Page 64 of The Unlikely Pair

But every other incident pales in significance compared to the awkwardness hovering over this hookup with Harry.

I’d assumed Harry was pansexual, like me, or maybe bisexual. But he’s telling me he’s gay? That he’s been suppressing his sexuality for so long? It’s hard to believe.

I can’t help feeling sad that he believes that to succeed in the Conservative Party’s politics, he needs to hide who he is attracted to.

But the awkwardness currently engulfing us like a bad stench doesn’t come from me feeling sorry for him. It comes from the fact I basically just offered him sex on a plate, and he turned it down. Especially as he’s choosing no sex over sex with me.

I try to pretend my flushed cheeks are from the heat of the growing fire.

I shouldn’t be ashamed. I’m an adult male with a healthy libido. I don’t need to like someone to have sex with them. Andif the animosity between Harry and me manifests in hot sexual chemistry, hey, maybe we should take that as a silver lining?

But no. True to form, Harry is choosing to deny himself.

I can’t deny the sting of rejection right now. It sucks to be rejected by anyone, but coming from Harry Matheson, it’s ten times worse.

Along with the sting of rejection, I also have a pang of straightforward regret. Because, weirdly, even though it was just hurried hand jobs, what just transpired with Harry was up there with the hottest sexual encounters I’ve ever had.

There was something about the intensity in how Harry kissed me, touched me, that set it apart.

And now that I know I’m not helping him cheat on his wife, I’m definitely open to a repeat. Because I meant what I said. Being out here has reminded me of the importance of enjoying every moment.

I try to adhere to that principle by ripping my thoughts away from Harry and enjoying the simple pleasure of feeding the crackling fire, watching it grow. There is something primitively satisfying about watching a fire grow.

“If you’re all right tending the fire, I can go wash our trousers in the river,” Harry says stiffly.

“Um…okay.” I undo the button and shuck off my trousers, handing them to Harry who is standing there deliberately averting his gaze. It’s not like there’s much to see. My coat is long enough to cover all the good bits.

Harry hands me a survival blanket, and I wrap it around my legs.

“I’ll be back soon. Keep the fire going,” he instructs.

“Of course. I live to obey you, as usual.”

Harry shoots me a look of irritation, but I’m fairly sure there’s some amusement there as well as he stalks off.

I continue my mission of feeding the fire.

But as it grows bigger, sitting this close to the fire with a survival blanket wrapped around my naked legs becomes problematic. Simply put, it becomes a sauna for my genitalia.

So I whip it off and sit on the survival blanket instead. Luckily, this close to the fire, my lower legs are warm enough without any covering.

“Um…what are you doing?” Harry’s voice sounds strangled as he approaches from behind.

I turn around to face him. He’s clutching our wet trousers, his own bottom half wrapped in a survival blanket.

“Are you seriously going to tell me off for not adhering to your standards of decency?” I ask.

Harry swallows. “I’m not reprimanding you for anything. I’m just suggesting it would be a shame if that particular part of you suffered any damage by not being protected.”

I gape at him. “I’d say the lack of food is making me hallucinate because it almost seems like you just praised my dick.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he says.

Harry Matheson joking?

“What head am I not letting it go to?” I raise my eyebrows with a smirk.

“Toby,” he says, his voice stern.