Kaden had finished playing. Right.
Oh, and Hayden was staring at them. Just as, ah, Jason had intended. He rocked on his feet again, grinned at Owen, and jerked his thumb toward the door. “Shall we get out of here?”
Chapter Nine
A thirty-second car ride brought them to another beach; a sand-sunken bench glimmered in the setting sun, and the way Owen ran his fingers over it suggested he knew the spot well.
They set up a makeshift picnic and took turns poking at one another’s dinner with wooden forks. Owen’s was the best.
Jason turned toward him and propped his elbow on the back of the bench, the last of the food between them. “I’m not the biggest seafood fan.”
“From the man who ordered mussels.”
“I was distracted.” Gently, Jason prodded Owen’s nose with the end of his fork. “You were very distracting.”
A laugh, low and rumbly like the waves crashing against the shore. That frame of his, relaxed, casual, yet ready to coil and spring into action in a moment. Jason wanted all that, craved that poise, that fairness. Also firmness. So much firmness. What would it take to have that, embody that?
“Were?”
Jason dragged his gaze from the buttons of Owen’s stretched shirt to crinkled eyes. “Hmm?”
Owen speared a last mussel, then looked at Jason thoughtfully. “I thought you were determined to find someone else?”
Jason had been expecting that question, of course. He flushed at the quiet rumble of it. “Hayden changed my mind.”
A perplexed frown.
“What did you ever see in him!”
Owen raised a brow and, okay, Jason should calm it down.
“What did you, ah, ever see in him?”
Owen laughed, then sighed, gazing at the last of the gold sinking toward the horizon. A blaze of pinks and purples reflected off all that blond hair. “I suppose I find high energy and spontaneity attractive.”
“Until he spontaneously decides to be an”—a look from Owen, and Jason once again lowered his voice—“arse.”
“He likes being the centre of attention, being special. And showing off his boyfriends, as it turns out. I was fun for a while, but the fun wore out.”
That protective fury fizzed in Jason’s veins again. “Impossible.”
“Is that right?”
“I’m even more convinced we need to be boyfriends.”
Sunset glowed over Owen’s smile.
“He’ll be at the stag night and the wedding, and I’m going to be spontaneous all over you until he’s seething with jealousy.”
Owen was suddenly standing up, hammering a fist to his chest, making some kind of choking sound; Jason was on his feet in the sand, rubbing his back. His circles got wider, slower. “You okay?”
“No. No, I’m not.” But he was . . . laughing now? Sighing?
Jason steadied himself, arms wrapping around that broad chest. “You choked like that on your coffee this morning. You might need to get that looked at.”
“I know what the problem is. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I hope.”
Owen glanced over his shoulder, recovered now thank God, and . . . this was . . . comfortable. Too comfortable to move. So Jason grinned and settled his chin on Owen’s shoulder. “Owen, I’d like you to be my fake boyfriend, but if you change your mind at any point—”
“Thank you. I’m good for now.”
Jason let out a relieved breath. “I promise, when we stage the breakup I’ll be the one at fault. You’ll come away looking like such a saint, all the gay boys will be after you.” He squeezed Owen reassuringly. “In the meantime, could we practice, you know, being together?”
Owen shook his head in disbelief the entire way home. Jason felt similarly. It was . . . surreal. Once again, by indulging him in this charade, Owen was coming to Jason’s rescue. But . . . it was kind of exciting too? His body vibrated with the adventure of it all, starting off in low ticklish tones and climbing higher and higher. Grieg, “In the Hall of the Mountain King”.
This time when Jason followed Owen into his house, step bouncing, Owen didn’t even look surprised. He just found a clean toothbrush and a towel and handed them over with another shake of his head. “No snakes will hurt you.”
“Especially not in your bed.”
“Oh, good lord. Guest room.”
“But Mary isn’t here.”
An exasperated look.
Jason followed Owen down the hall towards the bedrooms. “We need to talk about dinner with my family tomorrow night. We should hold it here, obviously.”
“Obviously?”
“I know your kitchen better than Carl’s.”
Owen flung a door open. “In you go.”
Jason backed in reluctantly. “Also, I don’t expect you to get your parents involved. That would be asking too much, even if I’m kinda curious who raised you. But we can say something came up last minute. A cold maybe.”
“To be honest, Jason, after tonight my parents probably already know—” A phone buzzed from Owen’s pocket and he fished it out. “Speak of the devil . . . Mum. Yes—Of course. Tomorrow, my place. Say,”—he looked over at Jason, resigned and finding the humour in it all—“six?”