AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Hi,” he breathed out.
“Hello,” the guy replied like he hadn’t expected the greeting. “You go,” he jerked his chin ahead of him and Chris realised the guy didn’t recognise him.
“We’ve met before,” Chris said.
“Have we?” the guy replied, closed off and polite; as if even if they had met, he didn’t want to know.
“Rooftop, March last year,” Chris insisted. He searched the guy’s eyes, waiting for the recognition. He was even better looking than Chris remembered, way better than every piss poor hook-up Chris had met in an attempt to chase the memory of him—eyes a cold blue, skin so smooth, and his muscled arm felt firm under Chris’ hand.
Chris let him go and stepped back to give him space.
The guy was shaking his head. “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” he replied. It was friendly enough, but it was like he was lying too. He went to go for the counter as Chris’ phone started ringing.
He ignored it—it’d be Brendan, asking where the fuck he was.
“Long black, double shot, to go,” the guy said to the young hipster at the counter.
Chris stepped up behind him, shoved both hands in his pockets and debated what to do. He’d been thinking about this guy for over a year.
He’d imagined a pleasant date and a good fuck; like a workout, one of those fucks that used your whole body and felt thoroughly enjoyable. He jerked off about it and as he came, each time, he couldn’t stop himself from feeling like that’d be it then.
He wanted to do it anyway.
The guy stepped aside, pulled out his phone like last time. But unlike last time, Chris got the feeling he wanted Chris to get the message not to talk to him.
“Latte, double shot, oat milk, to go,” Chris said to the young guy at the counter.
He shouted it to the barista, Chris swiped his card, and stepped beside the guy, a little too close.
The guy twitched but didn’t look up from his phone.
Chris’ phone started ringing again. He shoved his hands in his pockets and ignored it.
He was aware of the guy beside him registering that, but he said nothing, continued to read something on his phone.
It was so similar to last time and yet not—Chris felt distinctly shut out; he should’ve taken the hint, but he couldn’t help himself.
“I think you do remember me,” he said quietly, creating a conversational space between them over the rush of people darting in and out of the laneway coffee places, the hiss of the coffee machine, the clink of spoons on china and voices talking over tables where some people were enjoying their morning coffee on the street before heading to work.
The guy glanced at him. Chris met his eyes. Now the guy was actually looking, sweeping his gaze up and down Chris’ body as if he was trying to remember if he did, so that Chris wondered if he actually didn’t. So what was with the look like he was lying?
“Have we fucked before?” the guy asked conversationally.
Chris’ eyes widened. It was the last thing he expected.
“No,” he replied, completely lost for words.
But the guy just shrugged and went back to his phone. “I really think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
Chris was still reeling from that comment—how many guys did this dude fuck to have to ask that? Chris was no prude, but at twenty-seven he could still count his number.
“Jesus, how many guys have you slept with?” he asked without thinking.
The guy looked at him. And Chris forced himself to look back even though this was going terribly and he felt like an asshole.
“Sorry,” he said before the guy could say anything. “That sounded like I think,” he pulled a hand out of his pocket and waved it around, “I just, we met, and I thought about you, so, you know.”
The guy stared at him for a moment, but if he was offended, he wasn’t showing it; in fact, he looked like he was smiling to himself, not smug, but certainly not ashamed.
