Page 10 of Best Man (Close Proximity #1)

FOUR

ZEB

I stand outside on the balcony, the late afternoon sun laying stripes across the floor.

Listening out, I can still hear the hiss of the shower where Jesse has ensconced himself.

I think of that lithe form with soap bubbles trailing down it and shake my head firmly.

Nope. I turn my attention back to the phone in my hand.

“This is a disaster,” I hiss.

“I’m sorry. Is this a conversation or Chinese whispers?” my twat of an assistant whispers back. “Hang on, though. I was good at this in Cubs. I think you said that you liked James Acaster. That’s fine with me. He’s a very funny comedian.”

“Do I pay you too much?” I wonder.

“Put it out of your head,” he says comfortingly. “Now, why is this a disaster? You’re away for a few days with an extremely gorgeous younger man. Were you a pessimistic child, Zeb? Because all the signs are pointing that way.”

“I’m also away with my ex-lover, his future bride, and two sets of families who hate me,” I mutter. “Oh, and Jesse and Patrick clashed heads earlier. ”

“Did Jesse actually headbutt Patrick? Because this day is getting better and better. I might buy a lottery ticket later on.”

“No, of course he didn’t. But he was very challenging towards him. Like two dogs fighting over a piece of bacon,” I say glumly.

“Zeb, it’s like the fairies sprinkled magic dust over you when you were a baby and then promptly dropped you on your head.”

“I can’t talk to you,” I say solemnly.

“No, don’t. Go and shag that beautiful man and fuck the others off. Just spend the time in bed with him.”

“Goodbye,” I say sadly.

I click End, aware of him laughing in the background, but all my attention is on the bathroom door which has just opened to reveal Jesse. If this were a film, triumphant music would definitely play because he’s a glorious sight.

He’s naked apart from a white towel wrapped around his narrow hips that accentuates the swarthy tone of his skin.

I always wondered whether he used a sunbed but now I’m unfortunately aware that every inch of him is covered in olive-coloured skin.

I’m also faintly surprised that he has hair on his chest. I don’t know why.

I suppose because he’s so smooth, I expected him to be more boyish, I guess.

Not very obviously a man. I swallow hard, and to my horror, I feel my cock stiffen, so I spring into action.

“Good shower?” I ask briskly.

He looks at me curiously and then gives me his wide, wonderful smile.

It always strikes somewhere inside me like there’s a bell that only he rings.

It’s full of humour, the warm, plush lips curved into a quirky tilt, and he smiles with his eyes.

Very few people do. It’s one of the reasons so many people warm to him.

He’s very puckish. Funny and kind but with a strong undercurrent of wildness about him.

Like he’s keeping the mischievous side of him only barely reined in.

He scrubs another towel over his hair, emerging from its folds with all that dark mink-brown hair falling over his face in silky strands.

“It’s lush,” he pronounces.

“Pardon?”

He smiles. “Lush. It’s brilliant.” He shrugs. “We lived in Wales when I was seven and my best friend is Welsh. Can’t help picking up a few things.”

“Oh.” I’m startled. Every time he talks to me now, I uncover another fact. He’s like one of those Chinese puzzle boxes that, if turned the right way, spills out its secrets.

“Did you live in many places?” I ask.

He nods. “We moved all over the country until my dad got the church in Devon. They’ve lived there for the last fifteen years.”

He raises a quizzical brow, and I flush, realising that I’m standing staring at him. “We need to talk,” I say abruptly.

“Okay,” he says easily. He settles into a chair, his long legs dusted in black hair stretched comfortably out.

“Erm, don’t you want to get dressed?” I say. Then I realise that I’m standing here and his clothes are here. “Oh shit. I’ll go out on the balcony and–”

“Why?” He’s full-on staring at me now.

“Well, because you’ll want to get dressed.”

“Zeb, I’m presuming that we have the same body parts. I’ve got changed in front of loads of people. I’m fine with being naked in front of you.” He shrugs. “It’s just flesh, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I say slowly, my mouth watering at the scent of his damp skin. I shake my head firmly to clear it. “That brings me to another problem.”

“How happy you must be,” he says cheerfully, stretching his arms above his head with a satisfied grunt.

I narrow my eyes at him. I swear he’s doing this on purpose. “Why?”

“So many problems. You must admit you live to sort them out. This is like Christmas and birthdays to you with all these potential areas of trouble just tumbling out around you.”

