Take My Breath Away by Ali Ryecart
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 been very high. 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.
A burst of laughter from the counter has me snapping my head up. James is at the head of the queue.
The guy he was talking to a moment ago is gone, replaced by a smiling, blond, and very good looking barista, who looks like he’s been hired for skills that haven’t got much to do with coffee making. It’s a bitchy thought, and no doubt unwarranted, but I can’t help it, not when the barista has a very dirty smile spread across his face.
The barista leans across the counter and says something, his eyes narrowing, and James’ own smile deepens. A moment later, James turns away and threads his way back to the table, leaving the barista staring after him with a smirk on his face.
“They’ll bring the drinks over with our food,” James says as he sits down. “You okay?” He cocks his head and scrutinises me. “You look, how can I put it? Pissed off.”
“What? No, why should I be?” My faces throbs with heat under his stare. I’m not pissed off. Or not really. I’m…
Jealous.
The word whispers in my ear, and crawls over my skin.
“I don’t know. Perhaps you can tell me?”
“I’m not… but maybe looking pissed off is my natural expression?” It’s the only thing I can think of to say.
James chuckles. “No, Perry. You’re the least pissed off person I know. What’s this?” he says as he pulls his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket, just as I put mine away. “It’s Cosmo, my cousin,” he explains as he reads the text. “What’s he after now…” James mutters, but he’s smiling as he says it.
He plugs in a quick reply before shoving his phone away.
“Cosmo and Freddie used to be housemates, before Freddie and Elliot got together. He wants me to run a check on a prospective replacement to ensure they’re neither a closet straight nor a Manchester United supporter.” He chuckles as he shakes his head. “Highly irregular, of course, but I’ll see what I can do. He’s an annoying little sod, but I really couldn’t risk him sharing with somebody who follows Man U. Chelsea would be acceptable or even, God forbid, Spurs.” He smiles and gives me a wink.
“How do you mean, check them out? I don’t follow.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment as he gazes at me, and I wonder if he’s even going to acknowledge the question. He leans forward slightly.
“My work allows me to run background checks on people.”
Background checks. Somehow I don’t think he’s talking about credit worthiness. He was in the army, then the police, and is now some kind of civil servant, which is pretty vague. I’ve not asked him about his work because I’ve not wanted to appear nosey, but now I can’t not ask.
“What is it you do?”
“I’m a humble civil servant.”
“Humble? There’s nothing humble about you.”
James’ answering laugh is rich and rumbly. “Perhaps not.” His laughter dies and the scrutiny’s back in his eyes. “My role is primarily advisory. I work closely with the police, security agencies and various government departments and their idiot ministers. I’ve signed the Official Secrets Act, so if I told you anything more, I’d have to kill you.”
“You sound like James Bond rather than James Campion.” A gay James Bond… I shift in my seat.
“Nothing so glamorous. Much of my time is taken up with very long, very dull meetings. And before you ask, no I haven’t.”
“No you haven’t what?” I don’t know what he’s talking about.
“I haven’t run a background check on you.”
“What?” I start.
“Isn’t that what you’re wondering? It never crossed my mind because I know all I need to about you. And I never will, that’s a promise.”
“Even if you did, you wouldn’t find—”
The rest of my words are cut off with the arrival of our food and drinks.
The waiter’s as blond and handsome as the barista, in fact he’s a clone. It’s another mean thought, especially as the guy’s smile is friendly rather than flirty. He’s only doing his job.
I’ll leave a decent tip.
As soon as he’s gone, I bite into my sandwich and sigh. Opposite me, James laughs.
“Better?” he asks, his voice low and deep, edged with the classic car purr, and I nod, my mouth too full to answer. “You’ve got dressing smeared on your lips.”
I swallow, grab a napkin, and wipe my mouth, not wanting to look like a kid who can’t feed himself without causing a mess.
James shakes his head. “You’ve made it worse, not better. Here.” He leans over the small table, and sweeps his thumb over my lower lip, wiping up the tangy, slightly salty dressing.
“Oh,” I croak, staring at the creamy blob on his thumb. I peer up at him through my lashes. I’m not the only one staring.
James’ cheeks have gone red. He’s unsure what to do, when this man is never unsure. He looks up and his eyes meet mine. They’re glazed and dark, the pupils distended. But it’s for a moment only, as he snaps back into himself and cleans away the mess on his own napkin.
“That’s better. Don’t want to look like you’ve gone head first into a bucket of mayo,” he says, his voice clipped and louder than before.
Don’t want to look like you’ve just wiped your cum off my face, either…
Oh, God…
“Err, no,” I just about manage to say, stirring my coffee and finding fascination in the little frothy bubbles.
When I summon the nerve to look up, James has finished his sandwich and is studying the menu again, his brow wrinkling in concentration. He looks up and his eyes lock with mine. They’re bright and clear, with no sign of the dark intensity of a couple or so minutes ago. For a second it makes me question what I saw, but a light flush still colours his cheekbones, giving me my answer.
“They’ve a good choice of cakes and pastries.” He grins and there’s something conspiratorial about the lift of his lips. James, and his sweet tooth.
“If you have cake, you won’t be able to fit into your new shirts.” James’ silk, torso-hugging shirts. “Is it worth the risk?” My voice is raspier than I’d like.
“So, you’re saying you don’t want one?” His brows raise, almost imperceptibly. There’s challenge in his eyes, and I intend to accept it.
“I’m saying, surprise me.”
I hold his gaze, and his eyes narrow before his lips curl up in a slow smile that has more than a hint of smirk.
“You’ve not the faintest clue how I might surprise you,” he says as he pushes himself up and strides to the counter.
