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It was dark on the street outside Cabbages and Kinks, Mas and Perry’s launch party now hidden behind the fogged up windows. It hadn’t exactly been Dare’s scene, but right now he’d rather be back in there than filling in as an unofficial bouncer.
“I wasn’t going to start any trouble. Honest.” The drunk bloke in the fancy suit stumbled into Dare’s shoulder. Bleedin’ hell. His breath was so loaded with spirits, it was probably flammable. Dare and his helper managed to steer their intoxicated charge into a sheltered shop doorway. Drunk Suit collapsed into the corner, buried his head in his hands and began sobbing. Not loudly or anything, but the hitching breaths gave him away.
“What do you reckon we should do with him?” the other bloke asked.
Dare took in the sneer of distaste on the big fella’s face. He didn’t know either of his companions from Adam, but didn’t fancy leaving the sobbing bloke with this gorilla of a man who looked like he could crush his skull without breaking a sweat.
“It’s all right, mate, I can take it from here. I’ll make sure he gets home safely. You get back to your missus.”
Skull-crusher hesitated. “He’s pretty drunk. Might need someone to stay up with him in case he chokes on his own vomit.”
Okay, so maybe Dare had misjudged the bloke. “Yeah, no worries. I know the drill. Been there enough times with my brother. Go on. Get back to the party. I don’t have anyone waiting at home for me, so I can take care of him.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Skull-crusher gave him one last sceptical look—which Dare met with his most open, honest face. He used that one when he needed to. People were always assuming the worst of him, what with his shaved head, tattoos and gauges through his ears. The “trust me” face must have been enough to convince Skull-crusher of his good intentions, because the giant nodded once and headed back in the direction of Cabbages and Kinks.
Drunk Suit was still sobbing silently, but the heaving of his shoulders seemed to be slowing. Thank fuck they were in the maudlin stage now. He’d looked pretty bleedin’ angry with Mas back in the shop. And with Perry too, especially after the bloke had thrown that glass of wine in his face. Not that Dare wasn’t capable of handling an angry drunk—like he’d told Skull-crusher, he’d had enough practice with his nearest and dearest—but it was always easier when they’d got past that stage.
“So, where do you live?” Dare asked, pulling out his phone.
“What’s it to you?” Drunk Suit peered at him through his fingers before straightening up and folding his arms.
Okay, it was going to be like that, was it? “I’m going to need to know an address to give the taxi firm.” Dare used his calmest tones. No point fanning the flames, even though he’d thought Drunk Suit had been kind of sexy back there in the shop, radiating fury and macho possessiveness. Definitely a good-looking bloke, what with the chin dimple, bright blue eyes and dishevelled black hair. He might not have been Dare’s usual type—way too slick, for a start—but he was attractive enough to proposition if he hadn’t been five sheets to the wind. Ah well. You couldn’t have everything.
“I’ve got a car.” Drunk Suit stumbled out of the doorway and looked up and down the street. He fumbled a set of keys out of his pocket. “Left it outside a bar. It’s near here somewhere. Maybe down on the main road. You know, that weirdo’s place with the caterpillar on a mushroom in the garden.”
Dare snatched the keys out of his hand. “Oh no you don’t. There’s no way I’m letting you behind the wheel of a car right now.”
“What the fuck?”
“You’re pissed, mate. Totally rat-arsed. Come on. If you need your car getting home, I can drive you there.”
Drunk Suit straightened up. He was almost as tall as Dare, but not as brawny. If it came down to it, Dare could take him in a fight. And from the way he dropped his eyes submissively, Drunk Suit seemed to realise that. He still had some fight left in him, though. “You think I’m going to let some random thug drive my car?”
Dare smiled. “I don’t think you’ve got much choice, mate. Now, why don’t we try to find it before you end up getting it clamped.”
They found the car down on Stokes Croft, right outside the Zam Zam Shisha Garden, as promised. It was the kind of wheels Dare had expected from a man dressed in a suit that fancy. A sedate but classy black Beemer, the inside all in cream leather and with a lovely walnut dash. He whistled as he ran his hand reverently over the bonnet. “She’s a beauty. Is she the 7-series?”
“She certainly is. You see why I don’t want you to drive her?”
