by Lily Morton
“What’s up with you?” I ask. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Nothing,” he says in a slightly panicked voice.
My gaze falls on the man waiting next in the queue. He’s absolutely gorgeous. Tall and willowy with long blond hair and a stunning face.
“Shit,” Max mutters.
“Do you know him?” I whisper.
“Oh, erm no, I—” His flinch is visible as Paula moves the queue along and the man slinks up to the table.
“Hello,” I say, smiling at the man. “What would you like written in your book?”
He grins at me. His eyes are a clear green, and his skin is a warm golden colour. He extends his smile to Max. Max has gone pale and looks like he’s a second away from bolting.
“Hello, Max,” the man drawls. “How extraordinarily precious to see you again. But unfortunately with your clothes on this time.” He presents his book with a dramatic flourish. “Please could the dedication in my book read, ‘The time spent between your legs, Xavier, was the most sublime moment of my life’.” He pauses as I gape at him. “Oh, and sign it ‘Love, snookums’.” He turns to me with a very charming smile. “It’s Xavier with an ‘X’.”
I look down at my pen as if it’s a foreign object.
“Oh,” I say faintly. “Well, it certainly sounds like Max should know how to spell your name.” I signal to Paula. “I’m going to take a smoking break.”
“You don’t smoke,” Max says urgently. He grabs my arm as I stand up. “Felix, please let me—”
“You must have things to discuss,” I say, smiling at him and Xavier. “I can’t contribute much unless it’s a discussion about how you like to stick your finger in along with your cock.”
“Oh my God,” Xavier says. “Has he always done that?”
I shrug. “He’s a creature of habit. Old dogs never learn new tricks.”
Then I leave them to it, making my way out of the shop, aware of a slight disturbance behind me. When I get outside, I exhale a long, deliberate breath. “Shit,” I mutter. “That was so stupid, Felix.”
After seeing Xavier, and then Max’s reaction to Xavier, my mind was swamped with images of them in bed together, and I’d felt sick. And it had been impossible not to notice that Xavier looks a little bit like Ivo. My reaction to walk out had been stupid, and now everyone likely assumes I’m jealous.
But the worst bit is that I’d abruptly realised how much I’d been enjoying the flirty banter with Max over the last few weeks. When he’d watched me with that old look of intense fascination, I’d felt special somehow. Meeting Xavier reminded me that I am not at all special. Nothing like the presence of a pretty blond man to remind me of the fact.
I stare at the street with unseeing eyes. Maybe this is just a hangover. The blond hair threw me. But it’s not like I didn’t know Max had fucked lots of men since we’d split. And I’ve had men of my own. Neither of us took vows of celibacy.
“So, you’re Felix?”
I spin around to find Xavier leaning against the shop door and watching me, his bag swinging from his arm.
“I’m sorry. I don’t think we’ve met,” I say politely. It isn’t this man’s fault that I’d behaved stupidly.
“No, we’ve never met, but I do feel like I know you.” He lights a cigarette as he moves away from the door and offers me the packet.
I shake my head. “I don’t smoke.”
“You said you were going for a smoke break?”
“After knowing Max for so long, I’m afraid I only smoke crack,” I say smoothly.
He laughs, his eyes glinting in the sunlight. “He said you were clever.”
“Who said that?”
He shrugs. “Max, of course.”
“When did he say that?” I ask, bewildered.
“Oh, about five hundred times during the weekend I spent in bed with him.”
“Well, that must have been very lovely for you,” I say in a thankfully steady voice.
He watches me with those pellucid eyes. Clever eyes. “Well, it was nice,” he says in a lazy voice. “He’s a terrific shag as you’d know.”
“Hard to remember,” I say dismissively. “It was such a long time ago. Water under a thousand bridges.”
He chuckles, and I can’t even get angry because he has a lazy charm about him that’s very appealing. “Not really. Not for Max.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, suddenly uneasy.
