Misfits

by Garrett Leigh

  “Sure.”

  “Good.” Tom held out his hand, hauled Jake to his feet, and spun them around. “Have you seen the cat? I need to feed her before she takes a crap in my shoe again.”

  Jake laughed. Tom seemed a little drunk. Maybe he was. “I fed her already. She’s on my bed.”

  Tom grunted in reply. “Grab some beer, will you? Or wine. Whatever you can find.”

  Jake closed his laptop down properly, searched out a few bottles of beer, and found Tom in the living room, stretched out on the sofa, feet up, arms open.

  “Come sit,” Tom said. “Tell me about your day.”

  Jake settled between Tom’s legs, his back to his broad chest. “Thought you didn’t want to talk about work?”

  Tom brushed Jake’s hair back. Jake could feel his warm breath on his neck. “I don’t. I want to talk about you. Tell me something you did that wasn’t about work.”

  Jake thought on it a moment. Almost everything he did these days traced back to Tom and Urban Soul. “I met a lush Spanish guy.”

  “You met Nero, eh? What did you think?”

  “Um.” Jake shrugged, unwilling to admit just how attractive he’d found Nero, but the flush in his cheeks gave him away.

  Tom laughed. “It’s okay, we know he’s bloody gorgeous, but he’s not gay. At least, he says he’s not, and I believe him. Cass isn’t convinced, but I think that’s wishful thinking. They’re good mates, actually. Nero covers Cass at Pippa’s when he takes time off.”

  “Once a year, then, yeah?” As far as Jake could tell, Cass rarely took more than a single day off at a time. “What happened to his hand?”

  It was Tom’s turn to shrug. “No idea. I’ve never asked.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s not my business. He’s worked for us for three years and never mentioned it. I reckon he would’ve by now if he wanted to talk about it.”

  Jake’s phone beeped, cutting off whatever asinine question he’d been about to ask next. Another message from Cass.

  Cuddle up with Tom for me. Miss you both.

  That was a new one, but Jake didn’t need much persuading to cuddle up to Tom. They shared a pizza and a few beers, and slobbed out in front of the TV until both of them began to doze. Tom’s phone roused Jake sometime after midnight. Cass’s face flashed up on the screen. Jake tried not to look at the text beneath, but his curiosity got the better of him.

  Don’t be alone tonight.

  Jake stared between the phone and Tom’s sleeping form. Four simple words, but they meant everything.

  Jake rolled over, chasing the warmth that felt just out of reach. He found it, at least he thought he did, but then it was gone again. He cracked an eye open. The unfamiliar room came into focus.

  Tom’s room.

  Cass’s room.

  Damn. He was in their bed.

  Jake shifted onto his side. He could sense Tom beside him now, hear him breathing, slow and deep. If he closed his eyes, he could recall the dazed grin on Tom’s face when he’d woken him up and told him they were going to bed . . . together. Jake wanted to reach out and mould himself to Tom’s broad back, but a voice in his head stayed him.

  Tom likes his space when he sleeps.

  Jake closed his eyes and pushed his face into a pillow that smelled of Cass.

  It was morning when he woke again. This time, he found himself wrapped around Tom like a limpet. So much for his good intentions.

  He raised his head from Tom’s chest and felt his nervous system come alive. His arm jerked. He whistled and buzzed. Then his whole body shuddered like a bloody car crash.

  Tom, fresh faced and wide-awake, just smiled. “Morning.”

  Jake peeled himself off Tom and sat up. “Morning. Sorry. I didn’t mean to smother you, or beat you up. Sorry.”

  “Stop saying sorry. You’re only lying on me because I told you to.”

  “How do you work that out?”

  Tom coaxed Jake back into his arms. “You were hanging off the other side of the bed. I was worried you were going to fall right out.”

  “Cass told me you like your space. I know we’ve slept together before, but this felt different.”

  Different was an understatement. Last night there had been no crazy sex, and Tom had fallen asleep first. And he’d stayed. Jake had never woken up with him before.

