Page 31 of Persuaded

Finn stared at his reflection in the hotel mirror: boots for the bad weather, his favorite black jeans, an old Zeppelin T-shirt. Too obvious? They’d listened to a lot of Zeppelin that summer. Screw it, though, why not be obvious? He was on a mission.

Although maybe he should dress smarter. That guy with Josh had been dressed to kill, all sharp lines and expensive tailoring. Limey bastard.

He glanced back at the bed where he’d laid out all the clothes he’d brought with him. A shirt, maybe? Or—

A knock at the door and Sean’s muffled voice called, “Finn, it’s me.”

Sean was both the only and last person Finn wanted to see right then. He was nervous about the evening and not in the mood for Sean’s ribbing, but there was literally no one else in the world who knew what was going on and he figured it might help his nerves to talk.

“So you’re going then?” Sean strolled in, taking up all the space with his long limbs and broad shoulders. He dumped his bag on the floor, shrugged off his coat. Dude hadn’t even been back to his own room yet.

“Of course I’m going.” Josh had invited him; he took that as a good sign. “I’m just...”

Sean lifted an eyebrow as he surveyed the clothes strewn across Finn’s bed. “Nervous as a cheerleader on a first date?”

“Shut up.” He swiped the clothes off the bed and dumped them back into his bag.

Sean grinned. “Man, I’ve never seen you like this.” He dropped into one of the chairs by the little glass table at the window. “You were always so cool before a date.”

“Yeah, well. This isn’t a date.” It was so much more than a date; it felt like a last chance. He returned to the mirror so he didn’t have to look at Sean’s grinning face. The damp air outside had made Finn’s hair spike and he tried to flatten it down.

“Finn.” Sean had his serious voice on, and Finn met his gaze in the mirror. “You look great. You always look great. And, honestly, that’s probably the last thing you need to worry about tonight.”

“I know. But it’s the only thing I can control.”

Sean tapped his fingers on the table, eyes dipping to watch them as he said, “So you saw Quinton, huh?”

“Asshole English guy? Yeah, I saw him.”

“He, uh—” Sean glanced up at him. “He and Josh seemed friendly when I saw them together, just to give you the heads-up.”

They’d seemed friendly when Finn had seen them too and the idea coiled queasily in the pit of his stomach.

Not that he had any right to be jealous after the crap he’d pulled with Liz, but he couldn’t help it.

He couldn’t help being terrified that he’d had a second chance and blown it because of his own stupid hurt pride.

There’d been enough irritation in Josh’s voice when he’d mentioned Liz to make Finn worry.

Josh probably thought he was an asshole, and why wouldn’t he?

Decent to the core, Joshua Newton would never fuck around with someone the way Finn had with Liz.

Except that he fucked around with you...

But that little angry voice sounded churlish now. Josh had been a kid afraid of his asshole father, and with good reason it turned out. He’d deserved Finn’s sympathy, not his anger. He’d deserved his love. And, crap, but that thought knotted his stomach up tight.

“Finn?” Sean was on his feet. “He hasn’t known Quinton long, even if they’re...” He waved his hand in a vague gesture. “It doesn’t mean it’s hopeless.”

“Quinton. What the hell kinda name is that anyway?”

“A dumb one.” Sean put his hand on Finn’s shoulder. “Just talk to him, man. Josh is—Well, I guess you know him better than me, but he’s a good man. He’ll listen.”

He couldn’t go into all the variables that scared the shit out of him, so he just nodded. Sean was right, the only thing he could do was talk to Josh. The rest was up to him.

* * *

Noise and music spilled from All Bar None when Finn arrived a little after nine, delayed en route by three separate groups of young women wanting selfies.

He wondered what they’d think if they knew he was on his way to a date—kind of a date—with another man.

Would that be it, end of the road for his career as a teen idol?

He didn’t know. More than that, he didn’t know whether he cared. All he could think about right then was Josh.

As he pushed open the door, Josh saw him immediately.

He sat at the bar and must have been watching the door because he smiled, lifting his hand to wave.

And everything felt perfect; the connection that had bound them so close was right there in Josh’s look of delight and Finn felt his heart swoop with relief.

Suddenly, all he wanted was to touch him.

No, not wanted, needed . He needed to touch him with a force he hadn’t felt in years—like he couldn’t breathe unless they were in each other’s arms, like his hands couldn’t still unless they were sliding along the smooth muscles of his back, like his chest couldn’t stop aching unless it was pressed against Josh’s, skin-to-skin.

The explosion of desire made his legs shake as he pushed through the crowd.