He scans my face. “I mean that Max is still in love with you. It’s quite sweet, really, that level of devotion. He’s like a slightly untamed puppy.”
“What?” If he’d hit me in the face with a kipper, I’d be less surprised.
He smiles calmly. “Didn’t you know? You must know.”
“I mustn’t because it’s just not true.”
“But it is. He spent most of the weekend when he wasn’t dick deep in me talking about you. On and on and on, he went. And then on and on some more. I heard your name mentioned more in bed than God’s, which is not the usual situation for me when I’m shagging someone.” He pauses as if to consider that. “Come to think of it, he even mentioned you once while he was actually fucking me.”
“What the hell?” I breathe. “You’ve got me mixed up with Max’s real love. He’s in love with his best friend, Ivo. Always has been. Probably always will be.”
He raises his eyebrows, once again carefully scanning my features. He shrugs. “Maybe you’re right.”
“I am,” I say loudly and then moderate my tone. “I’m right, and after all, I should know.”
“Of course you should. I probably just got it all mixed up. I’m such a nitwit.”
“You did get it mixed up. Max must have been talking about Ivo.”
He grins. “Yes, it’s so easy to get the names Felix and Ivo mixed up. They sound so very familiar.” He hefts his bag. “Well, I must be off. This book is far too heavy and probably filled with many extremely boring words, but it’s just the right size.”
“For what?” I say faintly.
“Oh, for propping my window open. The catch has gone on the bloody thing.”
He smiles again, and then he’s gone, his hair swinging behind him, leaving me on a dusty London street with a brain whirling with questions.
Chapter Fourteen
Felix
I’m still staring after him like an idiot when Max barrels out of the shop and comes to an abrupt stop in front of me.
“You okay?” he asks, his eyes raking my face, looking for who knows what.
I fold my arms over my chest and immediately regret it. His clever eyes sharpen at my undoubtedly defensive action.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well.” He hesitates, obviously searching for words.
I let him seek for a few seconds and then roll my eyes. “Did you think I was having a moment because I’d met one of your bed partners?” I give a laugh that I’m proud sounds very casual. “If that was the case, Max, I’d probably end up having moments left, right, and centre. In fact, I’d have no time to do anything apart from have a moment.”
“So, you’re not bothered about Xavier?”
“Why would I be?”
“Because I am,” he says starkly.
“What?”
His dark eyes are turbulent. “Every single time I meet one of your men, I’m bothered, to put it mildly.”
“Why on earth would you care?” I whisper. A couple walks past, casting curious eyes over us.
“Do you really not know, Felix? Do you not see?” His eyes are filled with an emotion I can’t identify.
My heart picks up speed, and I go on the defensive. “See what? A dog in the manger? What? You can do it, but I can’t? You haven’t got any say in my life anymore, Max. You haven’t for a very long while. So if I want to shag the whole Arsenal team, I will do.”
“Don’t be so ridiculous,” he mutters, swiping a hand through his hair.
“
Oh, no. I do what I want. They’ll be so thoroughly shagged they won’t even be able to whisper, ‘New balls please’,” I say triumphantly.
That strange emotion leaves his eyes as he laughs and shakes his head. “That’s tennis, Felix.”
“Oh, how should I know?” I say, waving a dismissive hand. “They use balls, so they’re all the bloody same.”
“Not exactly.”
Our gazes meet and hold, and it’s as if the busy London street fades away. I want to look away, but what I see in his eyes keeps me stuck. There’s humour, but also something that looks like desperation.
“Felix,” he says.
“Excuse me.” A voice breaks in, and we both spin around to find Connor.
“What the hell is it now?” Max snaps in an irritable and highly unusual manner for him. To my amazement, Connor just smiles and hands Max a large envelope and his jacket.
“The signing is finished. Taxi’s waiting and your luggage and everything else you asked for has been delivered to the destination.” He hands me my rucksack and my jacket. “I’ll see you both in a few days.”