Oh, but I think I do have a clue, and it’s not faint.
My dick obviously shares the same opinion as it pulses and pushes up against the fly of my jeans.
I tug my hoodie down and drag my chair in closer to the table. I look for the toothless old guy again, the sight of him and his gummy munching a surefire way to deflate a very inconvenient erection, but he’s gone. Instead there’s a middle aged couple.
The guy’s grinning broadly at whatever’s being said to him and offering up a fine display of perfect white teeth marred by flecks of what looks like mashed up spinach. My dick decides to return to sleep mode, and just in time as James arrives back at the table with two plates, each with a large slice of cheesecake. The sandwich filled me up, but the sight of the sweet treat makes my mouth water. This is one surprise I can handle.
“They’re going to bring over another couple of coffees, too.” James places one of the plates in front of me and sits down. “Cheesecake and another coffee, it’s the least I can do for dragging you into every shop in the West End, and—”
“James? I thought it was you.”
James’ words are sliced off as his head whips around to a guy standing a couple of feet away from our table, holding a takeaway coffee and a small brown paper bag. The shock that flares in James’ face is gone in a flash, replaced with a smile which is both friendly and guarded at the same time.
“Hello, Aiden.”
The guy called Aiden is smiling at James. It’s a dark smile, speaking of secrets and knowledge, and it slithers over my skin. I lower the hand holding the fork with a knob of cheesecake balanced on it, the clatter of metal against china louder, way, way louder than it should be in the café that’s fallen inexplicably silent.
I drink in Aiden, every part of him, and I can do it without fear because he’s not looking at me, he hasn’t even noticed me, as all his concentration, and his dark and secretive smile, is on James.
Strikingly good looking, and in his late-thirties I reckon. He’d turn heads anywhere with his close cropped dark blond hair, longer on top and flopping forward over his brow. Tight clothes mold to his muscular frame, making no attempt to disguise what lies underneath. His eyes are hooded as he stares at James, twinkling with amusement, the tip of his tongue sweeping across the edge of his top front teeth. He oozes sex and I can’t help but stare at him, at this man who radiates gloriously dirty, filthy sex and who’s looking at James with both knowledge and desire in his hooded eyes. My mouth’s a desert, and my throat rough gravel.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Aiden says, amusement threading through his words.
“Life’s been busy. Work, amongst other things.”
I tear my attention away from Aiden to James. His smile, still friendly, still guarded, remains stuck to his face, but it’s his voice that causes my pulse to pick up the pace. There’s an undertone, a warning, and it’s edged with danger.
If Aiden’s noticed, it doesn’t show as his smile widens.
“Other things. Yes, I remember you saying. But we shouldn’t let all those other things get in the way. We really should make arrangements to meet up again, and soon.”
James, still smiling, still guarded, gives a barely there shrug.
“Let me introduce Perry.”
Aiden turns his attention to me, his smile still in place. Even though it’s broad and bright, and I’m exposed to the full sunshine of it, there’s a subtle change. It’s the hard, bright sun of winter.
“James’ friend.”
I can’t decide whether or not he lays a slight emphasis on the word friend but I’ve no time to consider it as he carries on. “James said, last time we spoke, he had somebody staying with him. You’re in a bit of a fix, apparently.”
Aiden, tall, muscular and gorgeous, stares down at me. His smile’s dropped away a little, and he’s waiting for me to stumble out a response, tripping up as I go.
Fuck you.
I return his smile, lounging back in the seat with an easy, relaxed confidence I’m not exactly feeling.
“I was, but James has been brilliant. I’m living with him.”
Shock widens Aiden’s eyes, just for a moment. He covers it well, but a bitchy little thrill sparks in my blood.
Perry One, Aiden Nil.
Aiden considers me for a moment longer before he turns back to James.
Their gazes lock, all their focus on each other, leaving me forgotten and nothing more than a spectator relegated to the sidelines. Something unsaid passes between them, so strong and tangible I can almost touch it, taste it, smell it. I force myself to look away.
“I should be going. Nice to have met you Perry. I’m sure we’ll meet again. James, what do you reckon?”
Aiden’s voice, like his lips, barely holds back a smirk. I throw a glance at James. His expression’s neutral, but it doesn’t hide the stiffness in his jaw or the chill in his eyes.
“Unlikely.” James may as well have said not in this lifetime for all the promise in his tone, but if Aiden notices he doesn’t care as he gives a low chuckle.
Without another word Aiden turns and leaves, and both James and I follow him with our eyes. The door closes behind him, and I sag forward onto the table, almost knocking over the fresh coffee I didn’t see the waiter bring over and set down.
“Perry?” James’ voice is soft, all the hard edge of the last few seconds, minutes, hours or however long it’s been, gone. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, why shouldn’t I be?”
“I feel I should explain—”
“There’s nothing to explain.”
“There is. Aiden’s somebody I’ve known for a long—”
“So he’s a former boyfriend.” Oh, Christ. I don’t want to know, even though I already know… That’s complete crap, because I want James to tell me exactly who and what Aiden is.
James stares at me before he shakes his head hard. “No. Not my boyfriend. He’s not, and never has been, my boyfriend. We had what you might call an arrangement. It was mutually beneficial.”
A mutually beneficial arrangement.
Of course…
Begins with Fuck and ends with Buddy. It’s not difficult to figure, because James has made it clear he doesn’t have boyfriends and relationships.
“It’s over,” he says, quietly.
I don’t know what to say, so I just nod and pick up my coffee. It’s tepid.
Not my business, nothing to do with me… But, I can’t help the shiver that runs through me because whatever James says, I’m not so sure Aiden’s got that particular memo.