“Yeah, but I bet you don’t want to risk wrapping her around a lamppost either. So why don’t you just settle yourself down in the passenger seat and let me do my thing.”
“You ever driven a BMW before?”
“No, but I’ve driven just about every other make of car and van there is. Trust me, I know what I’m doing. I’ll get you home in one piece.”
Drunk Suit visibly deflated and pulled open the passenger-side door. Dare smiled to himself as he seated himself behind the wheel. Fuck, she even smelled expensive. Now why hadn’t his dad ever had cars like this coming through the yard? Maybe if he had, Dare wouldn’t have switched over to camper vans when the old man kicked the bucket.
He turned the key in the ignition, and the engine purred to life. Beautiful.
He looked across to his reluctant passenger. “Now where is home, exactly?”
“Surrey.”
“You’re having a laugh, mate. I’m not driving you all the way to fucking London. You got somewhere closer I can drop you off? A hotel, maybe?”
Drunk Suit gave him a crooked grin. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a flat over in Hotwells too. You know Riverside Place?”
“That’s more like it. What, you’ve got two homes, have you?”
“That’s right. One with the wife in Surrey, and one over here so I can have fun.” The bloke laughed, but it came out bitter and kind of lonely sounding.
“It’s all right for some, eh? The rest of us commoners have to make do with one, you know.”
Drunk Suit just sniffed.
Dare entertained himself by passing comment on the various old haunts of his they passed by on the way. Most of them had been tarted up by now, and a few had been razed to the ground. But that was the way of things near the riverside. What had been a run-down dock when Dare was growing up was now some of the most sought-after real estate in Bristol. Drunk Suit didn’t make much of a response to Dare’s monologue, but that was okay. Dare was used to talking to his dog for hours on end, and she rarely gave him more than a snort in response. Maybe an enthusiastic hand licking on occasion.
He could do without one of those from Drunk Suit. Enthusiastic licking of other body parts wouldn’t have gone amiss, though, if the bloke hadn’t been quite so out of it. Right now, he wouldn’t trust the bloke not to pass out or throw up before they got down to business.
Time to distract himself from horny, Friday-night kind of thoughts. “Hey, you got a name? Mine’s Dare.”
“Dare? What kind of a name is that?”
“My name. Don’t wear it out.”
“Sounds like you made it up.”
“It’s short for Derek, if you must know.” When Drunk Suit didn’t respond, Dare prodded some more. “Come on, I can’t just say ‘oi, you’ when I want your attention, can I? Well, I suppose I could, but I thought you’d prefer me to use your name, seeing as how you’re all posh and that.”
Drunk Suit sighed heavily. “It’s Grant. Happy now?”
“Absolutely fucking over the moon, mate.”
“Do you think you could stop calling me mate now you know my name?”
“I don’t know, mate, what do you reckon?”
Grant huffed and turned to face out the window. “You need to take the third right. The parking’s round the back.”
“Yeah, I know.” Riverside Place wasn’t all that far from his yard, after all. Not that he’d tell this Grant bloke they were practically neighbours. He had a feeling that wouldn’t go down so well. People who could afford the swanky wharf developments didn’t usually like sharing riverfront with the likes of him. Which was what made Dare’s home address all the more satisfying, if a bit lonely.
Dare parked the car in the space Grant directed him to and got out, but when he made to take Grant’s arm and help him up out of his seat, he was shrugged off.
“I don’t need any more help.”
“I think you do.”
“I’ll be fine. My flat’s just over there. I can manage a few steps by myself, thank you very much.”
“How much have you had to drink today?”
“What’s that to you?”
“How much?” Dare crossed his arms and refused to budge. If Grant wanted out of the car, he’d have to push him out of the way, and somehow he didn’t think the bloke had the strength for that.
“Look, I just had a few gin and tonics. I’ll be absolutely fine. I’m hardly slurring and passing out.”
“Yeah, but you’re unsteady on your feet. And some people are a hell of a lot better than others at appearing sober when they’ve sunk enough to fell an elephant. I’m thinking you might be one of those. And so I need to make sure you get inside safely and that you’re not going to throw up in your sleep and choke on your own puke.”
“Oh for God’s sake. Go on, then. I suppose you can take me to my door. But no farther.”
“Why, worried what your neighbours will think if they see you entertaining rough trade?”
“Hardly.”
