Page 1 of The Moon Also Rises
PROLOGUE
Fifteen Years Ago
New Year’s Eve, Sydney
Jake
Somebody’s bollocks should get pickled for this.
Like, seriously. It’s a shambles. The sound is off, the lighting is giving me a headache, and don't even get me started on the potential health and safety implications of the over-crowding situation we have thanks to a photobooth far too close to the main entrance to the dancefloor. But what do I know? I'm just a lowly under-employed assistant manager of a hotel restaurant gate-crashing the New Year’s Eve dance event in the hotel's top floor nightclub because he shamefully didn’t get a better offer. The only thing making up for the evidently poor organisation are the views of the harbour from up here. And the music. I crane my neck to try and get a better look at the DJ, because whoever it is, they're kicking out some stonking tunes.
“Yeah, it's banging,”Steveo shouts back.Oh, did I say that out loud?
“Want another drink?” he asks me while his mouth is close to my ear.
“Sure,” I say and knock back the last slug of beer in my bottle. Before I can ask him to get me a white wine spritzer instead of another beer that will make me bloat even more than that first one did, he's off, heading to the bar. I find my eyes naturally fall to his backside. It's still just as pert as I remember from last night. And still just as married to a woman.
“When will you learn?” I ask myself out loud, turning my head back to face the front stage. The crowd is as busy and as much of a fire hazard as it was a moment ago and again, the poor lighting set-up means that all I can see of the stage are flashes of light so I still can’t see who’s DJing.I probably should have read the set list in advance, but it was a rash decision to come, mostly prompted by Steveo's late announcement that he would be in Sydney for a few days, thanks to his wife getting a last-minute deal on a girls’ holiday in Bali. The greatest surprise of all had come when he announced he wanted to go out rather than watch the fireworks from my apartment. Steveo hardly ever wants to be seen out in public with me. However, ‘public’ is sort of stretching where we are now considering it’s a dark nightclub overpopulated with people at least ten years his junior. Kind of like I am.
“Seriously, Jake,” I mutter to myself again. “When will you stop being someone's bit on the side?”
I should never have called him when he left his phone number on the back of his receipt that evening hedined in the restaurant a few months ago. But it seemed so… romantic? That just goes to show how low the bar is when it comes to me and romance.
Regardless, I should have done what I always promise myself I'm going to do; wait and meet a nice man who doesn't hide me away. A man who is proud of who he is, and proud of who I am. I mean, I would like to be proud of who I am too, but I know better than to ask for too much.
I sigh and try to think of Steveo’s redeeming features, besides the one in his trousers. We do have fun, I think to myself as I watch him walk back balancing four drinks. Wait. Four drinks?
“Got us a little shot to keep our beers company,”he shouts at me as he spills drops of all four drinks on my shoes. Shoes I polished for half an hour this afternoon, like the idiot I am for thinking he'd notice. Thatsomeonewould notice.
“Great. Thanks,” I say with gritted teeth as I take my drinks.
Steveo nods at me to down the shot and begrudgingly, I do, wincing as the vodka burns my throat and churns my stomach. I’ve barely rearranged my facial features back into something normal when Steveo nudges my arm with his surprisingly pointy and hard elbow.
“Come on, let’s dance!” he yells.
I’m not entirely sure why I agree, but I do. I let him take me to the dancefloor and for the first few tracks we dance like awkward straight white men, our drinks being thrust out into the air in various directions, more often off the beat than on it. But after ten minutes, Steveo spins me around and lines up his chest against my back. His arms don't circle around me but I feel the warmth of his body, and the outline of one particular part of his anatomy, push up against my backside. I lean back against it, and him.
The music has an air of seventies disco to it and I sway my hips to the rhythm. It’s the kind of song I feel I should know and it’s easy to close my eyes and feel the music pump through my body, my veins, my mind as I start to forget all the many problems with Steveo. Maybe tonight will turn out alright. Maybe tonight will mark the beginning of a better, brighter year.
Encouraged, I turn around and slide my thighs around Steveo’s leg, interlocking our groins closer together. He straightens up a little, pulls back and I watch him glance around the dancefloor. I ignore how that elongates my spine and makes my jaw clench. I need to help him forget. If he just dances with me like this a little more, rocks that beautiful big cock into me a little, and maybe, brings his arm around my waist and...
“What are you doing?” I hear him shout in my ear just before he pushes me away, a hand on my chest.
I step back, a little dazed and very confused. Except I'm not. Not at all. I know exactly what’s going on. And I’ve had enough of being treated like this.
Pushing my own hand against Steveo’s chest and moving him back, I turn and storm off the dancefloor.
“Jake! Wait up!” I hear him call out, even over the music and noise from other revellers, people who probably aren't with someone who's ashamed of dancing with them.
I pick up my pace and the music changes to match this, leaving that soulful swinging disco beat behind for a hard thump of an EDM rhythm, my least favourite kind of music. Good. I'm ready to go home now.
I pause briefly when I realise we haven’t even seen the new year in yet, and I glance at my watch. Thirty minutes to go.
Rolling my eyes at nobody, I start walking again when I realise how pissing perfect it will be that I see the new year in while walking home completely alone. How bloody brilliant it will be that the world-famous fireworks will paint the sky hundreds of different colours as I am slipping into my PJs. How fucking fantastic it will be that when I call my sister to wish her a happy new year, she will only just be starting to get ready for her own celebrations.
Jesus. When did my life become such a tragedy?
But before I dive head first into this wallowing, I need a piss.
