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The guy pushed his hands further into his pockets, rocked back on his heels and assessed him, a small smile playing on his face, but still with that hint of nerves. “You could be looking to settle down.”
Joq laughed. The guy smiled like he’d said something right.
Joq’s coffee was called and he went to get it.
“Call me,” came from behind him. “And it’s Chris.”
Joq took his coffee, walked past him as he headed out. “I didn’t ask.” He had him saved in his phone as hot weird coffee guy.
The newsagency across from the coffee place was plastered in papers with Finn on the front, George in a box in the corner, headlines screaming about the whole incident.
He turned back. The guy, Chris, was grabbing his coffee. He met Joq’s eyes and smiled, walked over as he blew on it.
“Waiting for me?”
Joq snorted. “There’s a hotel I like to go to.”
Chris raised an eyebrow.
“I’ll text the address. Tonight? Seven?”
Chris raised both eyebrows. “Really?”
“Yes? Unless you don’t want—”
“I do, it’s just,” his eyes flicked back and forth on Joq’s. He was standing a little too close again and Joq took him in properly—the lean build on a body that could go either way, muscular or wiry, the broad shoulders—and he knew attraction wasn’t going to be a problem. “Are you sure?” Chris asked.
“Are you?” Joq countered. The guy hesitated. And fuck it all if Joq was dealing with that. “Forget about it.”
He walked away.
“No, wait,” the guy rushed after him. “Text me. You’ll text me?”
Joq wasn’t sure he would now, but he nodded sharply and quickened his pace. The guy took the hint and let him go.
He didn’t know why he looked back—again—but he did.
Chris was standing there, still watching him. He smiled, a big, cheesy grin. Joq rolled his eyes around a small smile.
Fuck it all, he thought as he turned back and headed for the stadium, maybe it was time to get back on the horse; it’d been almost a year, he needed to get laid and get over it.
3
Chris was surprised when his phone pinged just after ten that morning. He thought Joaquin would change his mind for sure. It was just an address for a city hotel, nothing too fancy, nothing too shabby either, Chris thought that evening as he crossed the lobby, the floor and room number pulsing in his head with the same nervous energy he’d had when he received the text with those final details a few minutes before arriving.
He didn’t get why he was so nervous. He’d done this before. Well, he normally went on a date, or two if the guy was holding out for some reason, but then he got down to this part. Liked it. Was good at it. But something about turning up to a hotel room just to fuck made him feel like a nervous prostitute on their first job.
He couldn’t figure out if it turned him on more or less. He’d used the apps—he’d built an app himself, a gaming platform intended to meet people for dating. And that was the thing—he liked the wine and dine beforehand. He liked the build-up. He sucked at the aftermath, which is maybe why he liked the before part.
The elevator doors glided open with a ping and he went in, hit number twenty-three and shoved his hands in his pockets. He shouldn’t even be here—Brendan had given him an incredulous look when he said he needed to leave the party early. The celebration of the app booming so quickly and with such an enormous following, of getting the go-ahead to take it public. The gamble had paid off. He had the family back in the black and he hadn’t lost a single one of their assets in the process; all of the equity loans he’d taken out were now safely reimbursed, while he retained his position as the majority shareholder and CEO. “High risk, high reward,” his grandfather would say.
He felt his stomach lurch as the elevator sped up, slowed, opened on the floor, the sign helpfully directing him left to room eleven. He walked briskly on the carpeted floor, rolled his shoulders when he was outside the door, knocked quickly. He couldn’t tell if he was nervous or excited; his dick was certainly on board—he’d been turned on since he got the first message and it hadn’t really abated.
The door opened and Joaquin stood before him, his smile small but there, his white shirt unbuttoned at the throat and untucked, feet bare at the bottom of his dress pants.
“Hey,” he said. “Come in.”
“Hi,” Chris replied and walked in when Joaquin stepped back. Chris tucked his hands in his pockets and crossed the room. The city was stretched before them, twinkling lights beyond the floor to ceiling windows, the curtains wide open. The room was furnished perfunctorily—king sized bed with white covers and pillows, armchair next to it, a desk, mirror, bar fridge, bedside tables bolted into the wall, an alarm clock blinking 7:01 with condoms and lube next to it. He swallowed, his palms and stomach tingling on the unpleasant side of nervous.
