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24th December...
...one year later
I was knee-deep in paperwork when my phone rang.
I glanced at the screen. Freddy.
I sighed and swiped my thumb across the screen, lifting it to my ear. “What is it, Fred?”
“Where the fuck are you?” she yelled. In the background I could hear my least favourite Christmas song of all time, Merry Christmas Everyone, obnoxiously blaring.
“I’m working,” I said, my gaze still running over the words on my screen.
“It’s Christmas, for fuck’s sake! And you said you’d be here at six. It’s seven now.”
“Mmm-hmm. But I should really finish these reports first,” I replied absently.
“You’re on holiday,” she snapped. “It’s Christmas fucking Eve. The reports can wait. Christ, Quin. How can you— What? What’s that?”
I could tell that last part wasn’t directed at me, that she was speaking to someone else. There was another muffled voice in the background, then came the sound of the phone changing hands, and a new voice on the line. A deep, warm, very familiar voice.
“How long is it going to take you to get that gorgeous arse over here?” Rob asked in his easy way. I could picture his smile, and the warmth in those brown eyes. “I haven’t seen you since breakfast.”
I was already closing the laptop.
“Give me half an hour,” I said.
I showered and changed in record time, and by seven twenty-eight, was strolling into The Dragon.
I finally tracked Rob down in the back, sitting with about a dozen others, including Freddy, Ben and Leon. They’d shoved two tables together and had somehow managed to squeeze everyone round. I didn’t really notice anyone but Rob though. My gaze went straight to him, to my boyfriend of exactly one year, who sat there amongst my friends, more at ease with them than I would ever be, probably. My heart flip-flopped at the sight of him there. He was laughing at some joke Ben had made. He looked happy and relaxed and so very stupidly handsome.
He glanced up, as if feeling my gaze on him, and when he saw me, his deep brown eyes lit up and his big smile grew even bigger. Immediately, he stood and began extricating himself from the bench he was sitting on, his movements hurried and impatient. As always, his delight at seeing me surprised and touched me, and I knew I was grinning foolishly as I watched him make his way to me.
When he dug in his pocket and drew out a sprig of something green, holding it up for me to see—mistletoe—I laughed, and so did he.
He held the mistletoe up in invitation and I walked into his arms, planting a kiss on him while our friends erupted into cheers and whoops. His arms closed around me to deepen the kiss, and when our tongues slid together, I could taste the beer he’d been drinking. Probably one of those craft brews he liked so much.
I broke the kiss at last to turn my head and mutter in his ear. “God, I wish we were alone right now. I want to fuck you so bad.”
He laughed softly and carded his fingers through my hair in an easy, affectionate gesture. “Oh, you’ll get to fuck me later.”
“When?” I groaned. “We’re going to Space after this, and then we’ve got to get up early to go over to your mum’s and open our presents with Tim.”
He grinned at me. “You’re on a promise, hon,” he murmured. “So don’t worry. It’s happening, no matter how late we get home.”
My cock throbbed and I groaned again.
Rob chuckled. “Go and sit down while I get you a drink,” he suggested, and sidled past me, giving my arse a quick grope on the way.
I headed for the gap at the table Rob had left between Ben and Freddy’s new boyfriend.
“Hey, Quin,” my ex greeted me as I climbed over the bench to squeeze in beside him. “Glad you made it, man. It’s good to see you at last.”
Ben and Leon had been off on their travels again, and I hadn’t seen them since our last encounter in the street a year before.
“Good to see you too,” I replied, returning his smile.
“I thought for sure we wouldn’t see you tonight,” Ben continued. “Not when Freddy said you were working when she called.”
“Oh, he’s not so bad these days,” Freddy interrupted from the other side of the table, smiling. She looked at me and raised a single pierced brow. “Did you get your reports finished?”
I shook my head. “Nah. I’ll sort the rest in a few days’ time. I just want my first placement to be—”
“Perfect,” she finished for me. “I know. But don’t worry, they’ll love you.”
“Placement?” Ben asked.
I turned back to him. “I’m changing career—I’m in the middle of teacher training just now. The reports I was doing are for my first placement.”
Ben’s jaw dropped and I laughed.
“Budge up,” Rob said cheerfully behind us and everyone squeezed up another impossible fraction. Somehow he managed to winkle his way into the tiny space Ben and I created between us while carrying several bottles of beer, a stack of glasses and what looked like about ten bags of crisps. As soon as he sat down, he began doling out his wares, pouring a glass of beer for me and chucking bags of crisps around the table.
Once we were all settled again, Ben leaned past Rob to catch my eye again.
“I’m really surprised, Quin.”
“What’s this?” Rob asked, glancing between us.
“I told him about me doing teacher training,” I explained.
“Quin wanted to be a teacher when we were first together,” Ben added, then looked at me. “But after you started with the consultancy stuff—well, I’d have put money on you sticking with that. You were always so committed to that job.”
“Yeah,” I said, smiling wryly. “I was. It took me a while to see that it wasn’t really right for me.”
“What changed?” he asked, and without thinking, my gaze went to Rob.
“Oh. Right,” Ben said. He even gave a little laugh, but when I looked at him, I saw he looked sad, and I felt shitty for a moment, till Leon turned to him and said something in his ear and his sad expression melted away, replaced by a bright smile.
It was fine. Ben was fine. Blissfully happy, in fact. But later, I found myself dwelling on that moment as I hovered at the side of the dancefloor in Space, watching a group of my friends dancing.
I was so absorbed in my thoughts that when a pair of hands landed on my waist, I jumped at first, only to relax an instant later into Rob’s familiar touch, sighing as he plastered himself against my back and rested his chin on my shoulder.
“Hey, Beautiful,” he murmured in my ear. “Why aren’t ya dancing?” He rocked his hips against mine to the beat of the music.
I chuckled, canting my head to the side to give him access to my neck. “I’m a terrible dancer. I have no rhythm.”
“You do when you’re dancing with me,” Rob said as he nuzzled me. “I keep you on track.”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “You do. My pace is all off without you. I get lost.”
He licked a stripe up the side of my neck, making me shudder. My cock was so hard right now. I pushed my hips back, welcoming the answering thrust of his hips.
“You’re an all-in kind of guy,” he muttered into my ear, making me shiver. “Totally committed to whatever you’re doing. I love that about you.”
And he did. He actually loved the very thing about me that had made me a shitty boyfriend to Ben and a thoughtless boss and a career-obsessed dickhead. Because it was the same thing that made me want to be the best teacher I could possibly be and that made me love Rob with all my heart.
I had an obsessive nature. I just needed someone to keep me on the right track.
I turned around in Rob’s arms and launched myself at him, pressing my mouth to his in a passionate kiss that he returned without hesitation. When we broke apart, I was smiling so hard, my face hurt.
“I love you so much,” I said simply. “I’ve never been so happy as I have this last year.”
His smile was huge, though after a moment, it flickered.
“Does that mean you’ve given what I said last night some thought?” he asked carefully. His gaze was wary and intent.
“Yes,” I said huskily. “And my answer is—fuck, yeah. I’ll move in with you.”
He let out a shuddery breath and leaned forward to rest his forehead against mine. “When you said you couldn’t give me an answer right away, I thought you were trying to find a way to say no.”
I scowled at that. “Never!” I said fiercely. “I told you my only hesitation was timing. I don’t know what my job situation’s going to be six months from now. I might have to move. I didn’t want to put you in a difficult position.”
“And like I said yesterday, if that happens, we’ll deal with it.” He captured my face in his hands and smiled down at me. “I love you, Quin. The thing I want most in the world right now is to make my life with you.”
I swallowed hard, blown away by his faith. His commitment.
To me.
I didn’t deserve that devotion, but God, I needed it. And over the next few decades I meant to return it, every bit.
“Same here,” I said simply, and lifted my lips to his.
**
The End
Mr Perfect’s Christmas
IT WAS SAM’S TWENTY-fourth Christmas, and for the first time in his life, he wasn’t feeling it.