“In a few days?” I echo, looking after Connor as he walks away. I turn back to Max. “What’s happening? There's a gap in your diary which I presumed was so you could have a break from being charismatic for a bit. I imagined myself doing something ridiculous like, oh, I don’t know, going back to my own home.”
For a second, I think he’s going to continue our interrupted conversation, but then humour returns to his gaze and he says, lightly, “So you think I’m charismatic then, Felix? I knew it.”
“Does charismatic mean twatty?” I say in a worried voice. “You know how I get my words mixed up.”
He shakes his head. “You have never got anything mixed up. You’ve got the sharpest brain of anyone I’ve ever met.”
“Not always,” I mutter.
“Yes, always,” he says stubbornly, something dark crossing his face. He catches my arm as I go to walk past him to the waiting taxi. “You always saw things much more clearly than me, Felix. I wish…”
“What do you wish?” I ask sharply.
“A hell of a lot, but it’s not the time to discuss my regrets.” He shrugs into his leather jacket and walks towards the cab. I think of what Xavier said and my stomach clenches. Did he mean it? I shake my head and grab my bag.
Don’t be ridiculous, Felix. You’ll be believing in Father Christmas, the Easter Bunny, and fairies next. Max was very clear on who he loved, and that has never changed and probably never will.
Max directs the taxi to St Pancras station, and I wonder if we’re going back to the cottage in Chipping Camden. I suppose that makes sense, but when we get to the station, he refuses my kind offer of what platform the Cotswold train is on and instead steers me in a different direction.
“Where are we going?” I ask, hurrying to keep up with his pace. I’m a little breathless because the man has legs that go on for a century.
“You’ll see,” he throws over his shoulder.
The station is as packed as ever, and I wheel around the tourists who are everywhere, keeping a close eye on Max’s broad shoulders showing over the crowd. He turns and looks around in consternation until he spots me.
“What are you doing?” he asks, amusement colouring his voice. “You’re bright red.”
“I’m just trying to keep up with your jog through the station. There’s got to be better routes for a run,” I gasp.
“I wasn’t jogging.” He laughs. “I was walking at a quick pace.”
“Which to a normal person is jogging,” I mutter.
“You need to get fitter,” he calls over his shoulder, charging forward again.
“I am fit,” I say indignantly. “I get tons of exercise.”
“Lifting your pint glass to your mouth isn’t exercise.”
“Neither is sex,” I say sweetly. “Just in case you were thinking that counts as an energetic activity.”
“Then I’m not fit either.”
I stare at his back. He keeps throwing about comments like this, but I refuse to bite. I say no more, and his sidelong glance tells me he knows his lures aren’t working on me. I break my silence when we get to the platform.
“The Eurostar?” I ask, turning to him. “Are they running to the Cotswolds now, then?”
He grins and ushers me onto the platform where the train is waiting. “They’d have to knock down a few antique shops and pubs to make that possible. Never going to happen.”
“Where are we going?” I ask, stopping dead and refusing to let him usher me any further. A businessman tuts and, giving me a filthy glance, he manoeuvres around me.
Max glares after him but then turns back to me. “Well, we’re catching the Eurostar over to France, and then the rest of the destination is a bit of a secret.”
My insides thrill at the thought of going abroad. I still haven’t travelled much. I always meant to do it after our breakup, as a gesture almost of defiance, but real life intruded and, also, the desire to keep a roof over my head.
Carl and I planned to go to Spain, but then the Aunt Sally had needed a new engine and that had put the mockers on that. It had also finished Carl and me, as he’d refused to accept why I couldn’t just let my fucking boat sink. I’d explained that I wasn’t Captain Bligh, but he’d taken that as an example of my woeful flippancy and dumped me.
I become aware that I’m smiling and hasten to wipe the grin off my face. Max’s mouth quirks and his eyes shine delightedly, so I know I’ve been unsuccessful. I follow him into the sleek interior of the train, and roll my eyes when I find that we’re in business class.
