by Clare London
Eric carried his boxes very carefully out to the desk. Will hovered behind him, trying to catch Donnie’s eye over the boy’s bent head.
“Thank you Mr Cartwright,” Donnie said. “I have this.”
“Do you have Eric’s details—?”
“I know him,” Donnie said with a grin at Eric, who smiled back. “Eric lives at Handfart—”
Will raised his eyebrows.
“Handfast House,” Donnie said firmly and clearly, though his mouth tweaked at the sides as he held in a grin. “I caught the end of your consultation, and I’ve run off some notes about caring for tarantulas.”
Donnie handed a few printed sheets to Eric who started reading immediately. Then he seemed to remember where he was and what he should be dealing with. “How much, please?”
“That’ll be six pounds,” Donnie said clearly. His gaze flicked over to Will, who nodded and smiled at him with gratitude.
“Is that all?”
“It’s a special offer.” Donnie took a glance around the waiting room where a couple of other owners waited. Bless him, Will thought, he was making sure they didn’t hear and demand the same special treatment. They all looked like they could afford the usual rates.
Eric handed over the money solemnly and carefully. “Mr Pennington, our caretaker, said it would be more. He wanted me to let them die.”
“Sometimes it’s kinder if the pet is very sick,” Will said gently. “But these guys will perk up in no time.”
Eric didn’t seem to be listening. He was looking at the ledger Donnie had opened when he took Eric’s money. It was a thick accounts book with blue lines and several columns. Donnie had already mentioned something about Will needing a spreadsheet for the accounts, but Will confessed he was in denial when it came to practical I.T.
“It should be twenty five,” Eric said.
Donnie frowned. “What should?”
“Column five. The total on line twelve. You’ve written twenty three.”
Will cleared his throat. “Actually. That’s my handwriting. Sorry.”
“Well, it’s wrong,” Eric said, though his tone was mild.
Donnie tilted his head as if looking at Eric afresh. “Are you good with numbers, Eric? Can you create spreadsheets?”
Eric stared with amazement, as if Donnie had asked Eric if he could put on his own socks of a morning. “Of course. I can set that up for you.”
“No macros or anything?” Donnie glanced quickly, almost guiltily at Will. “I don’t think Will—Mr Cartwright—needs anything that sophisticated.”
“No problem. You need cross checks per week and a summary sheet for the financial year to date. The ability to sort by client name and invoice status.” Eric beamed that marvellous smile of his at Donnie. “I have time on Thursday, between four fifteen and five. I’m meeting someone after that.”
Donnie looked delighted, though amused at Eric’s precision. “That would be great. I’ll see you then.”
Will didn’t know what language they were speaking, as they stood chatting and smiling at each other, but it looked like Donnie had it all in hand.
His heart seemed suddenly too big for his rib cage, which was, of course, ridiculous.
Maybe Donnie had that in hand, too.
They locked up again that evening. Will liked the routine of straightening the surgery before the end of the day, locking up the medicines, cleaning and putting away his instruments, while Donnie finished the filing, which he wanted to keep up with on a daily basis. Donnie took it even further, preparing a list for the following day’s appointments so he could get the files ready for Will in the morning, making sure all the electrical sockets were turned off at the wall, emptying the rubbish into the appropriate bins in Will’s room.
Will had an ulterior motive too. When Donnie came into the consultation room to tidy the mess Will had inevitably made, Will could scoop his arm around Donnie’s waist and pull him in for a kiss. Or three.
“You taste good.”
“Yeah?” Donnie looked rueful. “I had a curried tuna sandwich for lunch.”
“Maybe I like curried tuna,” said Will, though he didn’t. But all he could taste was Donnie. Donnie’s tongue darted strongly, fiercely, into Will’s mouth.
“Really?”
“Well. No, actually. I prefer sea bass.” At Donnie’s blink, he rushed on, “But I like you, so that’s just as good.”