Not that it was actually Christmas yet. It was, in fact, only the twenty-first of December, but usually by this point in the festive season, Sam was mainlining eggnog, eating his own weight in mince pies, and panic-buying additional stocking fillers. His family were big on Christmas. He was usually big on Christmas.
Until this year.
It hadn’t been the best of years all round, starting with his breakup with Gareth in February, then losing his job and having to leave London. For four months he’d had to live with his parents while applying for new jobs, steadily lowering his expectations month on month till he’d finally been offered his present, temporary position with Morton & Higgins, a small law firm in the north-west. By then he’d been so desperate, he’d have taken anything.
Tonight was going to be the worst though. Tonight was his new employer’s Christmas party, and everything about it underlined how much Sam’s life had changed.
Last year, Sam’s work Christmas night out had been a proper black tie do, complete with top-class food, cocktails on tap, and a live band. This year would feature beers at the local pub, then a three-course fixed Christmas menu at a cheap Italian restaurant.
Sam stared at the contents of his wardrobe and wondered just how horribly overdressed he’d be in his favourite designer shirt, a crazy collage print that fitted him like a second skin. He’d bought it months ago out of his redundancy money to cheer himself up, and he still loved it—it never failed to put a smile on his face. But tonight? It wouldn’t be like wearing it out with his friends in London. What would his colleagues at M&H make of it?
He sighed. As if he couldn’t guess.
No matter how desperately he tried to fit in with them, he just... didn’t. With his designer-label clothes, buffed nails, and expensively styled hair, he was like an exotic bird in a flock of starlings. He still shuddered when he remembered the day he’d worn his Armani shoulder bag to the office. Dave, his pod buddy, had looked as shocked as if Sam had walked in wearing full drag.
How would he feel, sitting in La Scala, the cheerful bistro where the M&H crowd went for lunch every Friday, dressed like this?
God, he sounded like such a snob. It wasn’t even that he minded Italian bistros—he liked calzone as much as the next guy. It was just that he felt depressed every time he thought about how his life had changed. There had been four hundred people at the Hendrick Blackstone party last year. M&H could only muster twenty-six. And one of them—Wonder Boy, aka Nick Foster—wasn’t even with M&H anymore.
Nick was the guy Sam had been recruited to replace—on a trial basis. Nick was the wunderkind from whose arse Mike, Sam’s boss, apparently thought the sun shone. He was the oracle Mike actually still called from time to time about the cases Sam had inherited. The oracle with the annoying habit of popping into the office to offer Sam unsolicited pointers on how to deal with his old clients.
Nick had left M&H five months ago, but he was so well liked that he got invited to the Christmas party anyway.
Even now, Nick seemed more a part of M&H than Sam did. Sam still hadn’t settled in, despite everyone’s friendliness.
He still felt lonely.
It was ironic, really. When he’d worked in the City, he used to complain about how ruthless it was, but now he sort of missed it, or at least the familiarity of it. He couldn’t adapt to his new environment at all. Oh, he smiled and chatted and gave every sign of fitting in, but the truth was that he didn’t know how to react when his colleagues offered to help him out with his workload or even fetch him a coffee from the kitchen. And whenever Nick Foster turned up at the office and started quizzing him about his cases, Sam felt on edge. He was sure Nick was reporting back to Mike about their conversations...
...Aaaand there he went again, just when he’d vowed not to follow that toxic, insidious train of thought any more.
Sam determinedly turned his attention back to his wardrobe and pulled out the crazy collge shirt. In his heart of hearts, he knew it was too fancy for tonight, but in a fit of defiance he pulled it on.
Having made that momentous decision, he warmed a dab of his favourite, absurdly expensive hair wax between his palms—it cost a small fortune for the tiniest tub but was worth it for the gorgeous smell—and worked it through his dark blond hair to create a slightly more extreme version of the artfully mussed style he wore to the office.
When he was finished, he assessed his appearance with a critical eye. He looked good. He had a decent body and a nice face. Sometimes he worried that his undoubted prettiness lacked character; that it would fade into something bland and indistinct later in life, but for now, tonight, he was pleased. And the hair definitely looked good.
For a moment, he felt almost happy. Till he was struck by a sudden memory of getting ready for the Hendrick Blackstone party last year. With Gareth. They’d been seeing each other for a while at that point—were even talking about moving in together since they’d both be working in the City. Everything had been so rosy, so promising. He remembered looking in the mirror that night too, Gareth standing behind him, fixing his bow tie while Sam grinned at him. Gareth’s big, warm body pressed against the whole length of Sam’s as his nimble hands worked.
God, that tux. It had cost Sam a fortune. Gareth had encouraged him to buy one of his own instead of renting, and it hadn’t sounded like a bad idea—after all, in their line of work, black-tie events came up all the time. And wasn’t that hilarious now? That tux was zipped up in its garment bag at the back of his wardrobe, and if Sam had cause to wear it again in the next five years, he’d be doing well.
Swallowing hard, Sam turned away from the mirror and reached for his jacket. He yanked it on, shoving keys and wallet in the pockets, and crossed the room to look out the window. The sky was clear, the moon very bright, the stars needlepoint sharp. It looked cold, cold enough to snow in fact, so he turned back to his wardrobe to unearth a scarf and a beanie hat. No sense freezing. He couldn’t quite bring himself to don the hat though, not with his hair looking so fabulous. Instead, he tucked it into his pocket for later and headed out.
He was locking up the flat when he realised he’d forgotten his Secret Santa gift and had to head back inside to fetch it.
“Secret bloody Santa,” he grumbled under his breath as he stalked back into the kitchen.
No one at Hendrick Blackstone ever did anything so tacky as Secret Santa. Rupert, his old boss, used to give everyone on the team a generous gift voucher for Harvey Nichols, and all the fee-earners were expected to buy their secretaries something half-decent. Christmas was expensive, rewarding, and very hierarchical at Hendrick Blackstone.
Not so at M&H. Apparently Secret Santa was a long-standing tradition here. When Sam had got the email last week outlining the rules—that everyone was to buy a gift for no more than a tenner, and they’d be handed out at the party—he’d been struck by the stark contrast with his old life.
Sam had pulled Paul the Cashier’s name out of the box Monica had shaken under his nose, and since Paul didn’t appear to have any hobbies or interests, he’d struggled to come up with anything decent. In the end, he’d blown his tenner budget, spending sixteen quid on a bottle of basic-looking champagne and another three quid on a gift bag to hold it. Oh well, at least he wouldn’t have to feel like a cheap bastard when it was handed out. In fact, Sam thought, he wouldn’t mind getting a present like that himself. At least he could drown his sorrows in front of the telly when the party was over.
With that thought, he grabbed the champagne in its tasteful gold gift bag from his kitchen table and set off once again.
***
THE NIGHT WAS STARTING off in the Beehive pub. “Anytime from four” the email had said, which meant, Sam realised as he drew close, that by the time he arrived, some of his colleagues would have been drinking for several hours already.
Oh joy.
As he turned the corner onto Newbridge Lane, the raucous sounds of a pub full of Christmas partygoers assaulted his ears, yells and laughter and terrible singing leaking out the windows to bounce off the lane’s rain-slick cobbles.
The nearer Sam got, the more he wished he’d had a drink back at the flat to loosen up. The bored-looking security guy lounging in the doorway watched him approach with an impassive expression, ignoring Sam’s greeting as he opened the door to let him enter.
Sam stepped inside and began making his way through the dense crowd in search of a familiar face, squeezing past tipsy groups of office workers and a pack of fortysomethings chorusing along to “Last Christmas” with feeling.
“Hey, Sammy!”
He turned his head at the sound of his name. Penny, his secretary, was standing with some other M&H admin staff. Penny was divorced—a fact that worked its way into every conversation—a bit too tanned and very blond. She wore a lot of make-up, very short skirts, and had an inexhaustible supply of double entendres. Sam found her vaguely alarming, and never more so than now, as she wove her way towards him, waving a sprig of plastic mistletoe at him, a floppy Santa hat drooping over one heavily made-up eye.
