by A. J. Truman
Rafe pulled out notes which he’d gotten from the on-campus ATM and slid them over the bar. Eamonn waved his hand to get the bartender’s attention. He ordered them their usual drinks. The bar was packed and bodies mashed against them. The gay guys he saw weren’t much different than the ones in America, minus the accents.
“Does a British accent do anything for you?” he asked Eamonn.
Eamonn shook his head no and handed him a pint glass.
“What’s is this exactly? I always see you and Heath drinking them.”
“It’s called a snakebite and black. It’s lager, cider, and a dash of black courant. I think you’ll like it.”
“It’s like ombre in drink form.” Rafe had a taste and was pleased by the dash of sweetness mixed with the hardness of the beer. And it definitely had a bite.
There were no booths or stools available, but Eamonn pushed through the crowd and found a space by the wall. “Well, this works.”
“This is great!” Rafe yelled above the din.
They placed their drinks on the piece of wood sticking out from the wall. The glow of the lights bathed them in a dark yellow haze. Eamonn took a sip of his beer and set it down. Laffly’s wasn’t so different from Apothecary. It was a bar. People stood around and drank. They just happened to be gay.
“They have snooker here, too,” Rafe said. A gaggle of gays parted, revealing the open table.
“And it’s open. We should grab it,” Eamonn said.
Or you can grab me. Rafe had to make sure not to drink too much lest he say those thoughts out loud. He had plenty of available guys here to choose from. Why was he still fixating on Eamonn?
Rafe followed him to the table. “I don’t know how to play.”
“Do you want to learn?”
He nodded yes.
Eamonn handed Rafe a pool cue. “Time to break you in then.”
Rafe’s head went dizzy at the other kinds of breaking in Eamonn could do with him.
EAMONN
Eamonn explained the rules of the game to Rafe, but judging by the deer-in-the-headlights reaction he was getting from the Yank, most of it didn’t stick.
“Don’t worry. You’ll learn as we go. Just remember that you want to pot as many reds as you can.”
“Pot?” Rafe asked.
“Get balls in the hole.”
Eamonn felt his cheeks heat up. Like his photographer impression in the cab, he had to watch what he said. He got into position and nailed the white ball straight into the pyramid of reds. They scattered in all directions like a flock of pidgeons.
He surveyed the table, devising a strategy in his head. He glanced over at Rafe, who was trying to do the same thing. Rafe squeezed the pool cue in his hands as he studied the table. It made his arm muscles tense. Eamonn noticed the definition hiding under his T-shirt, and it sent blood rushing to his own pool cue.
“Damn,” Eamonn said after his shot. One of the reds bounced off the edge of the pocket.
“Don’t go easy on me,” Rafe said.
“I’m not.” I just got a little distracted.
Rafe leaned down and pointed his cue haphazardly at a ball that he’d never get in. He might have been good at maths, but Eamonn doubted he could translate it here on the first try.
“Let’s have this be an open game,” Eamonn said. “It’ll be practice. I’ll help you.”
He signaled for Rafe to come to his side of the table. He got close and whispered into Rafe’s ear, “Aim for that red into the side pocket. You have a better shot of making it. You don’t want to leave any balls that your opponent could easily get in.”
Eamonn realized he didn’t need to whisper any of this since it was obvious to anyone playing that this was a no-brainer shot. He did like getting a whiff of Rafe’s musk, at least.
“Leave no balls hanging. Got it.” Rafe bent over the table and got his cue into position behind the white ball. Eamonn might’ve checked his arse out—to make sure the cue was lined up correctly, of course. And what a pert, round arse it was.
“Yes!” Rafe yelled as the red slid into the pocket.
“That was knees up, mate!” Eamonn patted him on the bum without thinking. Rafe did a double take at the area of impact. Shit.
“Which ball next?” Rafe didn’t seem offended, but that was probably his friendly American instincts, and he was most likely inwardly recoiling.
Eamonn put his focus back on the table. He found the yellow ball in close proximity to a corner hole.