Donnie chuckled. “And I like you in uniform.”
“Uniform?”
Donnie ran his fingers along the lapel of Will’s white coat. Donnie had slim, supple fingers. Will couldn’t help remembering them on his cock, his balls, stroking his shoulders, his armpits even… His thoughts were rambling and his heartbeat had increased. “Uniform, eh? You have a thing about that?”
Donnie searched Will’s face. “Hey, don’t worry. I don’t have any strange fetishes. At least, not if you don’t share them.”
Will knew without a doubt that Donnie would share anything Will could suggest. Not that anything came to mind: his brain seized up with excitement at the mere thought of getting naked with Donnie. No question that Donnie was the adventurous one when it came to sex, though Will was catching on fast. The nights in Donnie’s bed were a whirl of passion, but also a chance for Will to experience a young man with few inhibitions.
As in the fact that Will would never have thought to mess with Donnie in his surgery waiting room, even after hours, even if everything professional had been tidied away, even if the blinds were down at the front of the shop to shield them from outside passers-by—
But as Donnie sank to his knees, it was obviously not a worry for Donnie.
“Oh god. Donnie!”
“Hush. No one can see us, but the walls are thin. I know, I live next door to the launderette and it’s open until late. I have to turn up the TV over the sound of the driers sometimes.”
“Donnie?”
“Hm?”
Will’s laugh was ragged. “No worries about chatting. I can’t maintain a sensible conversation.”
“I’ll use my mouth elsewhere then, shall I?” And he swiped his tongue over the top of Will’s cock.
And all talking ceased.
CHAPTER 13
The restaurant had probably seemed a really good idea to Will. Donnie imagined Will ate at places like this all the time. Cloth napkins, several, different-sized glasses, a basket of fresh bread appearing almost as soon as they sat down. The music in the background was quiet and something classical. The sound of other diners—the chink of cutlery, the occasional chuckle, murmured conversation—was all muted rather than the loud cheerfulness Donnie was used to in pubs and fast food places.
“Are you okay?” Will smiled at him. “How’s the soup?”
“It’s great,” Donnie said. Was his voice too loud? “Really great.” He liked soup a lot. Though even he had never considered cooking chicken in green tea.
“I know how much you love recipes and cooking. The chef here is making all the local papers with his new approach to traditional dishes. The pie has a cheese and nut crust. And the dessert menu is really unusual.”
Donnie tried to banish the immediate vision of ice cream potentially baked in pesto. He sat back in his chair—feeling a long way away from Will on the other side of the table—and placed his soup spoon very carefully on his plate.
Will looked up from his appetiser, caught sight of Donnie’s face, and frowned. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I should have checked the menu with you first.”
“It’s fine. I like it. It’s just…” He glanced quickly around the room. “I think I should have changed after work into something smarter.” He cast his memory through his small wardrobe of clothes, wondering what that would have been. He’d been happy in his red lip-print shirt and the olive green jeans, at least until they’d walked in here. Will had come in casual clothes too, but the shirt was a fine linen mix, an understated colour, the trousers some kind of twill. He looked cool and fabulous, wh
atever he wore.
“Oh, it’s very easygoing here,” Will said. “No dress code that I know of.”
Will wouldn’t, Donnie thought, rather unkindly. He blended perfectly.
Will had stopped eating by now. He looked worried. “Do you want to leave?”
“No. It’s fine.” Donnie knew he was repeating himself. But this wasn’t the place to have this conversation. He shouldn’t have said anything, shouldn’t have given any hint at all he wasn’t comfortable here.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, everything’s great.” And he had to admit, he was looking forward to trying the pastry crust. Last time he’d baked an unusual pie, it had been because he tipped the wrong pot of seasoning into the mixture.
Will still looked unsettled, but they were quiet while the waiter cleared the soup plates away.
“This is a special thank you from me,” Will said, as soon as they were alone again.
“What for?”
