Page 28 of Take My Breath Away
He’s already pouring, and he nods towards a packet of biscuits on the counter.
“I bought those a couple of days ago.”
Chocolate Hobnobs. Sweet, crunchy, and delicious.
“I’ll put out for these, every single time,” I say, picking up the packet and grinning, but Perry only answers with a tut and an eye roll.
With coffee and biscuits in hand, we head to the living room where we huddle on the sofa.
There’s not a lot on TV, so I stream a film.
“Oh, this is really good,” he says, getting comfortable before munching down on a biscuit.
He’s next to me but not close enough to touch and as the drama unfolds he’s as still as a statue, engrossed in the film. I slide a glance his way. He’s not engrossed, but asleep, and he’s listing towards me. A moment later he slumps against my shoulder, out for the count. He doesn’t wake up as small breaths and a gentle snore pouts his lips.
Slipping an arm lightly around his shoulders, I anchor him to me. I’d be happy to sit here all night like this, but I know that can’t be. Gently, I disengage myself from him and get up.
“Hey.” I give him a soft shake. “Maybe it’s time you went to bed.”
Perry’s eyes flicker open, and for a moment he stares up at me as if he’s not sure who or where he is, or who I am.
“I’m sorry, I must be more tired than I thought.” He pushes himself up to standing, but he’s still more asleep than awake and he stumbles.
I catch him in my arms and hold him lightly, telling myself it’s just to stop him from falling. He blinks up at me but doesn’t move, and I force myself to take a step back.
“Are you okay to make your way to bed?”
He nods. “Yes, I’ll be fine.” He hesitates for a moment and I’m sure he’s going to say more, but he doesn’t. Giving me a sleepy smile, he staggers off and I listen as he makes his way up the stairs.
I switch off the drama on the TV that’s no match for the drama in my heart. Pouring myself a brandy, I settle back into the sofa. It still bears his presence, the warmth of where he’s been, along with the sweet vanilla scent of his shampoo as I ask myself, just what the hell’s happening?
Chapter Fourteen
PERRY
On a Saturday afternoon the café on Old Compton Street, in the heart of Soho, is packed.
I’d suggested Barista Boys, a great little place tucked away in a side street. I was surprised James knew it, but he probably knows every café, restaurant, club, pub and bar in the epicentre of gay London. Barista’s was rammed, and with a queue snaking along the small street, we had no choice other than to find somewhere else — which, thank God, isn’t Café Alberto, or Bert’s as James calls it, where he found me, pissed as a newt and making a fool of myself with clumsy flirting and clumsier kisses. The hazy memory makes me want to crawl into a deep, dark hole.
Somehow, we’ve managed to snag a table. James has left me in charge of the shopping bags, filled with new shirts and a couple of pairs of shoes he’s bought for work. When he’d made the tentative suggestion earlier today that I go with him, I’d jumped at the chance.
It’s been a long process — I’ve never known anybody to be so particular and fastidious. Everything needed to be just right. Not nearly, not almost, no compromise.
We’ve spent hours going from one high end and very high spend shop to the next, and the spend has beenveryhigh. The assistants all seemed to know him, and I swear I saw a look of trepidation on all their faces. In one place, I think one of them fled the shop floor. Maybe they were going on their break, but more likely to still their nerves with a sneaky cig out the back. However, I can’t be too critical of James’ exacting approach to shopping, it’s that attention to detail and knowing exactly what works that goes towards the eye-catching and mouth-watering package that he is.
My gaze rests on James, waiting at the counter, and my stomach knots. He’s dressed casually, but there’s nothing remotely sloppy about him. He’s as sharp as a razor.
Black jeans and a fitted shirt that’s an exact match for his green eyes. He’s had his hair cut recently; it’s short to the point of severity, and it reminds me he told me he’d been in the army and then the police force. James, in uniform… My dick stirs, which I really don’t want, not in a busy café.
I look away quickly, hoping the replacement sight of a wizened old man gumming his way through a sticky bun will dampen things down. My dick goes back to sleep, but I can’t help my eyes from sliding back to James.
Just as he always seems to, he’s got talking to a guy in the queue. They’re too far away, so I can’t hear them, but they’re both smiling and holding eye contact. Flirting, because it’s what James does.
They’re standing close, and it would only take a small shift from either for their bodies to brush against each other’s. The café’s crowded, that could be all it is, but as James says something, the guy laughs and taps James on the shoulder, and leans forward, just a little, as though he’s got something to say for James’ ears only. And perhaps he has. Perhaps they’re making arrangements to meet up, swapping numbers. Because James isn’t pulling away, isn’t stepping back. And why should he? He likes to play the field, he likes variety, he told me all that just days ago. It’s not my business, but I can’t help the tightening muscles in my stomach, and I force myself to drag my gaze away.
I pull out my phone, and scroll through the endless pointless posts on social media, anything to divert my attention from James and the random guy he’s flirting with, maybe making arrangements with…
It’s not my business.