“I got this,” Rafe said.
“A bit cocky, aren’t we?”
“A bit nervous, aren’t we?”
Rafe studied the shot one more time before bending over the table. Eamonn sneaked one quick peek, just to make sure his cue was placed correctly. And then the guy gave his arse a little wiggle to get into position, and Eamonn nearly poked a bloody hole in his trousers. Bleeding Christ.
“That’s two in a row!” Rafe straightened himself and hi-fived Eamonn. And even with that, Eamonn’s hand still felt compelled to pat him on the bum!
Eamonn told himself to get it together and ignore the need to touch Rafe’s body.
When Rafe whiffed his next shot, Eamonn set his sights on a red ball at the far corner of the table. He focused on getting the shot lined up. Rafe stood over the corner pot where Eamonn wanted his ball to go. His crotch was literally in his eyeline.
“Can you move over?” Eamonn asked. He took a deep breath and got back into position. “Shit.”
The red hit the pocket too hard and bounced away.
Rafe’s shot improved throughout the game, and Eamonn made sure not to let his eyes drift down to his arse again. Instead, he liked to watch how his eyebrows seemed to knit together as he concentrated, and how Rafe looked to his reaction as soon as he hit a ball.
“One ball left,” Rafe announced a little while later. It was the blue ball. Appropriate. He had a look of hope in his deep, brown eyes. “It’d be a shame if you missed it.”
“Are you trashtalking me?”
“Maybe.”
Eamonn’s cock jutted to attention. He gripped his cue hard, like he wanted to hold Rafe. He bent down to line up his shot. At the last second, a guy came up to Rafe and said something about seeing him around campus. Eamonn’s cue only scraped the edge of the ball.
“Tough break,” Rafe said. Eamonn wasn’t laughing, though.
“We’re in the middle of a game, mate,” Eamonn said. He stared the guy down until he backed away.
“Do you want anything to drink?” the fucking wanker asked Rafe.
“He has a drink,” Eamonn said. He didn’t know this guy, but he hated him.
The guy flipped him the bird, which in England was the index and middle finger together, then disappeared back into the crowd.
“Did you know him?” Rafe asked.
“I…you have to be careful about guys buying you drinks. He could slip you something.” Eamonn didn’t know what came over him. Rafe wasn’t his, but he couldn’t watch him become someone else’s right in front of his eyes.
Rafe didn’t put up a fight. He studied Eamonn for a moment before turning his attention to the snooker table. “I can’t make this shot.”
And true, it was a doozy. The ball was at the far end of the table, due south from the white. To make it, he’d have to hit it on its right side at just the proper angle to get it to scoot inside the pocket.
“You can do it, mate. You have this, dude.”
Rafe got into position. Eamonn kept his eyes above the waist, even though he could sense a butt wiggle in his periphery vision.
“You want to move over a little so your cue hits the white at the right spot.”
“Like this?” Rafe shifted over.
“Too far.”
“How’s this?” Rafe’s cue was held at too severe an angle.
“Here. Let me help.” Eamonn bent over Rafe’s body. His right hand slid down Rafe’s arm, feeling the bumps of his triceps and forearm muscles. He man
uevered Rafe’s cue into the correct position. The heat of Rafe’s body scorched through his clothes, and up close, he could smell the coconut scent of his shampoo and see the trail of freckles on his neck.
“H-how’s this?” Rafe asked.
Oh Christ. Rafe wiggled his bloody bum against Eamonn’s crotch. His cock hardened and pressed against his pants.
“Ready?” Eamonn steadied his hand over Rafe’s arm as Rafe pulled back the cue. The ball whizzed down the green, smacked the bluer-than-ever ball on its side, and sent it on a one-way trip into a pocket.
“We did it!” Rafe jumped up. He spun around and hugged Eamonn. He probably felt Eamonn’s hard nob jutting into his thigh, but if he did, he didn’t show it. Thank goodness.
