Page 18 of Home Grown Talent

Yum, Mason thought, then caught himself and scowled. That was the wine talking. He was not into Owen Hunter.

Perhaps conscious of being studied, Owen glanced over, and their eyes met briefly before he looked away again.

He can’t keep his eyes off you…

Probably, Owen wanted to fuck him, Mason thought—and his gut clenched with sudden, unexpected want.

Christ. Was he into Owen?

Mason’s mind started racing. Maybe this was a good thing? If Misty thought a bit of flirtation would be a selling point for this possible new opportunity… Well, it would be a lot easier if there was a genuine mutual attraction there, wouldn’t it?

Shit. He really needed to not get his hopes up about this.

He went to reach for the wine bottle to refill his glass, only to realise, with dismay, that it was empty.

And Misty was still wittering on about her bloody kids.

“...and so obviously her birthday party had to be Ancient-Greek-themed,” she was saying. “Well, if you’ve ever tried to find Odysseus party favours for thirty eleven-year-olds—”

Mason couldn’t sit through this without a drink. He lurched to his feet. “Can you excuse me for a sec?” he said. “I just need to pop to the bathroom.”

Standing up that fast set the world spinning, but he managed to steady himself as he moved away and began weaving a path between the tables. He headed for the set of double doors that led to the bar area, where the pre-dinner drinks reception had been held. As soon as he walked in, though, the first thing he saw was Tag and Jay.

They were standing at the bar itself, and it was obvious they were arguing. Jay’s brows were drawn together, and Tag was gesticulating wildly as he made some point.

Mason moved towards them, conscious of his own unsteady gait.

Neither of them even noticed his approach. Bloody typical, he thought. Weren't these two meant to be competing to be seen out with him? If so, how come they never even seemed to notice he was there?

When he reached them, he said loudly, “I wondered where you two had got to.”

They both startled, almost comically, and turned to look at him.

“Mason,” Jay said. “God, sorry, I—” He broke off, his face colouring.

Tag was staring at Mason too, his expression dismayed. “We, uh, lost track of time, I guess. We were so busy arguing—”

Mason scoffed. “Arguing. Right.”

“We were!” Jay said. “I was having a quiet drink in here when Tag spotted me and came over to tell me off for abandoning you with Misty.” He made a face. “He was right. I’m sorry. She’s just really hard work, you know?”

“Now you admit I was right?” Tag exclaimed, throwing up his hands.

“I never said you weren’t right,” Jay retorted angrily. “It was the way you said it, like I was being—”

“Jesus Christ!” Mason interrupted. “What is it with you two?”

They both stared at him in guilty silence. And no wonder—this competitive fake-dating was supposed to have been fun. And okay, Mason had got what he wanted out of it: lots of great ‘casual dating’ content for his socials that enhanced his profile as a popular, young, famous gay guy. But there was something downright humiliating about the fact that, for Tag and Jay, the whole thing was obviously about something completely different. They were so focused on each other, beating each other, that they didn't even notice whether Mason was in the room.

“You know what?” he snapped. “I don’t even care. Whatever. Let’s just…end this farce, okay? No more dates. With either of you.”

“What?” Tag exclaimed in dismay. “No. Mason, I—”

He held up a hand to shut Tag up, but the gesture somehow knocked him off balance and made him stumble sideways. “Come off it,” he said, catching himself against a bar stool. “Who do you think you’re kidding with this bullshit anyway? Why don’t you just go fuck each other’s brains out already, instead of pretending this weird competition has anything to do with me—”

They both stared at him with matching horrified expressions; then Tag turned to Jay and hissed, “See what you’ve done?”

“What I’ve done?”