“Hey, Penny,” he said, when she reached him. “Um, Merry Christmas. Can I get you a—”
He didn’t manage to complete the sentence. Penny tossed the mistletoe aside, threw both arms round his neck and plastered her mouth against his. Sam staggered, bringing his arms up to steady her. Her lips were sticky with lip gloss, and she managed to slip him a little tongue before he finally extricated himself in a way that didn’t result in her falling over.
“Merry Chrishmas, Sammy,” she slurred happily, patting his cheek. “You are one gorgeous fella, you know. So well-groomed and nice. You’re my favourite fee-earner. I wish I could listen to your lovely voice in my earphones all day.”
Sam gave a strained laugh and steered her back to the rest of her group, most of whom were in fits by now, though motherly Trish gave him a sympathetic look and told them all to stop embarrassing him. Sam decided to take refuge in generosity, offering to buy a round. A couple of the women took him up on the offer, and he gratefully headed for the bustling bar.
On his way over, he ran into Monica, the frighteningly efficient office manager. He wasn’t surprised to note that her outfit was exactly the same sort of thing she’d wear in the office—a long dowdy skirt with flat sensible shoes and a cardigan that stretched to midthigh. She even wore her salt-and-pepper hair in the same slightly messy bun, though she’d added some dangly earrings, presumably in recognition that it was a party.
If it wasn’t for the huge sack of gifts at her feet, she could’ve been at work, a clipboard in her hand, a frown on her face.
“Samuel!” she barked when she saw him. “Do you have your gift?”
Sam started at her tone. “Oh hi, Monica. Merry Christmas.” He leaned forward to kiss her ruddy cheek, then offered the gold gift bag.
Monica looked surprised then pleased in a flushed sort of way. One hand fluttered to her cheek, even as the other reached for the gift bag.
“Sorry to be so late with it,” Sam added sheepishly as she tucked it into the sack.
“Oh, you’re not the last,” she informed him. She sighed heavily, then added, “Far from it.”
“Why don’t I get you a drink?” Sam offered. “What do you fancy?”
She got that pleased-surprised look again and asked for a gin and tonic, thanking him effusively. “You’re such a nice boy, Samuel,” she said. “So thoughtful.”
He got that a lot. The “nice boy” thing. He didn’t think he was a particularly nice boy, actually, but he’d been brought up to say his please and thank-yous, give up his seat on the bus for the elderly and the pregnant, and always hold the door open for others. And those were the sorts of habits that stuck, given enough nagging.
The bar was heaving, but Sam eventually managed to squeeze to the front, resting his elbows gingerly on the beer-wet wood, a twenty held up between his fingers to attract the attention of the barman—the barman who seemed determined to ignore him and whose gaze slid past Sam every time Sam tried to make eye contact.
“Excuse me,” Sam called out the next time he came close. “I’ve been waiting for ages over here.”
That earned him a glare before the guy pointedly stomped off to serve a young woman dressed as a sexy elf.
“Oh dear. Bad move,” a voice murmured in Sam’s ear. “He’ll ignore you even more now.”
Sam looked over his shoulder.
Wonder Boy.
Somehow Sam managed to keep his expression bland, even as the usual reactions set in: irritation, intimidation, and, most galling of all, lust. Nick Foster was gorgeous, but Sam gave no hint he noticed, merely saying, “Oh, hi, Nick. Merry Christmas.”
Nick pushed closer, his chest plastered to Sam’s back for an instant, lean hips moving sinuously as he navigated his way round Sam’s body to squeeze in next to him. He set down his bottle of beer on the bar in front of him, then turned to face Sam. They were the same height, and both lean made. But while Sam was fair, Nick was dark. Dark hair, worn a little too long, and bitter-chocolate eyes, fringed with thick lashes.
“And Merry Christmas to you,” Nick replied, grinning, his usual sky-high confidence oozing out of him. “You’re looking well.”
Sam smiled faintly. “Thanks, so are you.”
In Nick’s case, he was looking considerably more than well. He was looking fucking gorgeous in a shirt the colour of espresso. It matched his dark, intense eyes to perfection and hugged his lean torso lovingly.
“So,” Nick said, cocking his head to one side, “how’s it going at M&H?”
Was that a glimmer of sympathy? A complex mix of emotions began to percolate inside Sam. Resentment. Embarrassment. A weirdly grateful, and wholly inappropriate, desire to spill out his insecurities. And all of it shot through with that inescapable and deeply troubling attraction that tripped him up whenever he was in Nick Foster’s radius.
“Things are good, thanks,” he managed. “How about you? How’s the pupillage going?”
“Great. I’m more than halfway now. Mike sent my chambers a chunky case last week, which was really good of him. It all helps, you know?”
“Yeah, he’s a good guy,” Sam agreed. He was aware of heat stealing into his cheeks and was glad of the dim lighting. He knew exactly the case Nick meant. Sam had argued for using a different set of chambers. When he’d finished making his case, Mike had just looked at him, saying nothing for a long time before thanking Sam for his thoughts and repeating that they’d be using Nick’s chambers. Had Mike guessed Sam’s suggestion had been motivated by nothing better than sheer resentment? It hadn’t been Sam’s finest hour, to say the least, and he was ashamed to remember it now.
“I’m glad to hear things are going well,” Nick went on. “Mike was a bit worried about you for a while, but I told him you’d settle down fine in time.”
Sam stared at him Was Nick aware of what he’d just said? What he’d let slip?
Apparently not, because he was smiling broadly at Sam, his expression warm and friendly.
As much as Sam wanted to shrug the comment off, he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t make himself speak even. He’d suspected that Nick and Mike had discussed him, of course, but finding out that his suspicions were correct made him queasy.
A sudden lump appeared in his throat, the sort of lump that you had to swallow against. When Nick caught sight of that betraying bob of Sam’s throat, his smile began to fade and his brows drew together.
“Shit, Sam,” he said, leaning forward. “I didn’t mean—”
An irritated voice interrupted them. “Well? What d’you want?”
Sam whipped his head round to face the suddenly attentive barman, glad of the distraction.
“Sorry,” he said automatically, then cursed inwardly. He needed to get over his ingrained habit of self-effacing apology. It made people think he was a pushover. All part of that “nice boy” curse.
He forced himself to glance at Nick and ask in a voice that sounded amazingly normal to his own ears, “Would you like a drink?”
Nick’s expression was unhappy. “No, thanks. I’m fine,” he muttered, gesturing at his almost-full bottle of beer.
“Okay,” Sam replied coolly, then turned back to the barman. “So, could I have a gin and tonic, two vodka and Cokes and a mojito please?”
The barman glared. “A mo-what-oh?”
Sam suppressed a sigh. Apparently he’d done it again. He seemed to have a talent for asking for things that were commonplace in London but hopelessly exotic in semi-rural Lancashire.
“A mojito. It’s a rum cocktail,” he explained. “Listen, don’t worry. If you can’t do it, just make it two G&Ts instead of one.”
“I never said I couldn’t do it,” the barman said, scowling. “What’s in it?”
“Um”—Sam thought for a moment—“Rum, of course. And mint and sugar syrup. And it’s topped up with soda.”
“Mint?” The barman glowered at him as though he was mad. “In a drink?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll just—”
“I don’t have mint.”
“It doesn’t matter. Really,” Sam said desperately, “I’ll just have two G&Ts and two vodka cokes.”
“I can do it without the mint,” the barman insisted.
Sam bit back the urge to point out that, without the mint, it wouldn’t be a fucking mojito, and said again, “Honestly, it’s fine, I—”
“Stop being a dick, Mark,” Nick interrupted. “Get the guy his drinks. Two G&Ts and two vodka cokes.”
The barman turned his head to glare at Nick. “I’m not being a dick!”
“Yes, you are. Now get his drinks.”
To Sam’s surprise, the barman—Mark—went, though apparently fuming.
He glanced at Nick. “Thanks,” he said, half-grateful, half-annoyed.