I shake my head. “Jesse, you’re a pisstaking prat,” I say baldly, hearing the sound of his laughter with a surge of warm pleasure.

Mostly everyone around me treats me warily, like I’m going to leap on them and organise their cupboards before sacking them and casting them onto the street.

Jesse never has. He’s always treated me with this warm friendliness, and I savour it so much more than I should .

He stops laughing and rubs his eyes. “Okay, let’s have the problem.”

“The bed,” I say firmly.

He looks towards it and back at me. “Is it not comfortable? Are the sheets polyester?”

“No.” I gape at him. “Can you really not see the problem?” He shrugs. “There’s only one bed,” I say impatiently. He stares at me and I launch into problem-solving. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. But luckily there’s a sofa. I’ll sleep on that.”

He starts to laugh again. “Zeb, it’s like meeting a stranger. You didn’t think any of this through, did you? What is happening to you?”

I shrug, feeling my cheeks flush to my horror. “It was a bit of an impulsive move,” I finally admit.

He smiles at me kindly. “Well, luckily I excel in those,” he murmurs. “I’ll guide you along.”

“May God help me.”

He chuckles. “Listen, that sofa is as uncomfortable of a piece of furniture as I’ve ever sat on. There is no way you’re sleeping on that while we’re here.” He shrugs. “There’s an easy solution to all of this.”

“Get another room and tell people that you’re saving yourself for marriage?” I say glumly, and he laughs, his whole face lighting up and those warm eyes of his limpid and clear.

“No, silly. We’ll just share the bed.”

“Oh my God.” I sigh and lean back, covering my eyes. “I’m your bloody boss. You can’t share a bed with me.”

Warm fingers cover my hands, and he prises them away from my face. I blink as I see his pretty face close up. “If it makes you feel any better,” he says solemnly, “we’ll put a pillow between us, each keep one foot on the floor at all times, and I promise to hide the key to my chastity belt.”

I shake my head, only realising that he’s still touching my face when his fingertips slide across my skin. I repress a shiver.

He smiles and steps back, adjusting the towel around his waist. “Zeb, we’re both adults, and it’s time you realised it. We’re both perfectly capable of sharing a bed without leaping on each other the moment the lights go out. ”

I swallow hard. Speak for yourself, I think.

It’s getting increasingly difficult for me to keep my hands off you .

Instead of saying the words, I send my face into its customary polite mask.

It’s stood me well over the years, covering up my occasional shyness and the resulting awkwardness.

I found a long time ago that people largely accept the face you show to the world.

I’m not sure it works with him, however, because his eyes sharpen as if he’s looking inside me, and those eyes turn kind and warm.

“If this is a problem,” he says slowly, all mirth gone, “I’ll get another room. Fuck everyone else’s opinion. You’re the important one in this situation, not any of those probably snotty bastards.”

I blink. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that before.

“Oh, there’s no need,” I say softly, incredibly touched by the passion and heat in his voice. It’s odd to have someone so focused on me and my feelings. I’m not entirely sure it’s comfortable though, so I stand up. “Never mind,” I say briskly. “We’ll work it out. Thank you for being so patient.”

His eyes sharpen as he stares at me, then, after a long second, they soften again. “You don’t need to thank me for being patient. Don’t ever thank me for that.”

I study him, wondering what he’s thinking, before realising that I probably look like an idiot at the moment. “Never mind,” I say quickly. “I’m going to shower and change for dinner.” I look at his current outfit. “You’ll need to wear your suit.”

“Never crossed my mind not to,” he says glumly. “I’d probably wear court robes if I had any.”

I shake my head. “Well, I’m just going to shower,” I say again, slightly awkwardly, compounding my idiocy by pointing at the bathroom door as if he doesn’t know where it is. His mouth twitches, and he stands up and stretches.

I watch all the muscles move languorously under his skin, sliding like silk, and feel my cock thicken. “You do that,” he says throatily.

Once I’m inside the bathroom, I lean back against the door and shake my head, groaning silently.

Against my will, my hand strays down to my cock which is pushing impudently against my jeans.

I suppress a moan but can’t help stroking along its length, the rough denim catching my nerves and making them sparkle.

Through the door I hear thumping and then the sound of “Fine Time” by New Order starting to play.

I shake my head as Bernard Sumner begins to sing about age.

I strip off quickly, feeling the cooler air strike against my hot skin.

I start the water in the shower and step into the huge enclosure, inhaling the scent of green tea that lies heavy on the damp air.