Page 61 of Home Grown Talent

“Don’t be daft,” Lewis said. “If we do that, Mason will think we don’t want to be around him.” Owen and Aaron both turned to stare at him. “And that’s not the case at all,” Lewis added hurriedly. “Look. Why don’t you go after him and check he’s okay while we sort out breakfast, and then we can all watch the show together?”

“Good idea,” Aaron agreed. “Lewis, you get the Bucks Fizz sorted, and I’ll warm up the pastries.” He headed for the kitchen, and Lewis followed him.

And since Owen didn’t have a better idea, he did as they said.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Mason

Mason let out a long, mortified groan. Why, oh why did it have to be Lewis and Aaron, of all people, who would walk in on him naked? Not that either Aaron or Lewis had seemed very interested in his dangly bits, but even so. It was fucking embarrassing.

He didn’t even know whether Owen had told Lewis they were seeing each other. Well, if he hadn’t, Lewis knew now…

The door creaked open, and he swung round, alarmed, relaxing when he saw it was just Owen.

“Hey,” Owen said softly, stepping inside and closing the door. “Listen, I’m sorry about this. I wasn’t expecting them this morning.”

Mason managed to dredge up a small smile. “Yeah, I figured. Do you”—he cleared his throat—“want me to go?”

“What? No! Jesus, no.” Owen looked gratifyingly unhappy at that suggestion. He stepped forward, sliding his hands over Mason’s shoulders and gently squeezing, a warm, affectionate gesture that made Mason’s stupid stomach turn over. “Would you be okay with them staying? They’ve brought breakfast, which is just as well since I fucked up the Eggs Benedict big time.”

Despite everything, Mason couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Yeah—I saw. I don’t know what was in that pot, by the way, but it definitely wasn’t a hollandaise sauce.”

Owen’s expression had been faintly worried, but at Mason’s gentle teasing, the anxious stitch between his brows relaxed, and a gleam of humour came into his eyes. “I think I tried to run before I could walk,” he admitted. “Though I’m not as bad a cook as Lewis would have you believe. I can actually make a decent spag bol, and I do a mean roast chicken dinner.”

He urged Mason closer, and Mason found himself going willingly, pressing his naked frame against Owen’s clothed one. Owen trailed his hands down Mason’s sides before curving them over his arse and tugging him closer still, his grip firm. And fuck but Mason loved the way Owen manhandled him. Not carelessly, like he was a piece of meat. More like he was irresistibly tempting, and Owen just couldn’t stop himself from reaching for him.

Owen leaned in to kiss him then, and Mason sighed happily, parting his lips for Owen’s tongue. And then they were moaning and kissing and humping each other like teenagers, till Owen somehow managed to drag his mouth from Mason’s and step back, breathing heavily.

“Fuck,” he said, sounding breathless. “Fucking hell.”

They stared at one another.

“If they weren’t here,” Mason said hoarsely, “I’d say fuck Weekend Wellness—put your cock inside me right now.”

Owen gave a pained moan and adjusted himself. “But since they are here,” he said, “we’d better go and join them. If that’s okay with you?”

Part of Mason wanted to be petulant. To wheedle with Owen to get rid of Lewis and Aaron so he could have Owen all to himself. To avoid the inevitable awkwardness with Lewis that he’d honestly rather avoid. But it was only a small part of him. And besides, when Owen looked at him like that, his expression hopeful and concerned at once… it made him want to be good for Owen.

And so it was that he ended up taking a quick shower, dressing in soft flannel PJ bottoms and a t-shirt bearing Owen’s company name—fantastic Insta fodder—then joining the others in the living area.

Aaron immediately pressed a glass of Bucks Fizz and a plate of pastries on him, while Lewis shifted up on the big sectional sofa to make room for him next to Owen, making a few jokey cracks that neatly broke the ice. And Owen… Owen was unselfconsciously affectionate, putting his arm around Mason without seeming to even think about it, while stealing bits of almond croissant from Mason’s plate and kissing his temple for no particular reason. All that dopey coupley stuff that Mason usually avoided like the plague.

In anyone else, Owen’s behaviour would have sent up warning flares. Hell, it was sending up warning flares, but Mason was choosing to ignore them. If he wanted to keep things going with Owen—and he did want to; he needed to—then he’d have to roll with the coupley stuff.

Roll with it? Hell, who was he kidding? The truth was, Mason was fucking loving it. Maybe there was a tiny bit of Frieda in him after all, a clingy, desperate part of him that was revelling in Owen’s affectionate attention even though he knew it was dangerous. Dangerous for Owen because Mason didn’t do long term. Not with anyone.

And for Mason? Well, maybe not dangerous, but certainly distracting. Hell, Weekend Wellness was already burbling away in the background, and he hadn’t posted a bloody thing all morning. He pulled his phone out of his pocket to quickly check his notifications, wondering if he could possibly persuade Lewis and Aaron to be in a pic with him and Owen—friend groups always played well on Insta—when he caught sight of the time and realised he was too late. Their bit would be starting any moment.

“Hey, it’s time,” he said. “Owen, it’ll be starting soon!”

Lewis grabbed the remote and put the sound up, and they all leaned forward, shushing each other.

Marc was sitting on a sofa next to his co-presenter, Leah, a younger woman with long, dark hair and a strong Lancashire accent. They were finishing off a segment with a guest, a well-known sportswoman who’d just come back from some far-flung trip doing a charity gig of some description.

Once they were done with the sportswoman, Leah turned to Marc and said, “I think you’re going to be very interested in our next segment.”

“Oh yeah?” he replied. “And why’s that?”