Nick smiled weakly, and those bitter-chocolate eyes seemed to soften a little. “No worries. It’s probably my fault he’s being a nob anyway.” In response to Sam’s furrowed brows, he added, “Whenever he sees me, he gets even grumpier than usual. He’s an ex. Well, we hooked up a few times. We didn’t really see eye to eye about where we were heading.”
“You’re gay?” Sam blurted, then immediately flushed. No way could Nick miss it this time, dim lighting or not. His cheeks blazed with heat.
How had Sam not picked up on this before? Was it because of the head-fucking combination of resentment and lust that filled him every time he saw Nick Foster? Did it throw off his gaydar? His common sense? Whatever it was, looking at Nick right now, Sam felt foolish and naïve.
“Yeah, I’m gay,” Nick said, frowning in a puzzled way. “Is that a problem? Because I’d kind of thought...” He trailed off, gesturing in Sam’s direction.
“Of course not!” Sam exclaimed. “I mean, of course it’s not a problem. I’m gay too—I mean, you probably realised. People tend to be able to tell with me pretty quickly.”
Oh God, he was babbling. Could he be any less cool?
Bang.
Sam started, turning to see the world’s angriest barman slamming four glasses of spirits in front of him. He watched as the man aggressively shovelled melting ice into each glass, then threw in some sorry-looking fragments of lemon before lifting a mixer gun to top off the glasses.
“No!” Sam said quickly, shrinking a little when Mark looked up to glare at him again. “Um, could I have bottled mixers please?”
Mark rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh for good measure, but he put the mixer gun down and turned, bending over to fetch bottled Coke and Schweppes tonic out of the fridge under the bar.
Wow... The barman’s arse was fantastic and beautifully shown off by faded, very worn jeans that looked as soft as butter. A chuckle in Sam’s ear sent goose bumps down his neck, and he turned his head to find Nick leaning in close, one dark brow lifted.
“He’s a bad-tempered bastard,” Nick murmured, “but he has his good points.”
Sam couldn’t suppress a gasp of laughter at that, and when Mark turned back to face them, he looked suspicious, eyeing them both narrowly while he topped off the glasses.
“Well, I’d better go and deliver these,” Sam said once he’d paid and Mark had stomped off to serve his next customer. “It was nice talking to you, Nick.”
That wasn’t strictly true. He could have done without hearing Nick’s revelation that Mike had shared his concerns regarding Sam with him. But that was a matter he could fret about later in the privacy of his own flat. He had all weekend to brood over his job woes. That was how he spent most of his weekends these days after all.
It seemed, however, that Nick wasn’t going to let him slink away.
“You can’t carry all those,” he said, pointing at the drinks on the bar. “C’mon. I’ll help you.” He tucked his beer bottle in the crook of his elbow and lifted the two vodka Cokes, leaving the G&Ts to Sam.
“Lead the way,” he said.
They wove their way back through the crowd, depositing one G&T with Monica before heading for Penny and Trish’s group.
Penny had retrieved her plastic mistletoe and was assaulting Paul the Cashier when they found them. Nick handed out the vodka Cokes and said a round of hellos, complete with hugs and Christmas kisses, while Sam looked on feeling like a spare part. Eventually, Nick turned back to Sam.
“Can we... have a word?” he said quietly. “In private?”
Sam wanted to say no. He didn’t want to talk about that awkward moment at the bar—and he was sure that was what this was about—but Nick had already started edging his way through the crowd, and somehow Sam found himself following him to the quieter side of the pub, where the music was a bit less deafening.
As soon as they were alone, Nick launched into an apology.
“Sam, I’m so sorry about what I said before. About Mike. It wasn’t how it sounded.” His brown eyes pleaded for understanding.
Sam averted his gaze, looking down at his drink. “Can we not talk about it? As you can imagine, I’m not exactly delighted to hear my boss was discussing his concerns about my performance at work with you.”
“He wasn’t, honestly. Not like that.” Nick ran a hand through his mop of dark hair and sighed. “Look, Mike only spoke to me because he was worried you were going to chuck the towel in—”
Sam gave a harsh laugh. “Wow, I can see this isn’t at all like I thought!”
“He was worried about you. He didn’t want you to leave, okay? Neither did I.”
“I get it. You and Mike were worried about me. Lucky me, to attract so much personal concern.”
Nick frowned and his jaw firmed. “Look, I am sorry about blurting that stuff out earlier, but I’m not going apologise for being concerned about you. You were struggling for a while there, and we both know it. Mike’s not an idiot. When he saw what was going on, he wanted to help you. That’s why he spoke to me.”
Anger and humiliation flooded Sam. He knew what Nick said was true, even as he hated the guy for saying it.
“Sam—” Nick rubbed at the back of his neck “Please don’t look like that.”
“Like what? I can’t be pissed off?” Sam bit out. “You know, I may not have lived up to Mike’s expectations, but it’s not as if my own haven’t taken a beating. I didn’t plan to end up here. I trained in the City. I wanted to stay there. I didn’t expect to move out of London, never mind to a tiny firm in a Lancashire market town, working for a bunch of bloody yokels!”
The apologetic look in Nick’s eyes faded. “I see,” he said. “Not quite the client base you’re used to?”
“No,” Sam retorted hotly, even as regret began to set in over his hasty words.
“No more multimillion-pound cases?” Nick added, his expression distinctly cooler. “How very disappointing for you.”
Sam swallowed and looked away. He felt like a prick. Nick probably thought he looked down on M&H’s clients, but the clients weren’t the problem—Sam was.
The hours at Hendrick Blackstone had been long, and the work had been hard, but he’d never had to think about client budgets or prepare a case based on how much money was available. He’d never had to sit opposite a client and just give them advice, then and there, when they asked for it. But he had to do that now, every day.
“It must’ve been such a comedown for you,” Nick went on, “working for normal people.”
Already, Sam’s bravado was fading. “That’s not what I meant.”
“No? What then?”
An urge to unload, to pour out all his insecurities, overcame Sam. So what if he admitted how bad things had got? It wasn’t like Nick hadn’t worked it out for himself anyway.
You were struggling for a while there, and we both know it.
Sam threw back the rest of his G&T and set the glass down. “All my life I’ve worked hard. I did well at school, read law at university—even managed to scrape a first somehow. I landed a training contract in one of the top City firms. I had to work like a dog, of course, but that was okay because it was all part of the plan. I had my life all figured out. I was going to be a partner in a City firm one day.” He swallowed hard. “There was just one problem... I didn’t make the grade. Once my training was up, they—let me go.”
Nick frowned. “City firms aren’t everything, Sam.”
“All I know is I worked my arse off for them for two years, and at the end of it, they didn’t want to keep me. Rupert—the partner I worked for—said I wasn’t ‘Hendrick Blackstone material’. He said I was too nice, that I didn’t have the ‘killer instinct’ they wanted.”
“He sounds like a dick.”
Sam gave a hollow laugh. “Yeah, he was. But there must have been some truth in what he said because I couldn’t get anything else in the City after I left. That’s when I started to look further afield. And then I got the job at M&H.” He paused. “I figured it would be an easy gig. Something to keep me occupied while I looked for something more challenging. Pretty arrogant, eh?”
Nick was quiet for a moment. “I can see why you might think it would be easier than what you were used to.”
“Yeah, well. I learned how wrong I was. I thought I was such a hotshot, but it turned out I’d been doing mostly grunt work when I was training. I was totally unprepared for working at M&H. Mike wanted me to run my own caseload, see clients by myself, appear in court. I’d never done anything like that.” He shook his head. “I’d had this idea that I’d walk in and show everyone how it was done. What a dick.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re not the first guy to learn he doesn’t know it all. At least you did learn it.”
“Oh, I learned it all right. I learned that I couldn’t do the job I was hired for”—Sam let out a long, hard breath, then added—“And I still can’t.”
And there it was, the beginning and end of it. The big, awful secret he’d not even been able to admit to himself till right this minute. And weirdly, instead of feeling worse for saying the words aloud, he was almost light with relief.