Grant made a show of setting off by himself, but then faltered, leaning his body weight into Dare’s as they made their way up the steps from the car park to the rear entrance. Once inside, there was a lift to take them up to Grant’s sixth-floor flat, which was good as the bloke was kind of heavy. Dare hadn’t much fancied heaving him up all those flights of stairs.
When they reached a door marked 6A, Grant fumbled in his pockets. “Where the hell are the pesky things?”
“You looking for these?” Dare dangled the car keys in front of Grant. He’d noticed the extra house keys on there earlier.
“Give them to me.”
Dare held them out of Grant’s reach. “Not until you promise I can come inside.”
“For Christ’s sake.” Grant’s momentary fury gave way to a sly smile. “You do realise I’m gay, don’t you? Straight guy like you probably wouldn’t want to hang out in a gay man’s flat.”
Oh please. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m as queer as they come, then.” Dare pushed the key into the lock and opened the door, striding in before Grant got a chance. “Hmmm, nice place. Like the view, anyway. Lived here long?”
Either Grant had monumentally bland tastes, or he’d just moved into the ready-furnished show home. It reminded Dare of the high-end caravans featured in some of the trade magazines he took. Everything looked to be top-notch quality, but there was no personal touch to the space. It barely looked lived in. The only saving grace were the large prints of Bristol on the wall. One was a particularly gorgeous shot of hot air balloons above the Clifton Suspension Bridge. Looked like it had been taken during the annual Balloon Fiesta. “Hey, where’d you get this? Reckon I could do with a smaller version in my office.”
But Grant was still standing in the doorway, apparently shell-shocked. “You’re not gay.”
“You’ll have to tell that to the bloke I was shagging last night.”
“But you can’t be. You don’t look gay.”
“Right. Well, I’m sorry to fuck with your head, but maybe you’ve just been hanging out with the wrong crowd. We’re not all label queens like yourself, or cute little bottom boys like Perry’s new fella. Hey, what’s going on with you and him, anyway? Are you his ex or something? Shame he’s moved on. I guess money can’t buy you everything.”
“Fuck you.”
“Nah, I don’t think so. Besides, I mostly top.”
“Yeah?” Grant stepped up to Dare, giving him a bleedin’ obvious once-over. “Well, I always top.”
“Good for you. That makes you feel like more of a man, does it?”
“Fuck you.”
“I think we already decided that ain’t gonna happen.”
Grant looked like he was about to argue, but then he wobbled on his feet and the fight drained out of him. “Wouldn’t want to sleep with you anyway. You’re not pretty enough.”
Dare guessed he was meant to feel insulted, so he laughed instead. “You said it, mate. Now, which way’s your kitchen?”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.” Dare began opening doors, finding first the master bedroom—as bland and expensive looking as the living room, but with more beautiful framed landscapes on the walls—then a smaller office, a bathroom and finally the swish little kitchen. Ever a connoisseur of ways of fitting kitchens into tiny spaces, Dare rooted through the cupboards and admired the nifty space-saving storage solutions. Gave him a few ideas for the camper van he was currently renovating.
“Do you mind?” Grant huffed behind him.
Dare grinned into an almost empty cupboard. “Not in the slightest. Now, where d’you keep your coffee?”
“I don’t need a bloody coffee. What I need is for you to get out of here so I can go to bed.”
“Well, maybe I need a coffee, then. And you’re being a fucking terrible host, you realise. You haven’t even offered me a glass of water.”
“For crying out loud.”
Dare heard a cupboard door opening and sounds of scuffling around. “What do you want?” Grant demanded. “Cappuccino? Latte? Mocha?”
“Just a black coffee will be fine. I don’t mind instant.”
“Wouldn’t touch the stuff. And I don’t have any black either, so you’ll just have to have a cappuccino and put up with it.”
Dare turned and leaned back against the countertop. Grant stood in front of him holding up two little wrapped packets and staring daggers. “You’re in my way.”
“Are you always such an insufferable arsehole?”
“I beg your pardon? You’re the one who’s just forced his way into my flat and started poking around in my kitchen.”
“I’m also the one who drove you home.” Dare smiled and kept his pose casual, because it seemed to infuriate Grant more when he did that. And despite what Dare had said about not wanting to fuck, there was definitely something hot about Grant in a snit. Shame about the bloodshot eyes and hundred-proof breath, but under different circumstances, he’d be willing to bend Grant over and give him a good seeing to. The man clearly needed a good fucking to help him unwind.
