Jason turned his gaze away from the view of Owen shaking his head and retreated to the other side of the fence. He fished out his phone and paced Carl’s house as he looked up ways to bond with neighbours online. Halfway down a listicle—
What was he doing? Priorities! Cora and Pete—and no doubt by now most of Earnest Point—expected him to reveal his non-existent boyfriend. That’s what he should be searching for. Someone to be his special someone.
Oh, and . . . oops. He called Carl. “Iaccidentallytoldeveryoneyou’reinasecretrelationship.”
Carl remained silent. Stunned, probably. “Say what?”
“You have a special someone and you’re taking them to the wedding.”
“Oh my God.”
“Pete got to me?”
“You’re meant to not let him get to you. That’s why you’re there and not me.” Jason imagined poor Carl gripping his hair, wishing he hadn’t given Jason all his flannel so that he could use it to fan himself. “Oh shit.” And Carl started . . . laughing.
Jason wasn’t quite sure what kind of level of freaked out that made Carl. Um. “Don’t worry? I have it all under control. I’ll fake something then break up after the wedding. It’ll all be dealt with before you return.”
“You—you realise I’m completely gay, right? Not bisexual? That means—”
“A boyfriend, yeah. That’s what popped out of my mouth in front of Pete.”
“Christ.”
“And Owen.”
“I . . . just don’t know what to say.”
Jason winced. “And Cora.”
Carl made a sound as if swallowing panic.
“She’s so lovely, Carl. She was over the moon for you.”
Carl sighed. “She’s always wanted me to find someone solid; someone who I came first with. She’ll be extra interested in whoever it is. You’re really gonna have to know everything about him. You’re gonna have to show he’s someone worth keeping secret from her. So act super-duper in love, yeah? I can tell her later I got carried away and we weren’t right for one another, but in the meantime, you’ve gotta act crazy in love.”
Jason chuckled nervously.
Carl paused. “You’ve never had a boyfriend before, have you?”
“No?”
“You gonna be able to pull this off?”
Jason wasn’t quite sure. But . . . Mary wasn’t here, so—“Oh, absolutely. No sweat.”
“You might actually have to kiss him in public to make it look real. I’m into PDA.”
“Ha, right!” Beads of sweat were forming at his neck; they tickled as they slid down, echoing in a little quiver deep in his belly. “Anyway, I gotta go and . . .” download Grindr to fish out a good match for this.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, and Jase? Could you, pretty please, not call with any more surprises?”
Carl didn’t have the Grindr app, which, okay. Bit of a relief, really. So Jason spent the next hour installing it, setting up a profile, and panicking in the shower. There were so many guys on there, so many terms he’d had to look up, and so many images that came with them. It was all very . . . overwhelming. He wanted someone safe to pretend with, someone who would enjoy a bunch of events because it came with free food and booze. Not someone who wanted to be milked by a twinky showoff with an uncut dick.
Didn’t everyone around here have an uncut dick?
A hoard of images popped into his mind—not at all helped by his internet searching. Those acronyms all needed decoding, after all. The images had come entirely unprompted.
He snapped the water to cold, then stood shakily on the mat. Right. He should . . . probably get to the messaging part of things.
He dripped his way to the bedroom, shoved on boxers and a loose sleeping T-shirt, a little on the threadbare side, but perhaps the semi-translucent quality would make an appealing picture? Better than the temporary one of a puppy he’d put up there, probably. He had no abs, but he did have a nice flat stomach, and his frame tapered to the waist—so as long as the T-shirt kept things vague, he’d look desirable. Ish?
He groaned and flopped onto the piano stool, staring desolately at his phone.
The piano tinkered, tuneless notes and keys dipping to a ghostly touch. Jason jumped to his feet and peered into the open piano. He jerked back with a shriek, and it grew.
“SERGEANT OWEN STIRLING, SIR!” He yelled it as he raced through the house, and then again as he hopped barefoot over gravel, and then again as he hightailed it up Owen’s path. “PLEASE, I NEED YOU.”
Owen whipped open the door, awash with concern, a toothbrush clenched in one hand, a splotch of white across his lip. Boxers and a loose T-shirt of his own, and all those muscles. Made for protection. Made for—
Jason—convinced the very, very slithery snake he’d just seen had chased him and was still chasing him—jumped into Owen’s arms and climbed as high as he could possibly get. “Shut the door! Quick—”