“All the time you’ve been at the surgery. You’re really handling things well. I don’t know how the hell I managed without you. I can leave all the routine work to you and get on with my own job. With the consultations, with the clients. That’s what’s really important, after all.”
Donnie felt his smile tighten involuntarily. “Yes? I mean, yes. It is.”
“I wanted to treat you, after what’s nearly your first month’s work.”
“Will, you idiot. The damn job’s a treat in itself.”
“I’d still like to spoil you.”
It wasn’t worth the argument, so Donnie just smiled and nodded. “Okay.”
Will continued, “And you may say the job’s a treat, but I find it a challenge sometimes.”
“Why?” Donnie was genuinely puzzled. “Your clients are great people. I like talking to them, helping them through it all.”
“I know you do. I mean, I love my job. But don’t you struggle with the owners who get belligerent when they don’t get immediate attention? With pets being poorly trained, with the conditions we see every day which could have been avoided with more knowledge, expertise, or care?”
Donnie was trying to think what to say when Will laughed, a little bitterly. “No, you don’t, do you? How lucky you are, being a glass half-full man.”
“I find it all interesting,” Donnie said. “That’s all. The filing, the mopping up—pets and owners—and the protection duties.”
“Protection?”
Donnie chanced a wink at Will. “From parrots with a spectacles fetish. Incontinent cats. Spiders and snakes, though they’re usually safely in boxes. I protect you from the marauding pets, Mr Cartwright.”
They smiled at each other, and then Will laughed. It was a sensible, full-bodied laugh, probably too loud for the restaurant, but not too loud for Donnie’s liking. Will needed to laugh more often. The sound of it, in his rich, strong voice, made Donnie’s toes curl with pleasure.
“Oh, Donnie,” Will said, and reached across the table to grab Donnie’s hand. “What wonderful things are you doing to me?”
The waiter was fetching more sparkling water for them when, out of the corner of his eye, Donnie noticed movement at a nearby table. A man stood abruptly, tall and elegantly dressed. It was obvious from his manner that he was totally at ease here. He smiled at his companions—a middle aged, impeccably dressed couple who looked as at home here as he did—then glanced over at Donnie and Will’s table. He stilled, his eyes widening. Donnie quickly twisted his head back around, but oh god, the man was walking over! Donnie could hear the man’s confident stride towards their table. It was as if he could feel the man’s breath on his shoulder blades.
“Will? It is you, I thought so.”
Will gave the smallest start, then frowned. “Liam. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“A lucky coincidence, right?” Liam’s voice was bold, brusque, like his whole body language. “And who’s your cute friend?”
Donnie bit back a sigh and swivelled in his chair so he could shake hands. “Donnie. Hello.”
Will’s voice was unusually sharp. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to call anyone cute, Liam, let alone someone you don’t know.”
Liam laughed, a booming sound in the quiet room. “Come on Will, you always were a bit of a prude. Good to meet you, Donnie. And what do you do for a living?”
“I work for Will.”
“With Will. With me,” Will snapped.
To Donnie’s dismay, Liam dragged a spare chair across and sat between them.
“We’re eating dinner, Liam,” Will protested. He’d gone quite pale.
“No, you’re not,” Liam said. “Takes the kitchen a good twenty minutes to arrange the bloody parsley sprig on the top in some artistic way.” He grinned as if they’d agree with the joke, and what’s more, that he was hilariously funny.
Donnie’s heart sank. He knew guys like this, full of jarring laughter and too-loud bonhomie, at least until they didn’t get their own way. How did Will even know this man? And he didn’t like the way Liam’s gaze ran over him; the look Liam darted between the pair of them.
Liam’s attention turned to Will. “I saw the Andersons last week. They’re looking to move out of Kensington. Central London is ghastly nowadays. Full of tourists and oligarchs!” He laughed again. “They’re having one of their infamous parties next weekend.”
