Page 49 of Home Grown Talent
Owen’s grin broadened. “Should I pack a toothbrush?”
“Yeah, you should.” This time, there was a smile in Mason’s voice. “If you’re good, I might even cook you breakfast in the morning.”
Owen’s heart swooped alarmingly. It was scary, how much he already liked Mason. He’d always been an all-in, no-half-measures kind of a guy. But even for him, it felt like this was happening pretty damn quickly. Maybe too quickly.
He didn’t show his disquiet to Mason, though, instead adopting a teasing, growly voice and saying, “And what if I’m bad?”
Mason gave an adorably breathy little laugh. “Then I’m definitely cooking you breakfast. With all the trimmings. And a cherry on top.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mason
The object of going to Cosmos for drinks was to be seen. Mason had been there with Jay a couple of times, and they’d always got a lot of attention. Good for both of their profiles, but especially for Mason’s. Once, after Jay’s character, Skye, came out in Leeches, Mason had gained over 2000 followers when a pic of him and Jay made it into a clickbait piece about gay actors playing gay characters.
Tonight, though, Mason would have to do the heavy lifting, and so he needed to look suitably eye-catching. Not that he wouldn’t want to look good for Owen, but unlike the men Mason usually dated, Owen was completely unimpressed by designer fashion or statement pieces. He’d told Mason he looked ‘amazing’ in the ancient blue sweatshirt and cropped jeans he’d worn to set yesterday. Which was adorable—he smiled at the memory of the genuine admiration in Owen’s eyes—but didn’t help him with his current dilemma.
He had three possible outfits laid out on his bed. One was pretty high fashion, relaxed Brunello Cucinelli dog-tooth trousers paired with a red shirt and cotton blazer, which he’d been given following a shoot he’d done in the States before Christmas. The others were more restrained—a deconstructed baby pink linen suit that he knew showed off his long legs, or his favourite pair of jeans and a flamboyant Claudio Lugli shirt. Spying an opportunity, he snapped a picture of himself puzzling over the clothes, cropped and filtered it, and popped it up on Insta.
Choices, choices. Hot date tonight but what to wear…? #fashiongram #fashioninsta #love #me
The replies flooded in quickly, with a satisfying number asking whether the date was with @OwenHunterGardens. Mason replied with suitable ‘my lips are sealed’ emojis.
Misty responded with Don’t forget your wellies! and a pride flag.
Owen didn’t reply at all. Probably because he hadn’t seen it or was working. Or both. Unlike the rest of the world, Owen didn’t have his phone riveted to his hand. On a couple of occasions when they’d met up for meetings or rehearsals, he’d even left it in his van.
Inconceivable. Mason got the jitters if he misplaced his phone for more than thirty seconds.
Anyway, the general consensus on Insta was that Mason should wear the Brunello Cucinelli, but in the end, he decided to dress down in his jeans but spice it up with his commando-soled Chelsea boots and a Tom Ford quilted velvet bomber jacket. A photographer had once told him that the soft teal made his eyes pop.
He didn’t want Owen to feel uncomfortable by over-dressing, and besides, people would draw their own conclusions if he and Owen dressed more alike. In fact, it would be great if he could get a pic of himself casually wearing something of Owen’s—the olive-green sweatshirt with his company logo on it would be perfect...
He made a mental note to try and get hold of one.
After deciding what to wear, Mason went for a long run on the common to burn off some of his nervous tension and then indulged in a hot and very thorough shower. He wasn’t sure exactly what the evening would bring, but he wanted to be prepared for anything. To that end, aside from personal grooming, he changed the sheets on the bed and made sure there were condoms and lube to hand in the bedroom. And the living room.
Then he took a few pics of himself in the full-length mirror, giving it a little catwalk pout, until he had one that he liked. He posted it—Feeling flirty! :)—and headed for the tube.
By the time he got out at Battersea, he was feeling more nervous than flirty. Which was stupid, because it wasn’t like this was an ordinary date with some random guy desperate to get him into bed. This was Owen, who had somehow, over the last few weeks, become his friend.
His friend.
Mason considered that as he headed for the bar. He’d never been good at friendships, not since he’d turned twelve, hit puberty, realised he was gay, and changed schools all in one year. Not that he hadn’t been noticed—for as long as he could remember, people had noticed him.
He’s going to be a heartbreaker, random strangers used to tell Frieda when he was a kid, smiling as they’d passed him in the street.
Yes, Mason had always had plenty of attention, and these days, that attention was paying his bills, but attention wasn't friendship. Sometimes attention meant being coveted—Jay and Tag weren’t the first guys who’d competed to be seen out with him. Other times, attention was driven by envy, which usually turned into sly comments about his vanity or intellect. Whatever form it took, though, it meant being different. Being other. It had made Mason wary of people, and it was difficult to make friends with people whose motives you didn’t quite trust.
Mason had a lot of acquaintances. People he saw at parties and took selfies with. People whose posts he always liked and added a gushing comment to. He looked like he had a lot of friends, but the truth was, that was all just so much surface. Whereas these last few weeks, with Owen…
His musings were cut short by the sight of Owen standing on the pavement outside Cosmos. There was something…odd about Owen tonight, and it took a moment for Mason to realise that he looked uncomfortable. Nervous. His expression relaxed when he saw Mason, and he lifted a hand to wave, but he still looked uneasy as Mason drew closer.
“Hi,” Owen said. Then, “Wow, you look great.”
Mason smiled. “Thanks, so do you.” He did, too, in jeans and a soft-looking dark sweater that Mason wanted to snuggle into and strip off him all at once.
“Yeah?” Owen looked doubtful and glanced over his shoulder towards the bar. “I had a look inside… You didn’t tell me it was so posh. I’m a bit underdressed.”