Tell him. Just tell him.

“Hey,” Finn said as he reached him, the crush in the bar giving him reason to stand close.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.” Josh had a stranglehold on the glass he clutched. “I hoped you would.”

“Wouldn’t miss it. I, uh...” Tell him. Tell him now . “You singing tonight?”

Josh laughed, nose wrinkling. “Me? You’re kidding.”

God, he hadn’t seen that laugh in years and he couldn’t keep the stupid grin off his face. “You play, I’ll sing?”

And just like that, the laughter faded. Josh parted his lips as if there were words trying to get out, then looked down at his glass. His hair fell forward and Finn couldn’t see his expression. “It’s been a while since we did that.”

“Yeah, it has.” Finn’s mouth went dry. “Too long.”

Josh looked up and Finn thought maybe he should just kiss him. Screw talking, just kiss him right there in the bar. But Josh turned his head, glanced at something past Finn’s shoulder, and with a sinking dread Finn turned to see Quinton making his way toward them. Of course. Of fucking course.

“Joshua,” Quinton purred in his English drawl. “I’m parched, darling.”

Josh handed over a drink that had been sitting on the bar and Quinton drained it. He was a good-looking guy, Finn supposed, if you liked tall, blond and arrogant. The man’s eyes flicked over him, up and down, like he was assessing a purchase. “Won’t you introduce me to your gorgeous friend?”

Josh’s expression was difficult to read. Embarrassed, maybe? “Finn, this is Quinton Jones. Quinton, Finn Callaghan.”

“The actor”—Quinton held out a hand—“of course. Enormous fan, naturally.”

“Right,” Finn said, shaking his hand. “Good to meet you.”

Quinton leaned into Josh, so close you couldn’t get a cigarette paper between them—and where the fuck had his other hand gone? “Are you here to sing tonight, Finn? I hear you have a good voice.”

“I, uh—” He glanced at Josh, but he was frowning and not looking at him. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Dreadfully cheesy, of course, but why not? Josh and I are going to, aren’t we? In fact”—he glanced at his watch—“we’re up in five. Shall we go?”

And then, for the second time that day, Quinton fucking Jones was dragging Josh away from him.

“I’ll see you after?” Josh said. “It won’t be long.”

“Sure.” But his eyes fixed on the way Quinton reached for Josh’s hand.

They were holding hands. He turned to the bar, ordered a scotch and downed it in one.

It didn’t do much to settle his stomach.

Maybe he should just leave? Only Josh had asked him to stay and that was enough to keep him where he was for now. That thin ribbon of hope was enough.

Soon, Josh made his way to the keyboard set up on the other side of the room and Finn turned around to watch.

Josh looked gorgeous, a spotlight making his eyes sparkle and his dark hair gleam.

Finn could have gazed at him forever if it hadn’t been for the limey bastard standing next to him doing all the talking.

Finn tuned him out, focused only on Josh as he ran his fingers over the keys.

Then he and Quinton looked at each other—it was only to count themselves in, but it still looked intimate—and Josh began to play Cohen’s “Hallelujah.” Finn threw a prayer of his own skyward, thankful that it wasn’t Skynyrd’s “Tuesday’s Gone”; if he and Josh had had a tune, it would have been that.

Difficult enough, though, watching him and Quinton together. The way Josh kept looking up at him, the way Quinton kept smiling down at him. Fuck, but they looked like they were screwing. Maybe they were. They probably were.

And then Quinton’s hand moved to Josh’s shoulder and their eyes locked.

Finn turned away, eyes closing, because now he knew.

He fucking knew . The whisky soured in his stomach, sloshing as he slid down from the bar stool.

He shouldn’t have come here. Stupid idea.

He should have stayed in LA where he was safe, where he could keep a lid on all this crap.

Because you could never go back. What was lost was lost, what was gone was gone. He’d known that from the moment Josh ended it.

All around him, people started joining in with the infinite hallelujahs as Josh kept playing. But Finn pushed his way through the crush toward the exit—he had to leave, he couldn’t watch anymore.

Applause broke out before he reached the door and no one paid him any attention as he shouldered his way outside. The rainy streets were starting to freeze in the bitter cold, and he paused to pull on his hat and gloves before looking around for a cab. Behind him, the door opened.

“Finn!” Josh stood in the doorway, flushed from the heat. “You’re leaving?”

His chest tightened as he saw Quinton lurking behind Josh. “I, uh, I got no reason to stay. I’ll see you around, Josh.”

And then he started walking, out into the cold night, cursing himself, cursing the world, and cursing Quinton fucking Jones.

* * *