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“Sláinte,” Ambrose echoed with the rest of them, and took a drink of his shiraz. And even though the evening was winding down now, and everyone would soon be leaving, Ambrose found himself wishing the night could last forever.
He glanced at Liam, and Liam quirked his mouth in something that was almost a smile. This time his hand was steady when Ambrose took it.
Afterwards, standing out on the narrow street, Ambrose felt almost tipsy, even though he’d only had one glass of wine. He realised it was because he hadn’t laughed so much in ages. He was still buzzing with the endorphins, and his cheeks ached a little. It felt weird when Liam opened his wallet and handed him a hundred dollars, because Ambrose hadn’t been performing tonight at all. He’d just been hanging out with the Connellys, having fun.
“Thanks,” he said, and tucked the notes into his pocket. Because it wasn’t like he was going to have a moral crisis about it or anything either. He still needed to pay his rent.
Liam shuffled his feet for a moment. “Um, do you have a lift?”
“I’ll get an Uber,” Ambrose said.
“Yeah,” Liam said, and shuffled awkwardly again. “Me too.”
“It was fun,” Ambrose said.
Liam ducked his head. “They’re…they’re a lot.”
“They’re great,” Ambrose said. “They have this weirdly wholesome energy. They’re like Mormons, only with less religion and more dirty jokes.”
Liam laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I s’pose.” He glanced at Ambrose. “They really liked you. Grandad Billy cornered me in the bathrooms and basically insisted I keep you.”
Ambrose laughed and ignored the warm feeling he got in his chest from going on a date and not being hated at the end of it for once. “Grandad Billy’s a character.”
“He’s a force of nature is what he is. So, next weekend? Would…would that be something you’d be interested in? Or are you busy, what with it being Easter?”
Ambrose’s stomach flip-flopped. “Oh. Yeah. I don’t actually have anything booked for next weekend yet. And I don’t really do Easter, except to buy up all the half-price Easter eggs afterwards.”
“Oh.” Liam looked surprised, like he’d expected Ambrose to refuse. “We don’t really do Easter either—Grandad says he has a moral objection to paying good money for hollow eggs, and we’ve never really been religious. Um, how much for the long weekend? We’d probably go up on Thursday afternoon and come back Monday morning.”
“Five hundred bucks,” Ambrose said, plucking a figure from thin air.
Liam scrunched his brow. “Your rates make no sense. Kelly said you charge four hundred for a single date.”
“Yeah, but…” But tonight didn’t feel like work. “But I’ll be getting a long weekend at a winery, and your grandad has pretty much promised to get me totally smashed. I’m pretty sure I’ll make up the difference in free wine.”
“That still doesn’t make any sense,” Liam said hesitantly.
“Jesus.” Ambrose wrinkled his nose. “Do you want me to charge you more?”
“No!”
“Then shut up and agree to five hundred,” Ambrose said, and elbowed him.
Liam’s brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “It’s just?—”
Ambrose rolled his eyes. “I can be charming for an entire weekend, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Yeah, it’s actually the opposite,” Liam said. “The thing is, you were too nice, and now it’s a problem. They weren’t meant to like you so much that they’d enfold you in the Cult of Connelly, but now Grandad won’t take no for an answer about the weekend, and how am I meant to break up with you when you’re so perfect?”
Liam had a point. The whole point of this had been to fool Liam’s parents, to give Liam some breathing space until he met someone he actually wanted to date, someone that wasn’t Ambrose.
The thought of Liam—sweet, awkward Liam—on a date with someone else shouldn’t have stung like it did. Ambrose pushed the feeling aside and concentrated instead on their problem. He’d never been accused of being too nice before, and it was distinctly unsettling—but also easily fixed. He shrugged. “I could just be…less of a decent person on the weekend? I’m sure I can give you a reason to break up with me later.”
Liam’s face lit up. “Could you? I mean we could pass tonight off as you being on your best behaviour, and then you could be a dickbag for the weekend.”
A tiny part of Ambrose mourned the loss of a weekend of relaxing, of getting to be, well, himself, but he ignored it, the same way he ignored his NIDA rejections and the expiry dates on his acting credits. This was just another job, after all. “I can do that. By the end of the weekend, they’ll hate me.”
Liam at least had the grace to look a little uncertain. “Well, they don’t have to hate you. They just have to see enough of you that they know you’re completely wrong for me.”
