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“It’s really fine,” Chris said even though it kind of wasn’t, Joq could tell, but Chris let it drop and asked if Joq wanted to sit outside. “I can get the fire going?”
“No, no,” Joq shook his head, “no need to go to that much trouble for a fuck.”
“Joq,” Chris gave him an exasperated look and Joq felt the height difference between them as Chris sauntered over to him, his smile small but there. “It’s no trouble and even if we are just,” he waved a hand between them, “we can hang out, right? Do you like me? I mean, shit, sorry, that sounded like a high schooler.”
Joq couldn’t help his laugh. Chris seemed confident—controlled yet loose with it, young but not juvenile—and yet every now and then, Joq caught these awkward moments that were more endearing than he wanted to notice.
“I definitely liked fucking you,” he replied smoothly.
It was Chris’ turn to laugh. “You haven’t fucked me yet.”
“Getting there,” Joq took a deep drink of his beer. “We can go again in a minute.”
“Or I could light the fire, get you something to eat?”
And okay, Joq needed to stop this getting too serious.
“Look,” Joq put the beer down, spread his palm on the counter. “I don’t want to be this guy, but I can’t, I’m not,” he shot out a breath, “I can’t be in a relationship.”
Chris covered his hand with his own.
“I can’t really do that either,” Chris murmured. “Doesn’t mean I can’t eat with you, then, you know, do other stuff tonight.”
Joq’s curiosity was piqued—Chris didn’t want that either? With Joq specifically or in general? He didn’t need to know. He swallowed down all the shitty feelings that seemed to be choosing tonight to bubble up and replied, “Yeah, okay.”
“Awesome,” Chris took Joq’s hand in his and led him outside. “Sit, get comfortable,” he looked around, gave Joq a concerned look. “Shit, do you know how to light a fire?”
“No?”
Chris grinned. “I’m kidding. My grandfather was big on camping, making me ‘self-sufficient in the woods’,” Chris did the air quotes and then got busy getting a fire going, getting them more beers, bringing out kebab skewers and a plate of flat bread. Joq watched him start cooking on a hot plate on one side of the fire.
“You weren’t kidding about the self-sufficient thing,” Joq said.
Chris chuckled, his head tilting down and to the side. The flames licked up and cast his face in a glow and Joq was caught off guard by how handsome he was—classic features, manly and perfectly proportioned—and as he regaled Joq in his deep, yet soft voice, with stories of camping trips to the “homeland” in Scotland with his grandad, ski trips to Switzerland, a memorable week seeing old world vultures in Serbia, Joq let himself relax. He also began to realise Chris’ house wasn’t the only old-school thing around here—Chris was old school. Old money. Old-world breeding. He could almost picture him in tweed on an estate in Scotland in wellies, hunting rifle at his side as he surveyed his estate.
Joq was surprised when a couple of hours and three beers had gone by. He was completely relaxed, laughing as he told Chris his own stories about some of the shit he’d seen people do at the stadium.
He wound down and found Chris staring at him.
“What?” he asked around a lingering smile, thinking of Simo’s glee every time there was a fight.
“Nothing, just,” Chris shook his head, cleared his throat and looked away. “Do you want another beer, or?”
“Or?”
Chris glanced back at him, a decision lingering there. “Or we could move this up to my room?”
Joq swallowed.
“We don’t have to—”
“Yeah,” Joq nodded and stood, “I think a room with a bed sounds good.”
Chris stood.
“Lead the way,” Joq said with more confidence than he felt.
Thankfully, Chris took him at his word and took him upstairs.