Poor Nick looked horrified though.
“Sam,” he said, his dark eyes troubled. “That’s not true. You’re intelligent and capable—”
“Oh, it’s true, all right. And I know that for a fact because I took over from Wonder Boy himself, aka Nick Foster. I’ll never measure up to you. It’s always Nick would have done it this way or Nick got on great with that client. Anything I do, you did it ten times better.”
The silence that followed that comment was uncomfortable.
“Don’t be daft,” Nick said, at last, weakly.
“I’m not being daft. It’s all true.” Sam smiled, partly to reassure Nick he was all right and partly because spilling his guts was proving to be strangely cathartic.
Though not for Nick, who looked distressed now. “It’s not true,” he insisted. “And you’re comparing apples with pears. I’m four years ahead of you in experience. You’ve only just qualified. And—hell, now is not the time for this! Remind me why we started this conversation?”
“We didn’t start anything,” Sam pointed out. “You were the one who brought it up.”
Nick looked miserable. “Sam, listen. I’m an idiot. I blurted that stuff out at the bar because I was nervous, and I’d had too much Dutch courage. And that’s because, when I asked if I could tag along tonight, it was because I thought—I mean, it was because I wanted to—Oh fucking hell!”
Nick’s gaze snagged on something behind Sam, and Sam looked over his shoulder to discover what it was.
Penny.
She was stumbling towards them, though thankfully without the mistletoe this time.
“Hello, boys!” she called as she descended on them in a cloud of heady perfume. “It’s time to go to the restaurant. Come on! You can sit with me an’ Dave an’ Trish. Baggsy I get to be sandwiched between you two!” She cackled and elbowed Sam in the ribs before grabbing one of his arms and one of Nick’s and marching them both out of the pub onto the cobbled lane. The rest of the M&H group were already out there, some singing, some shrieking and all of them generally behaving badly. Except Monica, who was squinting at her clipboard in the dark.
“Let’s go, people!” Penny called out, dropping Sam and Nick’s arms to stride ahead on her four-inch stilettos. Everyone else followed obediently, if somewhat chaotically, leaving Sam and Nick standing alone outside the Beehive for a moment.
“Sam, listen—” Nick reached out, and his fingers brushed Sam’s. A little jolt went up Sam’s arm, and he drew his hand back as though he’d been burnt.
Nick said, “Can we just finish—”
“Do you know what?” Sam interrupted with a cheerfulness he knew sounded horribly fake. “Let’s not. Not now. This is meant to be a party after all.” He gestured with his thumb in the direction Penny had just gone and added, “I think I’ll, um—catch up with the others.”
And with that, he turned away and began jogging towards them.
***
AS ITALIAN BISTROS went, La Scala scored pretty poorly. The food was forgettable, the white wine too warm. The best you could say for the place was that they delivered the food and replenished the drinks with admirable speed.
Sam’s neighbours at his end of the table ranged from so-so to setting Sam’s teeth on edge. Actually, in fairness, once the teasing about his shirt was out of the way, it was only Penny who set his teeth on edge, and even then, only periodically. Though he’d have a bruise on his side tomorrow from the elbow she shoved into his ribs every time she delivered one of her double entendres.
Nick sat at the other end of the table—next to Mike, of course, Nick’s biggest fan. The best young lawyer I’ve ever trained, Mike had told Sam once.
Not what a new employee wanted to hear from his boss, but once he’d been through Nick’s files, Sam had to admit, grudgingly, there was something in what Mike said. He hadn’t realised how narrow his own experience had been till he’d read those files. Nick’s sureness in dealing with such a broad spectrum of law intimidated Sam, his time records displaying that he didn’t take half as long to get up to speed on any area as Sam did.
At first Sam had comforted himself with the thought that Nick was probably a law geek with no social skills—until Nick had come into the office.
Every time Sam thought about their first meeting, he wanted to die. He’d been at his desk when his phone had buzzed with an internal call—Mike in a meeting room, asking if Sam could pop through for a minute?
He’d walked into the boardroom to find Mike drinking coffee with the most gorgeous bloke he’d seen in ages. And then? Utter humiliation.
“Sam, meet Nick Foster, your predecessor. I thought it might be an idea for him to chat you through a few things on your caseload.”
Two hours later, Sam emerged from the boardroom with a sheaf of notes recording Nick’s thoughts and suggestions and a brand-new nemesis.
Wonder Boy.
“Mi scusi.”
“Oh, sorry!” Sam jerked back and looked up at the waiter who was sliding a plate of mini mince pies onto the table to go with the coffee that was mostly being ignored by the increasingly drunken M&H crowd.
“No bother, mate,” the waiter replied, ditching the Italian accent for a Mancunian one. He took a moment to give Sam a slow once-over and a broad wink before moving on. He was a bit shorter than Sam with a heavy five-o’clock shadow and hair sprouting out of his open collar. Not handsome, but sexy in a rough-trade sort of way. In fact, he reminded Sam of Gareth with his stocky build and square, capable hands.
Oddly though, stocky and sexy didn’t appeal to Sam tonight. Tall and lean, however—
Midthought, he glanced at Nick, only to find that Nick’s eyes were on the departing waiter, his gaze hostile. An instant later, Nick seemed to realise Sam was looking at him and met his gaze with a guilty expression before hurriedly looking away again.
Weird.
It was eleven o’clock now, and the meal was winding up, though several new bottles of wine had just been plonked down, and Penny was pouring brimming glasses for everyone.
“You’re on white, aren’t you, Sammy?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
The glass of wine she shoved towards him was as warm as all the others before it, but he took a big swallow anyway.
Just then, a loud posh voice at the other end of the table called out, “Oh, listen everyone! What’s that I hear?”
It was Monica. She was standing at the other end of the table, a hand cupped behind her ear. There were a few muted cheers, and Sam looked round, puzzled. Some general shushing resulted in the table quietening down. Then the sound of reindeer bells, followed by a big cheer from everyone round the table.
“Yeah! It’s time for Santa!” Penny yelled. And yes, Father Christmas had indeed arrived—or rather Mike had nipped off to stick on a cheap Santa suit that looked like it had seen better days.
“Ho, ho, ho!” Santa Mike bellowed. “Me-e-e-erry Christmas!”
The whole table whooped and cheered.
“Well, hello Monica,” Santa Mike said once the noise had died down. “Are you going to be my little helper this evening?”
Monica simpered her agreement—her crush on Mike was gigantic and the subject of much office hilarity—and fished in the sack for the first parcel.
“Here you are, Santa,” she said, handing it to him. It was an oddly shaped parcel wrapped in garish reindeer paper and topped with a large pink gift rosette.
“Now, let me see,” Santa Mike improvised, searching for the tag. “This looks like a nice present for a lady, I think. Oh yes, it’s for Trish!” He strode over to Trish and handed her the present, demanding a kiss in exchange.
Everyone watched as Trish opened it. Light-up reindeer horns and an ice-cube tray that made penis-shaped ice cubes tumbled out. Trish laughed, and everyone cheered. Penny took the reindeer horns and tucked the headband into Trish’s frizzy hair. There was a pregnant pause, then the lights came on and everyone cheered again.
The next present went to Rod—a nasal-hair trimmer in the shape of a giant finger. Then Elaine got a home pole-dancing kit, and Eric got a neon-pink mankini thong which he pulled on over his jeans and polo shirt. Each time a gift was opened, there was general hilarity and loud calls for demonstrations.
Sam realised, with gnawing horror, that he’d totally misread the brief. He dreaded his own offering coming out. When it finally did—and was handed to Paul the Cashier—there was an embarrassed silence.
“Oh, that’s nice!” Monica said at last, in the sort of deliberately jolly tone people use when they’re trying to cheer someone up. “Everyone likes fizz, don’t they?”
Paul looked crushed.
Penny hissed, “Who bought that? What a crap present!” while Sam flushed and wished himself anywhere but there.