They held each other’s vision, and the crowd and noise vanished. Eamonn wanted to hold Rafe. As he extended his arms to wrap him in a hug, which if he wasn’t careful could lead to other things, Rafe said, “Do you want a drink?”
There went the moment. Eamonn got the same answer again. They were just friends, nothing more.
“Sure.”
“I’ll get this round.” Rafe went up to the bar.
Eamonn leaned against the wall where they had originally been. This was for the best. Rafe was leaving in a few weeks. He couldn’t risk falling for him and getting his heart broken like Nathan had done last spring.
Rafe ran back to him, his eyes wide with panic.
“What’s wrong?” Eamonn asked, instantly going into protective mode.
“My phone’s gone.”
Chapter 13
RAFE
Rafe went from worried to full-blown panic attack in their cab. He imagined several possibilities, none of them good, some of them ending up with him winding up in jail for some reason. He had Eamonn call his phone, but nobody picked up.
“Do you have a tracker on it?”
“No. Because I’m an idiot.” Rafe smacked his head against the cab partition. “Someone has my phone. They’re probably downloading all of my personal information, and they’ve probably stolen my identity as this point.”
“Calm down. There is only one Rafe. I assure you of that.” Eamonn rubbed his shoulder, which Rafe couldn’t even enjoy at this moment.
“What am I going to do? Should I file a police report?”
“Are you sure you were pickpocketed?”
“Yes. That bar was packed. Someone in the crowd easily could’ve swiped it.’”
“We’ll call the bar in the morning. Maybe you just dropped it is all.”
Rafe didn’t have as much faith as Eamonn, but he hoped he was right. Eamonn seemed to sense this, because he said next: “And if the bar doesn’t have it, I guess we can file a police report.”
“You guess?”
“It’s not going to help.”
“A crime was committed.”
“Yes, because amid the murders, abuse, arson, hit-and-runs, and armed robbery, Scotland Yard will dedicate a full team of constables to your case.” Eamonn softened. “Sorry. Wrong time for sarcasm. The police have bigger cases. They’ll take down your information, but they won’t do anything about it.”
Rafe didn’t say anything for the rest of the cab ride. He was thinking. Thinking of what to do next. He honestly had no idea, which upset him as much as the pickpocketing. What did one do when one needed a new phone? He was on a family plan with his parents. He had pointed out which iPhone he wanted, and they bought it. He hated that memory now. I barely qualify as a fucking adult.
When they arrived back at the dorm, he hugged Eamonn good night and went to his room. “You need help?” Eamonn asked.
“No. I have this.” It was time to figure out shit on his own.
He Googled “what do I do if I lost my iPhone.” It told him to go to the cloud to activate a lost iPhone app, which was supposed to lock his phone and emit a loud beeping sound until it was returned. It also disabled all credit card information on the phone. Rafe tried it and waited for a few minutes. Nothing happened. Whoever pickpocketed me probably knows about this app and already has a workaround.
“Okay, I also need a new phone,” he said to himself, working through the steps of his dilemma like it was a word problem. He went on Verizon’s website to look at new iPhones, but immediately exed out. No. If I do that, my parents will find out. He couldn’t let them know about this. He wasn’t going to have them swoop in and save the day. He wasn’t going to get a lecture about being careless.
Some further Googling pointed him to prepaid phones. He could get a new phone and pay for service as long as he wanted. He blanched at the price, until he scrolled past the nice smartphones and found the most basic models. Okay, I can get by with just texting and calling for three months. Party like it’s 2005. He found a store in town that sold prepaid phones that allowed you to “top up.” He nodded to himself in his window reflection. You got this.
Before he went to bed, he emailed his parents:
Dear Mom and Dad,
England is wonderful! Unfortunately, it’s so amazing that it fried my phone. It’s been on the fritz, so to be safe, I’m getting a prepaid phone for the rest of my time here. We can talk via Skype and email, and I’ll send you the new number when I get it. Just wanted to give you a heads up.
