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“You’re really good at it,” Chris said and from anyone else that might sound patronising, and in this situation, placating, but Chris sounded sincere.
Joq looked at him and held his gaze. Chris watched him back.
“I’ve had a lot of practice,” Joq said dryly.
Chris huffed a surprised laugh. “It shows.”
He smiled warmly and adjusted his dick surreptitiously.
Joq felt interest stir again, and he berated himself, needing to get his shit together.
“I can go again,” he reached for Chris.
Chris stopped him with the hand that wasn’t squeezing his dick.
“Have a drink with me.”
Joq met his eyes. “We’re just hooking up.” His tone was cold but even he could hear the tremor in it: what was happening to him? He was meant to be getting laid and out of nowhere, he felt like he was about to shatter apart. He hadn’t felt like this since just after George and Finn got married and he’d allowed himself to get royally drunk, cry, get it all out, and send them the footage he’d taken. That’d been the end of it. He was over it. He’d moved on. So what the fuck was happening?
But Chris was nodding along like he truly got that’s all they were doing. “You never have a beer with the guys you fuck?”
And, well, yes, Joq used to do that all the time. Fuck. Have a beer. Fuck again. It’d been fun. Everyone had a good time. He didn’t feel like anyone was having a good time right now.
“Well, yeah, but—”
“I got the pale ale you like.”
“How do you know what I like?” Joq asked.
“Oh, well,” Chris looked sheepish but he soldiered on, “I told you, we met, at the rooftop bar. You ordered six pints of the boutique pale they had on tap and I remembered, so,” he shrugged.
Joq looked at him, really looked. He could not recall meeting him. At all. But he said the name of the pale he liked—a pretty niche beer—and Chris nodded like, of course.
“Come on,” Chris stood, took Joq by the hand and tugged him to his feet. “Let’s have a beer and then I’ll let you blow me again.”
Joq laughed, surprised and relieved, but he was still rattled.
Chris didn’t let his hand go as he walked him down the hall into the beautiful space. Joq took his hand back, leaned against the kitchen island and looked around. It was so old school—the wooden furniture, the pictures of family in black and white, art work that belied real taste; instead of The Kiss, there was Three Ages of Women, a few Egon Schiele’s, a back catalogue Monet, and Lady with an Ermine where everyone else would have the Mona Lisa. All replicas of course, but perfectly done. The garden outside grew along the glass and the fairy lights lit up the furniture flanking a cast iron bonfire, rugs artfully thrown as if at any moment they could sit out there and drink and cuddle in front of a fire.
Chris cracked the beer, the sound hissing and drawing Joq back to him; he smiled, something pleased and sure in it, as he handed him the beer.
“I can’t believe you don’t remember,” he said as Joq took it and thanked him.
“When was this?” Joq sipped.
Chris gave him the run down and Joq remembered the day. He’d come home to George and Finn wrestling in the pool, every instinct telling him something about it wasn’t right but believing George’s version—Finn was just over for a swim to cure his hangover after the big win—and Joq had convinced himself it was his fault anyway because he’d been the one to invite Finn into their private life in the first place.
He’d been so stupid—the way those two wrestled was an excuse to touch, even if they didn’t admit it to themselves at that point yet.
Suffice to say, anything else that happened that day—including meeting someone as striking as Chris—was buried. He wouldn’t have let himself really see him anyway. He wasn’t the cheating type.
Joq shook his head with an apology.
“All good, you seemed busy,” Chris shrugged like it really was alright, but Joq didn’t miss the disappointment. He suddenly wished he did remember. And he cursed George for good measure, blaming him for his failure to remember. Maybe he could’ve hooked up with Chris, fallen in love himself when he was still the clean, confident guy he’d been before he turned into someone he didn’t even recognise with what he’d done to Finn.
And if he kept following this line of thought, he’d never get laid tonight.
“Sorry,” he said and focused on the outdoor area.