The whole excruciating process went on and on and on. Plainly everyone had been looking forward to the Secret Santa part of the evening, and they were determined to milk it to death.
Eventually, however, everyone had their presents—everyone except Sam.
“Oh no, Santa!” Monica chirped in mock horror. “There’s one young fellow who doesn’t have a present yet. Young Sam over there.”
“Ho, ho, ho. I’m sure we must have something for him, Monica! Have another fumble in my sack.”
Everyone shrieked with laughter and Monica dug deep, burrowing right down to the bottom. When she pulled her arm out, she held a big square parcel wrapped in blue paper covered with fat dancing polar bears. Mike delivered the gift, subjecting Sam to a manly handshake-n-hug before he was finally allowed to sit down again. By then, the rest of the table was baying to find out what his gift was.
Sam tore the paper off and pulled it out.
A... mirror?
The gold frame bore a plaque with the legend “Mr. Perfect” printed on it in sweeping cursive script. A tub of his favourite hair wax was taped to the glass.
“Mr Perfect!” Penny squealed beside him. “Oh my God, that’s so you, Sammy! You and your hair gel!” She started cackling, and the rest of the table joined in.
Sam had to resist a sudden urge to lift his hand and smooth his hair into a tamer style. Somehow he managed to muster up a laugh and make a joke about “already having one of these,” but he felt sick and depressed as the quips began to pile up about his devotion to his appearance. The collage shirt came in for a lot of good-natured abuse, and then Dave had a go about his Armani shoulder bag. Sam did his best to laugh along, but really, did everyone at M&H think he was some shallow wanker? It certainly felt like it right now. They all seemed to be enjoying ripping him to shreds, and all he could do was sit there and take it.
Trish shouted down the table, “Did you buy Sam’s pressie, Nick? I bet you did! You always buy the best Secret Santa presents!” Sam glanced down the table at Nick then, and it was obvious it was him who’d bought it. He looked mortified when he met Sam’s gaze, and Sam quickly looked away again, swallowing hard.
Penny grabbed the tub of hair wax and opened it up. “Who’s for a new ’do?” she shouted. She took a great dollop of the stuff and started rubbing it between her hands. “Come on, Sammy. I’ll show you how it’s really done.”
The table erupted in laughter again, and several voices egged her on. Sam had no choice but to take it on the chin, and anyway, it was silly to mind someone giving him a funny hairstyle when Eric was prancing around in a pink thong, and Trish was wearing reindeer horns.
Just as he was squaring his shoulders and nailing a smile on his face, a voice called down from the other end of the table. “Sam’s hair’s already caked in that stuff. Come over here if you want a challenge, Harbottle. There’s no hair wax in the world that can tame this!”
Nick.
“Y’reckon, pretty boy?” Penny laughed. She turned on her spiky heel and headed for him, rubbing her hands together in glee, while Sam stared after her, frowning.
***
AFTER LA SCALA, A FEW people headed home, but most everyone else was up for dancing at The Cellar, the local nightclub.
Sam decided to slip off quietly when no one was looking, but Mike, of all people, still in his Santa attire, accosted Sam outside the restaurant and insisted he come along. Then he walked with Sam the whole way there, preventing him from escaping.
The M&H crowd was a rowdy group, but since the bouncers at The Cellar knew Penny, they were let straight in ahead of the small disgruntled queue already waiting.
The Cellar looked like it hadn’t been done up in years, maybe decades. Black seating with neon-pink lighting screamed 1980s. A mirrored wall that made the place look twice its actual size was a trap for the unwary. Paul the Cashier walked straight into it, making Penny laugh so hard she looked in danger of wetting herself.
The clientele ranged from teenagers to the middle-aged, and the music reflected that. As they headed for the bar and a Katy Perry song ended, a tide of young girls swept off the floor and vintage Madonna began. A few of the M&H crowd rushed to replace them, eager to start vogueing. Nick was one of them, his soft dark hair now caked in hair wax and teased into a style that, while absurd, looked oddly good on him as he threw pose after camp pose.
Exactly how had Sam missed that Nick was gay?
“We need to have a little chat,” a voice said in his ear.
Sam turned. It was Mike.
“Come on,” Mike said. “I bought you a beer.”
With a sinking stomach, Sam followed him to an empty booth and slid into the seat opposite. Mike’s serious expression was making him uncomfortable. The few glasses of wine Sam had consumed during the meal had done nothing to ease the vague stiffness he couldn’t quite shake off around his boss. He reached for the bottle of beer Mike had set down in front of him and took a long nervous pull.
“I was going to talk to you about this after the holidays, at your appraisal,” Mike began, “but I gather you’ve been worrying about things lately, so I thought I’d better set you straight on a few things here and now.”
Shit.
Sam met Mike’s steady gaze, anxiety churning in his gut. This was it. They were going to have the Conversation. The one about how Sam wasn’t performing. Probably the one about how Mike would have to let Sam go after Christmas.
But then... Mike smiled. It was kind of a weird smile. Not like a big, full-on grin. More sort of... puzzled.
“So,” he began, “I know you found it hard when you started with us. I was asking you to do stuff you’d never done before, and that wasn’t easy for you. We both had to adjust to that.”
He looked at Sam as though expecting a response.
“It’s—well, it’s pretty different at M&H from where I trained,” Sam admitted.
Mike nodded. “I know. But you’ve coped with it really well. You work harder than anyone, Sam, and your growth over these last few months has been phenomenal.”
That was not what Sam had been expecting to hear. He blinked. “Really?”
Again, Mike smiled that puzzled smile. “Yes, really. As far as I’m concerned, things are working out great, and we’ll make your contract permanent in January. If that’s what you want.”
“It’s absolutely what I want,” Sam assured him. “But—I suppose I’m kind of surprised.”
Mike frowned. “This comes as a surprise to you?”
“Um, yeah. A bit.”
“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t make my views more clear,” Mike said. “I assumed you knew I was happy with you since I hadn’t said otherwise. I suppose Nick was right.”
“Nick?” Sam asked quickly. “Right about what?”
Mike shrugged. “Apparently I’m not the best at giving feedback. Nick tells me that in all the years he worked for me, I only made two positive comments about his work.”
“Wait,” Sam said. “We’re talking about Nick, here? Nick Foster? You love Nick!”
“Yeah. Well, apparently I never told him that.”
Sam laughed. Maybe a little too hard, because right now he was feeling dizzy with relief and happiness, but Mike didn’t look put out. He grinned in response.
“So,” Mike said. “Does that mean you’re going to stay with us? Next year’s promising to be busy, and the last thing I need is another good lawyer leaving.”
Mike thought Sam was a good lawyer?
Just hearing that casual comment settled something in Sam. Some doubt that had been nagging at him for the last year.
“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “I’m going to stay.”
Mike looked pleased. “Good. And I’ll try to get better on the feedback front, okay?”
“Okay.”
They talked for a while longer before Mike excused himself with a yawn. “Time to take myself off,” he said, standing up. “The twins’ll be up at six tomorrow regardless of what time I get home. As for you, go and dance. Have some fun. That’s what Christmas parties are for.”
Despite Mike’s parting words, Sam stayed in the booth after he left, too gobsmacked to move yet. He’d been wrong about so much. Mike didn’t think he was an idiot. In fact, he thought Sam was a good lawyer. He wanted to make him permanent, wanted Sam on his team.
And Nick had spoken to Mike. Had been worried about Sam.
Sam wasn’t sure what to make of that at all. He wasn’t sure what to make of Nick.
That Secret Santa gift.
Mr Perfect.
His first reaction had been that it must be a dig about his attention to his appearance. That maybe Nick thought he was vain. Shallow. But the tub of hair wax taped to the front of the mirror had been the exact same gorgeous-smelling, ridiculously expensive stuff that Sam really used. The same stuff that was three times the Secret Santa budget. Why hadn’t Nick chosen something cheap and tacky? It would have been just as funny.