  Tom wove his fingers into Jake’s hair and rubbed the nape of his neck with his thumb. “Yeah, I’m weird. I like a cuddle when I’m conscious, but I turn into a lone ranger as soon as I fall asleep. Unless I’m drunk, then I’m all over Cass like a rash.”

  Jake hummed. He felt calmer now, lazy and mellow, though his tics continued. They were almost constant first thing in the morning. “Poor Cass.”

  “I know.” Tom sounded contrite. “I think it’s because I shared a room with my brother when I was little. He used to draw on my face. I didn’t care for that.”

  Jake laughed. He could imagine it all too well. Tom liked order, both in himself and his everyday life. “How old is your brother?”

  “Rich is thirty-five. You’ll meet him tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow. Oh yeah. It’s Christmas. Jake had forgotten he’d stupidly agreed to visit Tom’s family on Boxing Day. Oh well. Maybe they could lie here forever and tomorrow would never come.

  Later that day, after a long morning in bed, Jake took a shower and met Tom in the kitchen. “You cooked?”

  Tom tossed a scowl over his shoulder. “No, I fried some stuff. Bacon, sausages, and eggs. Cass will feed us some real food later.”

  Jake’s stomach growled. Certain aspects of his convoluted new life were a clusterfuck, but there was no denying the lure of Cass’s cooking. The bloke was a bloody magician.

  Jake sat at the table and made short work of the heaped plate of food Tom dumped in front of him. When he was done, he slouched in his chair and nursed a cup of tea. “It doesn’t feel like Christmas, least not one I’ve ever known.”

  Tom pushed his plate away. “That good or bad?”

  “Both.” Jake remembered Christmas being the best day ever when he was little, but life had moved on since then. He’d seen the lights in the city, and the tree Tom had dug out of the loft, but it didn’t resonate. It felt like there was something missing, an ingredient gone astray.

  Tom said nothing. It took Jake a while to notice he was watching him, like he was weighing him up.

  “What?”

  Tom drummed his fingers on the table. “How pissed off would you be if we gave you a Christmas present?”

  “Pissed off? I’m not that bad, am I?”

  Tom’s face said it all. “Cass reckons you think we’re grooming you as some kind of live-in rentboy.”

  Jake jerked. His fork flew across the kitchen. “Wankers. Sorry. A rentboy? Why would I think that?”

  “You don’t think that?”

  “No.” And he didn’t. “I know you’re good people.”

  Tom grinned. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “Piss off.”

  Tom rolled his eyes and ambled away to get what Jake assumed was his present. He returned with a wide, flat cardboard box. “I didn’t wrap it.”

  “That’s okay.” Jake took the box. It felt solid, but not heavy. “Will it break if I drop it?”

  “Probably.” Tom seemed nervous, or as close to nervous as Jake had ever seen him. “Do you want to open it on the sofa?”

  Jake pictured the box sharing the fate of his breakfast fork and the numerous mugs and cups he’d broken since he’d moved in. “Good idea.”

  They decamped to the living room. Jake sat cross-legged on the couch and peeled away the tape around the box. Opened his mouth. Shut it again. “You bought me a MacBook?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you need a computer of your own. Cass’s laptop is old, and probably full of porn and pirated music.”

  Jake didn’t know what to say. T
he sleek laptop was the computer of his dreams, and he knew how much they cost.

  Perhaps reading his mind, Tom nudged him. “Before you freak out about money, you should know we get a massive discount through the business. This cost nowhere near as much as you probably think it did.”

  Jake shook his head. “Mate, I spent twenty-five quid on your present.”

  “You got me a present?” Tom’s grin turned boyish.

  Jake glanced up from his box of treasure. “Do you want it now?”

  Tom hesitated. “What about . . .”

  He let the sentence hang, but for once Jake knew the answer. “I got Cass something too. Do you want to wait until later? Open them together?”

  There wasn’t enough money in the world to buy the smile Tom bestowed on him then. He took the laptop and set it aside and dove on Jake, toppling him flat on his back and kissing him like he’d been waiting to kiss him his whole life.