“Let me take those.” Dare reached out and snatched the two packets from Grant’s hands. “Coffee pods? Oh, okay, I’ve seen these things before. That must mean you’ve got some kind of machine behind me.” Since Grant’s minimalist approach to decor extended to the kitchen worktops, it wasn’t hard to figure out which bit of shiny chrome machinery was the coffeemaker. He flipped down the front and found a place to slot the pod. All he now had to figure out was where to pour in the water and to rustle up a mug or two to sit underneath. “Okay, I think I can figure this one out.”
“I don’t want you breaking it.”
“Chill, mate. I’m pretty bleedin’ handy. Never met a machine I couldn’t get the better of.” Dare unwrapped the pods—both cappuccino—and he must have been convincing enough for Grant to give up his protests, because the next thing he heard was a muttered “you’ll be paying for any breakages” and footsteps returning to the living room.
Dare busied himself finding sugar and mugs, and after a few minutes had two steaming mugs of disgustingly frothy-looking coffee, but at least they smelled good. And with enough sugar, hopefully he wouldn’t notice the milk. “They do these pod things for just black coffee too?” he asked as he plonked Grant’s mug down on the coffee table in front of him.
Grant glared at the mug and rooted around under the table, before returning with a couple of coasters. “Black? I think so. They do pretty much anything you can imagine.”
“I wonder if they make a twelve-volt version,” Dare mused.
“Why in God’s name would you want one of those?”
“You know, for camping. Caravans, boats and campers all run on twelve-volt circuits.”
“You have a boat?” Grant looked at him like he was some kind of exotic animal as Dare settled down into the overstuffed leather armchair opposite. “You don’t live on one of those rusty old barges, do you?” His nose crinkled in disgust.
“No, but I’ve got a caravan. And I do up camper vans for a living, so I’m always looking for new gadgets for them. But even if they don’t come in twelve-volt versions, I could probably make an adaptor. Maybe I’ll get one for the Airstream and try it out. But only if they do the pods in black.” He took a slurp and grimaced. Too much milk and sugar wasn’t his favourite combination, but perhaps it was better for this time of night. It kind of reminded him of the hot milk and honey his mum used to do for him and Jase. One of the few comforting memories of his childhood, back before everything went to shit.
Sodding hell, why’d he have to start thinking about his mum of all people? That was a one-way street to feeling really fucking lonely. But a bit of company could generally cheer him up. Dare eyed Grant across the coffee table. The bloke was currently wrestling out of his tie and looking increasingly dishevelled. Funny, Dare had never really considered suits sexy, but all rumpled like that...
No, he wasn’t going there. The man was an arse, and he was far too drunk anyway. He’d probably be Dare’s for the taking, but that would be way too easy. If Dare ever did seduce the arrogant bastard, he’d want it to be when Grant was sober and fighting his better judgement.
But that didn’t change Dare’s desire for a long, hard shag to take his mind off things.
Fuck it. He’d glug the rest of his coffee, get out of here and head on out to a club. It was only quarter past eleven. Plenty of time to pick someone up at one of the Friday-night meat markets. He didn’t need to feel guilty. This Grant bloke could look after himself. He was drunk, but not completely paralytic.
Mind made up, he downed his coffee and stood. “Cheers, mate. I’ll be off. Reckon you’re all right to look after yourself now.”
“I thought you were going to tuck me in and kiss me good night,” Grant snipped, but Dare swore he could hear a thread of longing under his acerbic tone.
“Sorry to disappoint, but just because I’m gay, doesn’t mean I want to snog you.”
“What’s wrong with me?” Grant glowered. He clearly wasn’t used to being rejected.
“Asides from the fact your breath stinks of booze? Well, let’s see. You’re an arrogant wanker, which is sometimes a bit of a turn-on, but I’m just not in the mood for fighting for the top right now. I’m going to find some cute young thing who’s eager for my nine inches up his arse.” Dare cupped his groin, making sure Grant could see the outline of his dick through the thick cotton of his combats.
Grant’s eyes darkened, but all he said was “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
“Lovely to meet you too.”
Dare took pleasure in slamming the door behind him.