“Are they?” Will’s lips looked thin; tense. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Donnie. Are you a party guy?” Liam was staring at Donnie again.
“Not really,” Donnie said.
“That’s enough, Liam,” Will said. “You’re bothering Donnie.”
“Don’t worry,” Donnie said, trying to soothe Will. “It’s fine—”
“No, it’s not!” Will interrupted harshly. “Stop bloody saying that!”
And the whole table fell silent.
CHAPTER 14
Donnie had no idea what to say or do, and Will seemed to have withdrawn into himself.
“No need to get in a strop about it,” Liam continued in the same tone, as if he barely noticed the tension. “You’ve been out of the loop too long.” He reached over and snagged a piece of bread from their basket, then proceeded to peel the crust off and eat the soft middle. He didn’t even put the crust back in the basket, just left it on the cloth. “People have been wondering where you’ve hidden yourself. Why we don’t show up anywhere together anymore.”
“You know the answer to that,” Will said. “I have a business now. I’m busy.”
“Coping okay without Uncle Gerald’s support, eh? I always thought you were a far better vet than he was, of course. But he held the purse strings, so I guess that’s why you stuck it for so long. He had a soft spot for you, I thought.”
Will was silent.
“Has he been in touch—?”
“We don’t talk,” Will said, clipping the words as sharply as he’d bitten his breadstick. “And really, Liam, I’d like to get on with my meal.” He didn’t meet Donnie’s eyes. “In peace.”
Liam gave a huff of frustration and stood, pushing the chair back noisily across the polished wooden floor. “No problem. But give me a call, okay? It’d be good to catch up. Plus, I’ve seen a couple of properties that would be excellent for your expansion plans. Just say the word and we can go and scope them out. Donnie could come along too. Anytime’s okay by me.” Then he winked at Donnie, turned, and strode back to his own table.
The main course arrived and Donnie gazed at the steaming, fragrant pie and vegetables. He wanted to enjoy the food, he really did, but at the moment his throat was too tight to swallow. Will had a right to his privacy, but Donnie didn’t think he could keep quiet about the whole exchange.
“Is Liam a vet too?”
“No.” Will looked both angry and guilty, or so it seemed to Donnie. “Liam’s an estate agent. But his uncle owned the practice where I was before, and Liam was close to him. He often came around to the surgery.”
Donnie wasn’t stupid. So, he wasn’t sure why he bothered with the next question, when he was pretty sure of the answer. “Were you and Liam an item?”
“I dated him, yes. For a short time.”
Donnie nodded, though he’d never felt less like agreeing.
“A very short time,” Will was saying, with some urgency. “It was obvious quite quickly that we didn’t work as a couple.”
Of course, Will would have had a love life before they met. Donnie had history too. Just not as suave and obviously rich as Liam’s.
“You don’t have to talk about it, Will. But what you told me when we first met… was he the tosser who harassed you?”
Will’s eyes widened. “My God, no. That was Gerald—the Uncle Gerry Liam mentioned.”
“His own uncle? Shit. What did Liam say to that?”
Will’s expression had gone cold. “Liam didn’t believe me. We’d already stopped dating, but I told him anyway. He was still one of my closest friends—at least, I thought so—and I decided he should know. It wasn’t a one-off, Donnie. Gerry had been creeping me out for a while. I was completely confused, angry and distressed, not sure what was real and what I might be imagining. I was trying to decide what to do, what it all meant for my career. I never thought anything like that would happen to me.”
“Will. Don’t.” Donnie could hardly bear the pain in Will’s expression.
But Will was obviously determined to continue. “Anyway. Liam had the nerve to defend his uncle, and more or less said I was paranoid. We argued furiously. That was the last time we spoke.” Will’s throat bobbed as he swallowed heavily. “To tell you the truth, what was worse, my own parents were… conflicted at my story. That’s the best description I can give. My family has always been in the same social circle as Gerald’s. It was all a bit…”