“Why does this not surprise me?” I ask as we take a seat. The car’s hush is rapidly being filled with the sound of fingers tapping on laptops as the business people around us settle down.
I look around interestedly. I wonder whether I could do business on a train, and I briefly imagine myself hopping on with my briefcase and my phone and then hopping off in Paris or Amsterdam or Milan. Then I think of missing out on the breakfast meetings with Zeb where we sit on his roof terrace in the sunshine, inhaling the scent of the flowers that Jesse tends and eating sandwiches from the bakery next door. I’d definitely miss the gossip that Zeb persists in trying to call workplace information, and those bacon and sausage sandwiches are epic. I smile. These people can keep their world. I like my own little one.
Max grins. “I’m six foot four. I need legroom.” He passes me the menu. “And so will you when you eat the lunch. It’s gorgeous.” He nudges me. “And they serve wine. In a glass.”
“How very lush. It’s like the Titanic without the water and Leonardo di Caprio on a wardrobe door. You certainly know how to treat a boy.”
His brow furrows, but clears before I can analyse it.
“Going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask, nudging him.
“Nope,” he says cheerfully.
He keeps to this decision as we cross the Channel on the incredibly smooth journey. We eat the lunch provided, and then he buries himself in his laptop, tapping away furiously at his work in progress while I answer his emails and deal with some of the things I left undone at work. I sneak a glance at him. His face is almost fierce with focus.
Slightly baffling because I’d been sure this was a booty call in some form or another. It’s almost pro forma for Max to attempt one of those every day. I’m a little disappointed at the lack of a come-on, but I’d never admit that to another living soul.
I’m still baffled when we don’t stay on the train at Calais. Instead, we hop off at the train station. Doors slam and the train pulls away, leaving us alone on the platform for the moment. It’s a bright, windy day, and I stand next to him, clutching my jacket and rucksack as he looks around for something that only he knows.
“Are you looking for Paris?” I enquire. “Because if you are, I’ve got bad news for you. We should have stayed on the train.”
He shoots me a wink as he ushers me out of
the station and then grins as a car toots from the kerb. I look over and see a taxi waiting.
“It’s going to be a lot more expensive getting to Paris in a taxi than the already-paid-for train journey, Max. But then, you do seem to be a bit of a wanton spendthrift at the moment.”
“We’re not going to Paris,” he says gleefully. “Well, we’ll pass through it, but we won’t stop.”
“I do so wish that I knew what was happening right now,” I say wistfully. “It would be rather nice. “
“Surprises are much nicer than knowing everything,” he says, opening the door to the car and ushering me in with a courtly flourish.
He gives instructions to the driver in very fast and fluent French, and I listen raptly, but hopefully unobtrusively. Max is never hotter than when he’s speaking another language. He’s confident and engaged and so fucking sexy. I clear my throat and stare diligently out of the passenger window at a brick wall until my cock pipes down.
Max gets into the taxi and grins at me.
“So we’re in another country, and I’ve got into a strange car with you, and I don’t even have a change of underwear,” I observe. “This is like one of those PSHE lessons we had to sit through at school. How I wish I’d paid attention now rather than staring at Jake Philips in the front row.”
“I’m absolutely positive that I’m far more attractive than Jake Philips,” he says loftily.
“Well, he did have braces and spots, so you’re an inch ahead at least.”
“We never had PSHE lessons,” he observes thoughtfully.
“Did you even have schools? Weren’t you scampering up and down chimneys at that age?” I say tartly.
“I was a very tall child, so I’m afraid that avenue of work was ruled out for me.”
“What did you do, then? Did you live in an attic and steal things with the other street urchins?”
“Your knowledge of days gone by seems to be lifted mainly from Oliver.”
“Only the musical,” I say idly. “But if you even think about breaking into ‘As Long As He Needs Me,’ then I’m going to hurl myself out of this moving car.”