Sam thought back over their earlier conversation in the Beehive, the humiliation he’d felt when Nick had let it slip that he knew Sam hadn’t been coping at work. Sam had been so mortified he’d barely registered much of what Nick was actually saying, but now he remembered Nick’s garbled words just before Penny had interrupted them.
—when I asked if I could tag along tonight, it was because I thought—I mean, it was because I wanted to—
What had he been about to say?
Sam had practically shredded the label on his beer bottle when the object of his thoughts slid into the booth opposite him.
“Hey there.”
Sam looked up, and something in his chest flip-flopped. Nick was smiling, brown eyes warm, hair crazy.
“Oh. Hi.” The words came out all breathless, and Sam wanted to slide under the table. What the hell was wrong with him? Why was his heart pounding, just from looking at Nick Foster?
“Everything go okay with Mike?” Nick was still smiling, but his brows were faintly furrowed, a hint of concern in the warm depths of his eyes.
“Yeah,” Sam said. “Great, in fact.”
The furrows smoothed, and Nick’s smile deepened, a small dimple flashing in one cheek. “Good.”
“You spoke to him,” Sam said. “Again.”
Nick eyed him carefully. “Are you pissed off about that?”
Sam considered that. “I probably should be,” he said after a beat. “But I’m too relieved.”
“I couldn’t stand by and say nothing,” Nick said. “Not after you told me how you felt. Not when I know for a fact he rates you. He’s just the worst at telling people how they’re doing. Basically, if he’s not saying he’s unhappy, he’s happy.”
Sam smiled. “I’ll bear that in mind for the future”
Their gazes caught and held for a long intimate moment, and suddenly Sam’s gut was churning again, this time with a restless sort of anticipation.
“So,” he said, trying to sound casual. “What was that Secret Santa gift about?”
Nick flushed, and Sam stared at him, fascinated.
“Were you pissed off about that?” Nick asked at last. “You looked a bit—” He broke off, dark eyes searching Sam’s face. “I don’t know—maybe a bit... hurt?”
Sam canted his head to one side. “Should I have been?”
“No! Bloody hell, no! I didn’t mean to make fun of you!” Nick looked appalled at the thought. Then he took a deep breath and said, “Sam, the only reason I’m here tonight is because of you. I asked Monica to make sure I got your name for the Secret Santa, and I bought that ridiculously expensive hair wax because”—he closed his eyes, as though too embarrassed to say the next words while looking at Sam—“because I kind of love the smell of it on you. And I got the mirror to make it funny because the rule is that your Secret Santa present has to be funny.”
“Yeah, no one told me that one,” Sam said dryly.
Nick opened his eyes again. His lips twitched. “Let me guess. You bought the champagne for Paul.”
“How did you know?”
“You looked mortified when it was being given out,” Nick admitted. “But don’t worry, no one else probably noticed. They were all too drunk.”
They both chuckled. Then their gazes locked again.
“I like the shirt by the way,” Nick said softly.
“Yeah? You’re the only one.”
“I doubt it.” Nick said. “You’re too sensitive. They were just teasing you at the restaurant. It’s a compliment—you only get that kind of treatment at M&H once they’ve accepted you.”
“You reckon?”
“I know.”
For the longest time, they stared at one another over the table, and it was so very intimate to simply gaze and be gazed at, saying nothing. It was as intimate as sex to allow that degree of scrutiny, and Sam’s body was behaving as though it were sex, his breath coming short, his cock hardening.
He gathered his courage and spoke, breaking the silence between them.
“So, do you want to come back to my place?”
***
THEY SLIPPED OUT OF The Cellar, unnoticed by the remaining M&H party crew who were all on the floor for Rocking Around the Christmas Tree. Penny and Monica were performing an incongruous jive for the others who circled them, whooping and clapping.
Sam zipped up his jacket as they exited the club, his breath pluming out on the freezing air. His beanie hat fell out of his pocket onto the ground. Before he could bend to retrieve it, Nick was picking it up and handing it to him.
“Don’t lose your hat. You’ll need it in this weather.”
Sam took it half reluctantly, thinking of his hair and how it would be ruined by the beanie, how ridiculous it would look when he took the hat off. But then, given the state of Nick’s hair, he’d be in good company. Steeling himself, he pulled the hat snugly on his head, a little thrill of pleasure rushing through him at Nick’s look of approval.
“So, where’s your place?” Nick asked.
“This way,” Sam said. He buried his hands in his pockets and started walking, and Nick fell into step beside him. “It’s not too far, just a mile up the road.”
They chatted easily on the way, not touching, laughing amiably over the evening’s events, but the whole time there was an underlying, barely suppressed excitement sparking between them. It made every joke seem funnier and every shared opinion seem more amazing. It made Sam’s smile impossible to shift.
By the time they arrived at the modern block where Sam lived, his heart was tripping at double speed, fingers shaking as he unlocked the main door and led the way up the two flights to his front door.
“Come on in,” he invited Nick, swinging the door open.
The flat was cold; Sam took a second to shuck his jacket and boost the central heating, then walked through to the living room, Nick following.
“Nice place,” Nick said, removing his own coat, turning around as he did so to take it all in: big sofa, wall-mounted speakers, family photos, game console, bookshelves. Dropping his coat on the sofa, he lifted the graphic novel Sam had left splayed open, cracked spine upwards, on the coffee table. He flicked through it, eyebrows hitching up before glancing at Sam. “Tank Girl?”
Sam shrugged. “I like comics. Do you want a drink?”
“I can think of something I want more,” Nick replied, slinging the book back onto the sofa as he prowled towards Sam.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
Nick didn’t answer, just stepped right into his space, lifting one hand to slowly draw off the beanie Sam had forgotten.
Sam’s hand flew up. “My hair probably looks stupid,” he said self-consciously.
“Yeah, it does a bit.” Nick knocked Sam’s hand aside and smoothing his hair down himself, his hand warm and sure. “But I like it. Even though it makes you look less perfect than usual.”
“Perfect?” Sam parroted, astonished at the very idea. He was about as far from perfect as he could imagine.
Nick stepped in closer and touched Sam’s face, his thumb smoothing across Sam’s cheekbone. “Yeah,” he whispered. “The mirror wasn’t really a joke at all, not from my point of view.” He leaned slowly forward, a half question in his gaze as he did so until, at last, his lips touched Sam’s.
Oh yeah.
Nick’s mouth was warm and mobile and relaxed. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry as he slowly teased Sam’s lips apart with his own and slid his tongue inside Sam’s mouth.
Sam moaned at that silky invasion, taking hold of Nick’s hips to pull him closer. They were about the same height, so everything met, their chests, their hips, their thighs. Sam’s hard-on nuzzled Nick’s through their clothes as they kissed on and on, Nick’s fingers tunnelling through Sam’s hair and their tongues twining. It felt like they were breathing the same air, sharing the same body.
Nick pulled back a little and murmured against Sam’s lips, “What do you like?”
“I—oh God, anything. I just—”
“Any objection to me sucking your cock?”
“Christ, no!”
Nick laughed. He had a great laugh, low and sexy. Sam grabbed his hand and towed him to the bedroom.
It was freezing in there. The central heating was only just beginning to crank up, the sound of water creaking in the pipes the only noise except for the thudding of Sam’s heart, which he was sure must be audible; it was pounding so hard. Sam crossed the room to flick on the bedside lamp, and when he turned back round, it was to find Nick undoing the buttons on his dark shirt, head lowered to the task. Sam bit his lip as Nick shouldered the shirt off and it dropped to the floor. The man was gorgeous, long and lean with pale golden skin and the spare musculature of a distance runner.
Sam raised his hands to unbutton his own shirt, but in his excitement he was all fingers and thumbs, and as soon as he’d undone the first couple of buttons, he yanked it over his head, throwing his favourite, ridiculously expensive shirt onto the floor like a rag. Then he paced towards Nick, reaching for his belt to pull him in and begin unfastening his trousers.
Nick groaned as Sam delved inside his loosened clothes to take hold of his shaft. He thrust up into Sam’s hand, his cock hot and hard, while he fumbled to undo Sam’s trousers in turn.
