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“There’s only one thing to do. Wish me luck,” Harry said glumly, and drew another deep breath as he went through his contacts.
It took a moment for an answer. Then he heard, “Hello?”
“Tris,” Harry said, while Jack’s eyes widened, and he collapsed in silent laughter on the bed. “I need a huge favour.”
Chapter Twenty
Sunlight cut through a gap in the curtains as Jack blinked himself awake. It was bright. Too bright. He tried to sit up but was weighed down by a sleeping Harry sprawled across his body. He reached for his phone on the nightstand, tilted it upward and squinted at the screen for a moment—9:33. Something itched at the base of his skull. Jack ignored it for a moment because it felt nice lying here with Harry on top of him, his face smooshed against Jack’s chest as he slept. Then realisation hit like a bucket full of cold water in the face.
“Oh shit!” He sat up, fumbling for his phone and dislodging Harry.
“Wha–?” Harry flailed awake.
“I didn’t set my alarm! Oh shit!” Jack scrambled out of bed. “The wedding starts in twenty-seven minutes, and I didn’t set my alarm! The fuck is wrong with me?”
He dashed into the bathroom and pissed, then brushed his teeth and splashed water on his face. He combed his wet fingers through his hair and wondered if it would pass as styled. Well, it would have to, wouldn’t it? Harry, his hair sticking out in all directions, elbowed him out of the way at the sink, scattering the contents of his toiletries bag all over the counter.
Jack dashed back into the bedroom and stripped out of his T-shirt and last night’s boxers. Oh God. He couldn’t be late for his sister’s wedding. He wrenched his underwear on and stepped into the pants of his suit. He was aware of Harry darting out of the bathroom.
This was a crisis, but it wasn’t a disaster. It was Goulburn, not Sydney. The church was ten minutes away. They could still make it. He didn’t dare look at his phone to see how much time had passed, but a quick glance at Harry confirmed he was almost dressed too. Jack allowed himself a moment of relief, then?—
“Oh no! Jack!”
The horror in Harry’s voice brought him up short. He looked across at him. He was standing there with the tab of his zipper held between his thumb and his forefinger, and the fly of his black suit hanging open.
“Shit. Do you have a safety pin or something?”
Harry shook his head. “Jack, what do I do? I can’t meet your parents with my dick hanging out!”
“Well, it’s not exactly—” He shut his mouth when he registered the actual distress in Harry’s tone. “Okay. Okay. No safety pin. Uh…” He ran through a hundred different possibilities, each one more ludicrous than the last. If they didn’t have a safety pin, they also didn’t have a stapler, any super glue, or the phone number of an emergency tailor who could materialise in under thirty seconds in their hotel room. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, shit.”
Harry clamped his mouth shut, but his bottom lip wobbled. He held out the offending zipper tab, a silent plea for a miracle solution that Jack couldn’t provide.
He stepped forward and crouched in front of Harry anyway, just in case it was an easy fix, but he quickly saw that there was no saving the zipper. Quite apart from the broken head, the teeth gaped apart obscenely, and Harry’s underwear was clearly visible.
Harry was right. He couldn’t meet Jack’s parents like this and make a good impression. And God, Jack wanted him to. He wanted to walk into Mia’s wedding with Harry on his arm, tall and proud, and introduce him not as Harry the Bad Date but as Harry the teacher, Harry the guy who couldn’t cook for shit but was hilarious, Harry his boyfriend.
Really, there was only one thing to do.
“Okay,” he said, rising to his feet and pressing a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “Get the peacock suit.”
Harry’s face clearly expressed his horror. “Jack, I can’t?—”
Jack started to strip. “You don’t have to. You’ll wear my suit, and I’ll wear the peacock suit.”
Harry’s jaw dropped.
“Come on,” Jack said. “We can’t be late.” He grabbed the keys to the ute and chucked them at Harry, who managed to catch them and clutch them to his chest.
Harry’s eyes watered. “Are you—do you—are you serious?”
“As serious as a man contemplating wearing that monstrosity can be.” But he knew what this meant to Harry. He knew Harry was desperate to make a good impression, and that this was a huge deal for him. And maybe it wouldn’t have been if Jack hadn’t been his first boyfriend. Maybe he would have been able to laugh it off, but Jack knew that Harry was deeply insecure about his inexperience, and Jack had already screwed up enough when it came to Harry. But this right here? This was something he could get right.
Harry probably would have stayed standing there if Jack hadn’t said, “Nineteen minutes, Harry. Can you go grab the suit out of the ute?”
The reminder of the ticking clock was enough to get Harry moving, which had been Jack’s intention. They could have a moment about this later on. But right now? They were still running late.
It took Harry exactly four and a half minutes to return with the suit. He was red-faced and sweating, and the fly of his suit still gaped, but he made it. Jack was already undressed. He grabbed the peacock suit out of Harry’s arms and forced himself not to laugh wildly at how fucking ridiculous he was going to look. He didn’t want Harry to think he’d changed his mind.
