Page 27 of Best Man (Close Proximity #1)

TEN

JESSE

The knock at the door of the flat interrupts my nervous pacing.

I race over to the door and then stop, reminding myself that I don’t want to look too keen.

I shake my head. I’m sure I’ll give that away at some point.

I take a deep breath and rub my damp palms down my jeans before flinging open the door.

Zeb is leaning against the wall outside the flat with a very quizzical expression on his face.

“I was wondering whether you’d changed your mind,” he says. There’s a wry note to his voice, but for some reason I’m sure there’s a bit of truth in that statement.

“Not likely,” I say briskly. I wink at him. “I just had a bit of a job navigating my way around the huge parcel that arrived today.”

For a second he looks mystified and then I watch in fascination as a tide of red floods over his face. “Oh erm,” he stammers, and I take pity on him.

“Do come in. Watch out for the gigantic expensive picture though.”

He edges his way into the flat, and I shut the door behind him, suppressing a smile as he tries to look anywhere other than at the six-foot picture of pink peonies that’s propped against my lounge wall.

Ivo Ashworth-Robinson’s work looks rather incongruous in my drab lounge with the peeling paper and beanbags.

Like a very expensive racehorse sitting in a cow shed.

I fold my arms and look at Zeb. He’s wearing white jeans with a faded denim shirt and leather deck shoes, but I’m particularly loving the way he’s accessorised with a severe case of the fidgets.

“It looks very nice,” he finally says in a slightly high voice.

“It certainly does,” I say blandly. “Not quite the setting it’s used to though.”

For a second we stare at each other and then he breaks. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, running his hand through his hair. “It’s just that you loved it so much in the gallery, and I wanted you to have it.”

“I love Ryan Reynolds too. When is he arriving?”

“Not for a while. We ran into problems with Customs.” I laugh, and he shakes his head. “He couldn’t cope with you anyway,” he says dryly. “He’d be checking in for mental health care within twenty-four hours.”

I laugh again and tug on his shirt to pull him closer. I can see the flare of nerves in his eyes, and I welcome it because they’re a twin to the flutters in my belly.

“Thank you. I love it so much. It’s the nicest present I’ve ever had,” I breathe and bridge the gap between us to kiss him.

For a second he’s still and our mouths rest against each other almost in astonishment that we’re here.

Then he’s in movement, pulling me close, his hands on my lower back as he licks into my mouth.

I open my mouth, moaning under my breath as his hands slide lower, grabbing my arse and tugging me sharply into him so I can feel the weight of his big cock against mine.

He moans, and I push my hands under his shirt, feeling the satiny hot skin underneath the sun-warmed denim. I rub my hands there, and I’m just pushing his shirt up further when I hear a key in the door. We break apart almost guiltily as the front door opens and Charlie appears.

“Afternoon,” he says. He looks between us. “Oh sorry, have I interrupted a work meeting? Are you having an appraisal? ”

Zeb looks at me in a panicked way, and I try to stop myself but burst out laughing anyway.

“He’s joking.” I snort. “Your face.”

Zeb sags. “You know?” he says to Charlie, and Charlie shrugs.

“The expensive artwork kind of gave the game away,” he says, smiling. “The last gift he got off a bloke was a voucher for a McDonalds breakfast.”

“Nice to know the bar is set low.”

“It’s buried so far beneath us the kangaroos will find it soon,” I say slightly mournfully.

Zeb looks at Charlie. “Well, I’m pleased to meet you properly,” he says, holding his hand out to shake, and we both stare as Charlie immediately backs up.

“Better not, mate,” he says. “I’ve got cat piss all over my hands.”

“Ugh,” I say, and Zeb blinks.

“How lovely,” he says faintly.

Charlie shakes his head crossly. “A customer brought her library books back today covered in it. Then she had the nerve to say she shouldn’t have to pay for them because they were still readable.”

“What did you say?” Zeb asks, staring fascinated at Charlie.

He shrugs. “I told her just because you can, doesn’t mean you should. I mean, I’m dateable, but it doesn’t automatically follow that Henry Cavill is going to take advantage of that.”

“ Henry ,” I say slightly longingly, and we both sigh before recalling ourselves. Zeb is watching us with a wry look on his face.

“So what happened?” he asks.

“She paid. But one of the volunteers then spent the whole afternoon trying to sponge the books clean so we could use them again.” He pauses and shrugs.

“Council cuts,” he says to Zeb, who nods.

