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The date was off to a great start. Harry was pretty sure Tracy’s dad already wanted to take him out back and strangle him, and they’d only had their starter. But his mind wasn’t on the revolted expression Tracy’s mum had made when Harry had chewed his sea scallops with an open mouth and made gross slurping noises.
It was fixed firmly on Jack.
They’d had Italian for lunch, and it wasn’t anything special, just lunch with his flatmate, but somewhere along the line it had become something else entirely—for Harry, at least. He wasn’t sure when, exactly, things had changed for him, but he suspected it was when Jack had explained to the waitress that Harry was deathly allergic to strawberries, face earnest and concerned and caring. It hadn’t been necessary—Harry was perfectly capable of speaking for himself—but Jack’s insistence on watching out for him had something unfamiliar welling up in him, an unnamed emotion that sat halfway between pride and possessiveness, engulfing him from head to toe.
Harry had friends, and they’d done nice things for him before, but it had never made Harry feel like this. And he’d certainly never been distracted from his meal by the way someone ate, yet out of nowhere, he’d found the sight of Jack’s tongue lapping creamy carbonara sauce from his bottom lip positively indecent. He’d struggled to concentrate as Jack laughed and joked like always, seemingly oblivious to Harry’s turmoil.
Harry liked Jack. He liked him as a roommate and as a friend, but this was something more than that. The thing was, Harry wasn’t sure what, exactly, ‘more’ meant where Jack was concerned. Harry didn’t date, and he’d never understood it when people talked about seeing someone and imagining them naked—except he sort of did, where Jack was concerned. Seeing him shirtless at the op shop had made Harry’s pulse race and his blood thrum in a way it hadn’t ever done before, and he couldn’t seem to shake the vision from his treacherous brain.
It was all very confusing.
He dragged his thoughts back to the present and tried to focus on his date. He’d used Ambrose’s trick and announced loudly he was going to drop a log to make room for mains, and he was pretty sure he’d been gone long enough for Tracy’s parents to slag him off, so it was probably time to get back.
He stared at himself in the mirror one last time. Jack had said he was attractive, and he’d sounded like he meant it. Harry sighed and pushed it to the back of his mind for now, along with everything else to do with Jack. Tracy wasn’t paying him two hundred bucks to daydream about his roommate. She was paying him to be an arsehole. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it well.
He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and strode out back to the restaurant, making sure to pull his jeans out of the crack of his arse as he walked. He ruffled Tracy’s carefully styled hair like she was a kid on his way past her chair and plopped himself down. “Mains here yet?” he asked, even though they obviously weren’t.
“Not yet, sweetness,” Tracy said, fluttering her eyelashes.
Harry let out a groan. “But I’m soooo hungry,” he whined.
“You just ate a scallop starter,” Tracy’s dad—Geoff—pointed out sourly. “And half of Tracy’s.”
Harry shrugged. “I’m always hungry. Maybe I picked up worms somewhere.” He turned to Tracy, plastering a look of innocent concern on his face. “You’re a vet student, babe. Do you think I’ve got worms? My bum does get itchy sometimes.”
Tracy’s eyes sparkled with amusement, but she managed to keep a straight face as she stroked his arm. “I mean, it depends. You wash your hands, right?” Harry made a seesawing motion with one hand.
“Don’t touch him, Tracy!” her mother snapped, a look of alarm on her face as she leaned instinctively back in her chair, away from Harry and his potential infestation.
“Too late!” Harry said. “Any wigglers I’ve got she’s got by now, right, babe? Actually”—he paused, looking thoughtful—“I’m likely to have caught them off her. She’s the one with her fingers up dogs’ bums all day.”
Tracy’s mother gasped.
Harry grinned, leaned over and laid an obnoxious wet kiss on Tracy’s cheek. “I’ll call you my wormy girl.”
“My daughter does not have worms,” Geoff gritted out through clenched teeth.
“Well, I’ll be sure to check her bum tonight, just to be certain!” Harry said cheerfully and noted with satisfaction that Geoff’s knuckles had turned white around the stem of his wine glass.
“Harry!” Tracy giggled. “Not here!”
“Sorry, baby.” Harry said, and flashed Geoff a bright smile. “I forget I’m meant to have manners. I don’t go to nice places like this much. My dole doesn’t stretch that far, not by the time I pay rent and buy a couple of cartons.”
Geoff muttered something that sounded suspiciously like bludger under his breath.
“Mains are here!” Tracy’s mum chirped in a desperately cheerful tone that Harry had come to know well since starting the Bad Boyfriend gig. It was the one that meant he’d sufficiently horrified the parents, and they were desperate to steer the conversation back into safer waters. It was a sign that Harry was well on the way to having done his job.
They made it through dinner, with Harry blowing his nose into the linen napkin and picking his teeth with his fork. He could feel the disapproval coming off Tracy’s parents in waves, but they were at least nominally polite. Harry got the feeling they were giving him the benefit of the doubt, which was the last thing he wanted, so while they were waiting for dessert, he excused himself again, claiming a case of farty bum, and texted Tracy from the bathroom.
Have they told you to dump me yet?
Not yet. Mum’s saying maybe you’ve had an unfortunate upbringing.
Okay. I’ll give them an extra push, and then you can publicly dump me.
Legend.
Harry tucked his phone back in his pocket—a feat that, in these jeans, almost required contortionist skills—and headed back over to the table. He rested his head on one hand, turned wide eyes to his date, and said, “Hey, babe?” in what he hoped was a wheedling tone.