Love,
Rafe
Rafe felt the pumping of endorphins bringing an excited smile to his face, like he just completed some massive class project. Tonight was not the end of the world as he knew it, and he felt fine.
EAMONN
Eamonn heard Rafe stirring in the kitchen the next morning. He thought about him last night, and not just when he wanked off before he went to sleep. He believed that underneath all the babying from his folks, there was someone wild waiting to get out, and Eamonn wanted to release him. He went into the kitchen, but it was Louisa he heard, not Rafe.
“Have you seen Rafe this morning?” he asked.
“Afternoon,” she said. Eamonn checked the clock on the wall, and it was a quarter past noon. “I haven’t.”
Eamonn knocked on Rafe’s door, but there was no answer. He returned to his room and found a sleeve of English tea biscuits next to the door with a note.
Thanks for your help last night. I really appreciate it. We’ll talk later. I’m busy adulting!
He read the note in Rafe’s excited voice, and it made him smile. The tea biscuits didn’t hurt either.
It was Saturday, and Eamonn had nowhere to be. He strolled through campus on this brilliant day. A crisp breeze swept through campus, and red and orange leaves rustled on trees. Autumn snuck up on him like that.
“Eamonn!” Rafe called out from an outdoor table in the student union courtyard.
Something seemed different about Rafe. He had this blaze of confidence on his face.
“I need your digits.” Rafe pulled out a new mobile.
“Is that a flip phone?”
“It is. I’m going totally Bush era. I bought a prepaid phone and topped it up at a corner store in town. It’s also where I got you those tea biscuits.”
They exchanged phone numbers. Rafe crossed something off a list in his notebook.
“You seem like a man on a mission.”
“I am. I researched work options last night, and in the U.K., people on a student visa are allowed to work up to twenty hours per week. First thing this morning, I came to the student union and looked at job postings, and Apothecary is hiring for a runner. I interviewed about an hour ago and was hired on the spot. The manager said he’d never met someone so enthusiastic about picking up empty glasses and stocking the bar with ice.”
Rafe could hardly contain himself. He was like a contestant on The X Factor.
“I’ll make an hourly wage plus get some of the bartenders’ tips!”
“That’s brilliant!”
Rafe did a drum roll on the table, apropos of nothing, just pure adrenaline. “I can’t believe this. This has been one of the best mornings of my life. I can do anything! I mean, my parents a
nd teachers always told me growing up that if I put my mind to something, I can achieve it. But this is the first time where I truly believe it.” Rafe exhaled and came down to earth, or closer to it. This fucking guy. Eamonn wanted to scoop him up in his arms.
“I’ll finally have money of my own. I’m not even going to do direct deposit. I can get paper checks and just cash them so my parents won’t know.” Rafe put a hand on his arm, sending a pulse of heat to Eamonn’s head. “Thank you, Eamonn. I don’t think I would’ve done any of this if it weren’t for you.”
His sincerity, and the way his lips puckered, left Eamonn tripping over his words. “I did nothing. This is all you.”
Rafe hopped up from the table. The warmth of his hand lingered on Eamonn’s arm.
“I’m gonna go fill out paperwork. I’m so excited!”
Chapter 14
RAFE
On his first day of being a runner, Rafe didn’t break any glasses, which he considered a great start to his life of employment. Then again, he didn’t have much opportunity to break any glasses, as today’s shift was just about showing him around.
His second shift two days later proved slightly more demanding, with what actual customers and all. His boss had him working the early afternoon shift, and the bar was mostly empty, but it did give him good practice picking up glasses, and restocking the bar. It was a different kind of work for Rafe, one that made him feel productive in a way that he hadn’t when doing homework. When he looked out at a room where there were no empty glasses on tables, he smiled with pride.
His third shift the next afternoon was slightly more difficult, primarily because whenever he picked up an empty glass or brought out ice for the bartender, one table in the corner kept giving him a rousing round of applause.
“Brilliant! Just brilliant work!” Eamonn cheered. He and Heath gave Rafe a standing ovation while he cleared off a table.
