Page 33 of Merry & Bright

Sam whipped his head round to face the suddenly attentive barman, glad of the distraction.

“Sorry,” he said automatically, then cursed inwardly. He needed to get over his ingrained habit of self-effacing apology. It made people think he was a pushover. All part of that “nice boy” curse.

He forced himself to glance at Nick and ask in a voice that sounded amazingly normal to his own ears, “Would you like a drink?”

Nick’s expression was unhappy. “No, thanks. I’m fine,” he muttered, gesturing at his almost-full bottle of beer.

“Okay,” Sam replied coolly, then turned back to the barman. “So, could I have a gin and tonic, two vodka and Cokes and a mojito please?”

The barman glared. “A mo-what-oh?”

Sam suppressed a sigh. Apparently he’d done it again. He seemed to have a talent for asking for things that were commonplace in London but hopelessly exotic in semi-rural Lancashire.

“A mojito. It’s a rum cocktail,” he explained. “Listen, don’t worry. If you can’t do it, just make it two G&Ts instead of one.”

“I never said I couldn’t do it,” the barman said, scowling. “What’s in it?”

“Um”—Sam thought for a moment—“Rum, of course. And mint and sugar syrup. And it’s topped up with soda.”

“Mint?” The barman glowered at him as though he was mad. “In a drink?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll just—”

“I don’t have mint.”

“It doesn’t matter. Really,” Sam said desperately, “I’ll just have two G&Ts and two vodka cokes.”

“I can do it without the mint,” the barman insisted.

Sam bit back the urge to point out that, without the mint, it wouldn’t be a fucking mojito, and said again, “Honestly, it’s fine, I—”

“Stop being a dick, Mark,” Nick interrupted. “Get the guy his drinks. Two G&Ts and two vodka cokes.”

The barman turned his head to glare at Nick. “I’m not being a dick!”

“Yes, you are. Now get his drinks.”

To Sam’s surprise, the barman—Mark—went, though apparently fuming.

He glanced at Nick. “Thanks,” he said, half-grateful, half-annoyed.

Nick smiled weakly, and those bitter-chocolate eyes seemed to soften a little. “No worries. It’s probably my fault he’s being a nob anyway.” In response to Sam’s furrowed brows, he added, “Whenever he sees me, he gets even grumpier than usual. He’s an ex. Well, we hooked up a few times. We didn’t really see eye to eye about where we were heading.”

“You’regay?” Sam blurted, then immediately flushed. No way could Nick miss it this time, dim lighting or not. His cheeks blazed with heat.

How had Sam not picked up on this before? Was it because of the head-fucking combination of resentment and lust that filled him every time he saw Nick Foster? Did it throw off his gaydar? His common sense? Whatever it was, looking at Nick right now, Sam felt foolish and naïve.

“Yeah, I’m gay,” Nick said, frowning in a puzzled way. “Is that a problem? Because I’d kind of thought...” He trailed off, gesturing in Sam’s direction.

“Of course not!” Sam exclaimed. “I mean, of course it’s not a problem. I’m gay too—I mean, you probably realised. People tend to be able to tell with me pretty quickly.”

Oh God, he was babbling. Could he be any less cool?

Bang.

Sam started, turning to see the world’s angriest barman slamming four glasses of spirits in front of him. He watched as the man aggressively shovelled melting ice into each glass, then threw in some sorry-looking fragments of lemon before lifting a mixer gun to top off the glasses.

“No!” Sam said quickly, shrinking a little when Mark looked up to glare at him again. “Um, could I have bottled mixers please?”