“Anyway, to cut a long cat-pee-scented story short, she failed, but not until everyone smelt like an old lady’s front room. ”

“Is that a euphemism?” I enquire, and Charlie winces.

“Fuck off. Don’t be disgusting.”

“The last librarian I saw was in The Mummy ,” Zeb says. “That sliding ladder always fascinated me. ”

“Trust me, I’d rather tackle Imhotep than old Mrs Saunders who keeps Tipp-Exing the swear words out in the large-print books.”

Zeb laughs and Charlie looks at both of us, his eyes bright with curiosity and a hefty dose of amusement. “So, you’re going out, then?”

“We are,” I say grandly. “ I am planning our afternoon and evening entertainment.”

“Shit,” Charlie mutters. He smirks at Zeb. “It’s not too late to run. The last time he organised anything we ended up in Dover.”

“Was that bad?”

“It was, considering we were supposed to be in Edinburgh.”

Zeb laughs and smiles at me. It’s more, somehow. Still tinged with amusement but there’s something extra in that smile that makes my heart beat faster. “I’ll take the gamble,” he says softly.

Charlie grins. “Well, I’m off to remove the stunning fragrance of Moggy Number Five. Have a good time.”

He disappears, and Zeb looks at me steadily. “You ready?” he asks, and something in his eyes tells me that he half expects me to run away.

I nod and step closer to him. “For anything,” I say deliberately, and he swallows and nods.

“Let’s go, then. Show me this date, Casanova.”

An hour later he looks up at our destination and blinks. “So, our date is Stanfords, the bookshop?”

I nod happily. “The travel bookshop,” I emphasise. “Have you ever been in here?”

He shakes his head. “No, I haven’t travelled much.

” He looks almost shamefaced. “I always wanted to, but there was never enough time. My dad was too busy to travel when I was a kid,” he finishes almost inaudibly, and my heart twists.

His dad was probably too busy getting married.

He seems to have been the Zsa Zsa Gabor of London.

“Well, can I just say that I’m profoundly grateful to have discovered somewhere that you haven’t been with Patrick yet,” I say tartly to cover up his embarrassment .

His face clears. “There are a lot of places I didn’t go with Patrick, and a bookshop would be number one on the list.”

“Did he read much?”

“Only his horoscope.”

“Did he believe in all that?”

He shrugs. “Only in so far that it suited him. If he didn’t like his own forecast, he’d take one from another star sign.”

“He cheated at astrology?” I say and my voice is far too delighted.

He shakes his head. “I’m getting the impression you don’t like Patrick.”

“I can’t imagine where that comes from,” I say innocently, and when he shoots me a glance, I smile brightly. “Luckily, I have been here before, which is why I am such an astounding guide for you.”

“So, our date is in a bookshop?” he says again.

I nod happily. “Not just any bookshop, though. This one was frequented by people like Florence Nightingale, Captain Scott, and Ernest Shackleton. Oh, and Jesse, Eli, Misha, and Charlie for the Amsterdam trip that shall forever be remembered for Charlie falling in the canal and being rescued by a man wearing leather chaps.” He laughs, and I grin back at him.

“We do have a mission though,” I say solemnly as he goes to open the door.

He pauses and steps back to allow a couple behind us to go through, and we move to the side, out of the way.

“A mission ? What sort of date is this?” he asks.

“The best. Our mission is to each choose a travel guide to a country that we’d like to visit.”

“Why?”

I nudge him. “Were you an unusually curious child, Zebadiah? Because all the signs are pointing that way.” He opens his mouth to answer, and I hold up my hand. “We are doing this so we can get to know something about each other. This is how people date.”

He shakes his head. “It’s how you date. I’m not sure about anyone else. What happened to dinner and drinks?”

“Zeb, Zeb, that’s other people, baby.”

“Please don’t call me baby,” he says in a slightly anguished voice.

“What shall I call you, then? Bunny? Pet? Lovie? Princess? ”

“No,” he says in a revolted tone of voice.

“Anyway, Mr Evans,” I say loudly. “That sort of boring date is not for us.”

“It isn’t?”

“Nuh-uh. No. We are going to do dating a different way.”

He folds his arms and grins at me. His smile is wide, his eyes very blue, and for a second I lose my train of thought.

I shake my head to clear it. “I was thinking about this last night, and I came to an executive decision.” I wink at him. “I put the word executive in there. You should be thrilled.”

“Ecstatic,” he drawls, and I snort.