Sam kissed Nick, hard, while Nick shoved their clothes down, and then, finally, their naked cocks were nudging and bumping, and they began grinding against each other, the friction intensely pleasurable, intensely exciting.
“I want to be naked with you,” Sam gasped into Nick’s mouth. “Come to bed?”
Nick looked dazed, his lips swollen. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Naked sounds good.”
They shucked off the rest of their clothes and crawled in under the covers, coming together for another deep kiss, bodies plastered together. It was strange, but Sam felt no first-hook-up awkwardness with Nick. Perhaps it was because they already knew each other, if only a little. Perhaps it was because Sam already liked Nick.
After another minute or two of kissing, they shifted so that Sam was on his back, Nick straddling his hips. Nick looked Sam over with hooded eyes, sliding his warm hands over Sam’s torso, and Sam shivered under him.
“I want to suck you,” Nick muttered, and Sam moaned his agreement.
Nick trailed soft kisses down Sam’s body. By the time he reached his dick, Sam was trembling with want and need. He held his breath as he waited to feel Nick’s beautiful mouth on him, quite sure that Nick would be as good at giving head as he was at everything else.
He wasn’t wrong.
As Nick’s mouth worked him, Sam slid his fingers into the man’s hair, tugging him a little, eliciting a muffled groan of pleasure. He tried not to clutch too painfully, or fuck too blindly into Nick’s willing mouth, but it wasn’t easy. Nick’s grip at the base of his cock was strong and sure, the silken slide of his mouth and willing pulse of his warm throat unbelievably good. He gave amazing head, and it was all Sam could do not to explode in the first couple of minutes.
“Turn around,” Sam gasped. “Let’s sixty-nine. I want to taste you too.”
Nick mumbled his enthusiastic agreement round Sam’s cock, and then he was pulling off with a long, lascivious suck that dragged another groan from Sam’s chest.
Nick shoved the bedcovers impatiently out the way, letting them slide to the floor, and the two men met in the middle of the bed for another of those gut-wrenchingly-deep kisses.
“God,” Nick gasped when they paused to draw breath. “I’ve been wanting this for so long. Since the first time I saw you.”
Sam stared into Nick’s dark eyes, astonished by that confession. He couldn’t think how to respond. In the end, all he said was “I really want your cock in my mouth.”
It was a relief when Nick just laughed.
“Come on then,” Nick said, guiding Sam down so that he lay diagonally across the white expanse of the bed before settling himself down the other way around. And then they were reaching for one another, shifting closer, slotting their bodies together.
The delicious push-pull of sixty-nining began. Sam loved this. He loved the head-fucking craziness of sucking and being sucked simultaneously, the strange synchronicity that would set in, then fall away again as his brain struggled to find the connection between what his mouth was doing and what his cock was feeling. He loved the moments when the sheer intensity of the pleasure had his dumb animal brain shorting out. That was when his mouth would slacken with sudden inattention, and then he’d have to a scramble to get back into the game, maybe by deep-throating Nick’s shaft, or swirling his tongue around his frenulum, or drooling over his balls. And then it would be Nick’s turn to lose focus...
Yeah, he loved it all. Loved his face being fucked and the scent of Nick’s body all around him. The feel of Nick’s smooth skin under his hands. He loved the sounds Nick was making on the other side of the bed, muffled and desperate, an ocean away, yet so very close. Nick’s cries, as the wave came for them both. The wave that crested, deep in his body, before flooding out of his cock. Out of his cock and into his mouth—a different flood of saltwater there, Nick’s come—but still briny and good, familiar and new at once.
Afterwards, after Sam’s greyed-out vision had returned, and the pleasure had ebbed, they shifted around again. Nick retrieved the bedcovers from the floor, and they returned to the more conventional arrangement of heads on pillows.
“Come here,” Nick said softly, reaching for Sam.
Sam shuffled over. He pressed the length of his body against Nick’s and rested his head on Nick’s shoulder, and for a few minutes they simply lay there, blissed out from the sex, drifting in a pleasant half haze of not-quite-sleep.
After a while, Sam murmured against Nick’s shoulder “Did you mean it?”
“Mean what?” Nick touched Sam’s chin, tipping his face up so their eyes met.
“That thing about”—Sam bit his lip—“wanting me from the first time we met.”
Nick’s bitter-chocolate gaze softened, a faint smile hitching his mouth upwards. “Well—yeah. I was pretty much smitten from the moment I saw you—that very first time in Mike’s office.”
Smitten?
How had Sam not noticed? Had he missed the clues because he’d been so obsessed with showing Mike, and everyone else, that he was as good as Wonder Boy?
Or was it—perhaps—that with all the knocks he’d taken to his confidence lately, he couldn’t believe that someone like Nick could possibly be interested in him?
“I didn’t realise,” Sam mumbled. “I was oblivious.”
Nick’s handsome features formed an amused frown. “Really? You had no idea?”
“None whatsoever.”
“Jesus, Sam, you must be blind! Why do you think I kept popping into the office? Kept calling you to tell you things I’d remembered about my files? Who does that?”
Sam looked at him. “Wonder Boy does.”
“Who?”
“That’s what I used to call you in my head. Everyone at M&H thinks you’re amazing, especially Mike. The clients too. I couldn’t get through a single day at work without someone telling me how wonderful you were. So, when you kept calling and popping round, I thought”—he shrugged—“I don’t know, I sort of had this idea that maybe Mike had been asking you to help me out because I was making such a mess of things.”
“What?” Nick looked appalled. “Sam, I didn’t mean to make you feel that way at all. I just wanted you to notice me. That first time we met—when Mike called you into the meeting—it was only meant to be a quick chat, but when you walked in I couldn’t stop staring at you. You looked so bloody perfect in your beautiful suit, with that face and”—he gave a rueful laugh—“the hair, of course.”
Sam wrinkled his nose. “That’s just looks.”
“I know. And the looks are lovely, but that wasn’t all there was to it. You were so nice. You seemed interested in everything I had to say about the cases, and you asked all these smart questions, and somehow I ended up talking and talking. You’re good at that, you know. Bringing people out of themselves, making them feel listened to and important.”
Sam swallowed, remembering his annoyance and resentment that day. Plainly, he’d covered up his feelings too successfully, and now he felt dishonest. Two-faced. If Nick knew what he was really like...
“I’m really not as nice as you think,” he mumbled.
Nick’s lips curved. “I think you’re perfect.”
“Nick, seriously, you have no idea how imperfect I am,” Sam replied, mortified. “People always say that I’m this nice guy, but sometimes my thoughts are mean. Remember what I told you about what an arrogant prick I was when I joined M&H? If anyone’s perfect, you are—you’re the one—”
He got no further.
Nick silenced him with a kiss, just enough to shut him up. Then he eased gently back again.
“I know you’re not perfect,” Nick whispered, his breath warm against Sam’s lips. “God knows, I’m not either. But I think we might be... perfect for each other. And I’d certainly like the chance to find out.”
“Would you?” Sam asked thickly.
Nick nodded. “Right now, I feel a bit like a Secret Santa gift. You didn’t really choose me, did you? You’ve only just taken the wrapping paper off, and you’ve not had a chance to think about keeping me. But if you could keep me, for a bit, maybe we could try it out? Try us out. See if we might be perfect together?”
He looked so uncertain.
Confident, unshakeable Nick Foster—uncertain? That was about as a crazy an idea as the one about Sam being perfect. But then, sometimes how people looked on the outside didn’t always match how they felt on the inside.
“Okay,” Sam said softly. “Let’s give this a go. Let’s... try us out.”
Nick’s smile was huge. “You’ve just given me the best Christmas present.”
“What, a Mr Perfect?” Sam grinned. “Nah. I did one better than you. I got a Wonder Boy.”
Nick chuckled, leaning in for a kiss.
“Merry Christmas, Mr Perfect,” he murmured against Sam’s lips.
“Merry Christmas, Wonder Boy.”
**
The End
Rest and Be Thankful