Page 32 of Merry & Bright

Sam started at her tone. “Oh hi, Monica. Merry Christmas.” He leaned forward to kiss her ruddy cheek, then offered the gold gift bag.

Monica looked surprised then pleased in a flushed sort of way. One hand fluttered to her cheek, even as the other reached for the gift bag.

“Sorry to be so late with it,” Sam added sheepishly as she tucked it into the sack.

“Oh, you’re not the last,” she informed him. She sighed heavily, then added, “Far from it.”

“Why don’t I get you a drink?” Sam offered. “What do you fancy?”

She got that pleased-surprised look again and asked for a gin and tonic, thanking him effusively. “You’re such a nice boy, Samuel,” she said. “So thoughtful.”

He got that a lot. The “nice boy” thing. He didn’t think hewasa particularly nice boy, actually, but he’d been brought up to say hispleaseandthank-yous,give up his seat on the bus for the elderly and the pregnant, and always hold the door open for others. And those were the sorts of habits that stuck, given enough nagging.

The bar was heaving, but Sam eventually managed to squeeze to the front, resting his elbows gingerly on the beer-wet wood, a twenty held up between his fingers to attract the attention of the barman—the barman who seemed determined to ignore him and whose gaze slid past Sam every time Sam tried to make eye contact.

“Excuse me,” Sam called out the next time he came close. “I’ve been waiting for ages over here.”

That earned him a glare before the guy pointedly stomped off to serve a young woman dressed as a sexy elf.

“Oh dear. Bad move,” a voice murmured in Sam’s ear. “He’ll ignore you even more now.”

Sam looked over his shoulder.

Wonder Boy.

Somehow Sam managed to keep his expression bland, even as the usual reactions set in: irritation, intimidation, and, most galling of all, lust. Nick Foster was gorgeous, but Sam gave no hint he noticed, merely saying, “Oh, hi, Nick. Merry Christmas.”

Nick pushed closer, his chest plastered to Sam’s back for an instant, lean hips moving sinuously as he navigated his way round Sam’s body to squeeze in next to him. He set down his bottle of beer on the bar in front of him, then turned to face Sam. They were the same height, and both lean made. But while Sam was fair, Nick was dark. Dark hair, worn a little too long, and bitter-chocolate eyes, fringed with thick lashes.

“And Merry Christmas to you,” Nick replied, grinning, his usual sky-high confidence oozing out of him. “You’re looking well.”

Sam smiled faintly. “Thanks, so are you.”

In Nick’s case, he was looking considerably more than well. He was looking fucking gorgeous in a shirt the colour of espresso. It matched his dark, intense eyes to perfection and hugged his lean torso lovingly.

“So,” Nick said, cocking his head to one side, “how’s it going at M&H?”

Was that a glimmer of sympathy? A complex mix of emotions began to percolate inside Sam. Resentment. Embarrassment. A weirdly grateful, and wholly inappropriate, desire to spill out his insecurities. And all of it shot through with that inescapable and deeply troubling attraction that tripped him up whenever he was in Nick Foster’s radius.

“Things are good, thanks,” he managed. “How about you? How’s the pupillage going?”

“Great. I’m more than halfway now. Mike sent my chambers a chunky case last week, which was really good of him. It all helps, you know?”

“Yeah, he’s a good guy,” Sam agreed. He was aware of heat stealing into his cheeks and was glad of the dim lighting. He knew exactly the case Nick meant. Sam had argued for using a different set of chambers. When he’d finished making his case, Mike had just looked at him, saying nothing for a long time before thanking Sam for his thoughts and repeating that they’d be using Nick’s chambers. Had Mike guessed Sam’s suggestion had been motivated by nothing better than sheer resentment? It hadn’t been Sam’s finest hour, to say the least, and he was ashamed to remember it now.

“I’m glad to hear things are going well,” Nick went on. “Mike was a bit worried about you for a while, but I told him you’d settle down fine in time.”

Sam stared at him Was Nick aware of what he’d just said? What he’d let slip?

Apparently not, because he was smiling broadly at Sam, his expression warm and friendly.

As much as Sam wanted to shrug the comment off, he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t make himself speak even. He’d suspected that Nick and Mike had discussed him, of course, but finding out that his suspicions were correct made him queasy.

A sudden lump appeared in his throat, the sort of lump that youhadto swallow against. When Nick caught sight of that betraying bob of Sam’s throat, his smile began to fade and his brows drew together.

“Shit, Sam,” he said, leaning forward. “I didn’t mean—”

An irritated voice interrupted them. “Well? What d’you want?”