him; he wanted to take him home and get on his knees for him and make the dirtiest sounds escape his lips. He wanted—
“Jonah,” someone whined, their voice high-pitched and intrusive. He ignored it, deciding to kiss the stranger with more passion, their tongues exploring each other’s mouths, desperate, hot, and rudely interrupted by someone pulling at his shoulder.
“Jonah.” Bastien lunged at him, his limbs moving wildly, as if controlled by someone else. “I’m gonna go home.” He slurred his words and tripped over his own feet as he tried to turn Jonah to look at him. “I love you,” he cooed. “I love your nose and your hair and I love your eyes. You’re so pretty.” Bastien managed to narrow his eyes at the man who still had his hands on Jonah’s waist. “You better make him have an orgasm tonight.”
“Okay, Bash,” Jonah said, reluctantly removing himself from the man,who groaned in response. “Have you called a taxi?” The making out seemed to have sobered him up. His body trembled from the adrenaline of what might come later, the pleasure he would receive if he went home with the stranger.
“Yeah,” Bastien said through hiccups. “I’m going with Sherrie. She’s wankered.”
Jonah laughed. “Okay, well, be safe, yeah?”
Bastien swayed slightly and tried to step away, but slumped against Jonah’s shoulder instead. “Take me to my chariot.”
Jonah glanced at the Man Bun guy. “Sorry, I’ll be back.”
“Yeah, sure,” he said somewhat awkwardly as he adjusted the waistline of his jeans. Jonah hooked his arm around Bastien’s waist and allowed the smaller man to put his weight on him as he guided him through the dancing bodies and out of the bar.
Outside, the air made Jonah’s head swirl, and he acknowledged he might have been more drunk than he first suspected. The busy sounds of London closed in on him, the car horns honking, the revelers tumbling out of bars while pedal bikes with carriages attached to the back of them pounded loud music and tourists rode around with huge grins on their faces. It must have been nearly 2 a.m., but London seemed as alive as it did during the day, and Jonah couldn’t help the swell of affection in his chest thinking of how he got to live in such a vibrant place. Sherrie sat in the back of a red Volvo, the door open, her long legs spilling out as she called out to Bastien. Jonah helped him to the other side of the car and placed him down in the seat while Bastien mumbled words of affection through his champagne-fueled haze.
“Where’s Omari?” Jonah asked him once he’d safely deposited Bastien into the car.
“Went with Lucian ages ago,” Bastien said, trying to stroke Jonah’s face before slumping against the seat.
“If Romana shows her stupid face,” Sherrie said aggressively as Jonah tried to haul her legs into the car once he finished helping Bastien with his seat belt. “Tell her I hate her.” There were a dozen questions about what was going on with Sherrie’s love life brimming on the tip of Jonah’stongue, but the drunk and angry version of Sherrie was not the version he needed to direct the questions to.
“Just get home safe, yeah?” Jonah said as he closed the door and Sherrie pressed her lips against the window, leaving behind a smear of purple lipstick. Jonah watched as the driver pulled away, and he debated for a moment if he should leave, too, but hot Man Bun was waiting for him with his calloused hands and a tongue that had already worked wonders.
“You.” A hand found its way to Jonah’s shoulder and roughly turned him around to face whoever the voice belonged to. Dexter stood behind him, his fingers far too close to Jonah’s collarbone for comfort. “You took my jumper.” His accusation was shrouded in indignation. “Give it back.” He didn’t speak like he usually did; his words were a little too soft, the vowels elongated and without definition. Drunk.
“I didn’t take your ugly jumper,” Jonah said, pushing past him, only for Dexter to grab his arm. “Let go of me.”
“No. Give it back.”
Jonah looked at Dexter’s waist, the last place he saw the questionable piece of attire, only to see it truly was missing. “Dexter, I didn’t take it. I’ve not been near you.”
Dexter’s face crumpled, his lips turning into such a dramatic frown he could double as a sad clown. “Why do you always take things from me? This is why you’re a massive prick.”
Jonah shook his arm from Dexter’s grip. “I’ve not taken anything from you, Dexter.”
“I’m gonna be sick.” Dexter covered his mouth as he retched and swallowed down what Jonah could only assume was a mouthful of vomit.
“You should go home.”
“Right, yeah.” Dexter turned from him and took a couple of steps off the path and into the road. He lifted his hand at a car coming toward him, and it beeped its horn aggressively. Jonah pulled him back onto the path and to safety.
“What the hell are you doing?” Jonah asked, his voice shrill, louder than it really needed to be, but he could blame his volume on the alcohol he had consumed.
“Are you thick? I’m hailing a taxi.”
“You’re not hailing anything.” Jonah looked at the taller man as he swayed on his feet and stumbled a few steps away so he could lean against the wall outside the bar. “Where do you live? I’ll get you an Uber.”