  Jake laughed and made a halfhearted attempt to fend him off. “What are you so excited about?”

  Tom pulled back, his grin still rakish and bright. “I’m not sure. I just love watching you two grow. I know it’s been hard . . . weird, sometimes, but I feel like us all being here, together, gets easier every day.”

  Jake kissed Tom, losing himself for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. “I can’t imagine not having Cass in my life now.”

  Tom smiled. He didn’t ask, What about me? He never did. Instead he covered Jake with his body and worshipped him with his lips until the city called them to Cass’s side.

  The dark basement club in Farringdon didn’t seem like Tom’s scene. At least the Tom Jake had pieced together in his mind. That Tom wore smart business clothes, drank sensibly, and conducted meetings like a fucking mafia boss. He didn’t binge drink and wear Ramones T-shirts. He didn’t press Cass up against walls and kiss the ever-loving shit out of him. Though Jake was willing to bet both incarnations of Tom fucked like a—

  Stop it.

  Jake turned his back on his two companions and ordered drinks, but it wasn’t long before he found himself facing the other way again, searching out Tom and Cass. He’d left them close to the dance floor, completely wrapped up in each other, and retreated to the bar, but once he’d put some distance between them, he’d found himself transfixed. He’d seen them kiss before—a hello, a good-bye, or in passing—but he’d never seen them so . . . together. He’d questioned himself sometimes, late at night, if he’d be jealous when they finally let their guard down, let him see who they were, and what they meant to each other. Jealous of the way Tom held Cass. The way Cass leaned on him. The way they breathed each other in as though there’d never been anyone else.

  But he wasn’t. Beneath the haze of three-too-many drinks, he was fascinated, and he couldn’t look away.

  At least until the barman tapped his shoulder and held out a hand for his money. Jake paid for the three bottles of beer and zigzagged his way back to Tom and Cass. He took his time, soaking up the atmosphere. It had been a while since he’d been somewhere like this, but he’d always liked clubs, always felt safe and free in them. With the lights and the pounding music, no one noticed the twitching weirdo in the corner, or heard his muttered tics and clicks.

  The fact that he was drunk as a skunk helped. After messing about on the sofa with Tom for most of the afternoon, they’d driven Cass’s car into London. Tom had brought beer for Jake to drink on the way, and he’d been pretty tipsy by the time they’d reached Pippa’s. Perhaps that had been Tom’s intention all along, because Jake had felt no trace of nerves as he’d entered what was undeniably Cass’s lair.

  Christmas dinner had been a rowdy affair, shared with any Urban Soul employees who had nowhere to go. Nero had come, and a few other faces Jake recognised. No one seemed to notice Tom’s arm around the back of Jake’s chair, or the fact that Cass never left his side.

  Cass, Cass, Cass.

  Sometimes Jake studied Cass and caught that wildness Tom talked about, the barest hint of a troubled young man he’d never known. Then he’d remember the other side of Cass, the Cass who’d helped Jake pack up his few precious belongings, put an arm around him, and brought him home to share a bed with his own lover. Tonight Cass seemed to be a wonderful mix of the two, and Jake wondered who the man who was fast becoming his best friend really was. A best friend who just happened to be drop-dead gorgeous.

  Drop-dead gorgeous . . .

  Interesting. Jake had never completed that thought before, and he couldn’t make sense of it right now. Right now he was battered in an underground, hipster gay club with two men he kind of idolised, and he liked it. He liked it a lot.

  Jake approached Tom and Cass from behind. Tom had his arms around Cass, whispering in his ear, and it was Cass who spotted Jake first. He met Jake’s gaze, held it a moment, then disentangled himself from Tom. He came to Jake and took the drinks from him. “Do you dance?”

  “When I’m drunk enough.”

  Cass laughed. “Are you? Drunk enough? Because I am, and Tom wouldn’t dance even if he was tripping on acid.”

  Jake eyed Tom over Cass’s shoulder. He was talking to the front-of-house manager from Pippa’s, but Jake knew he was watching them, and the sensation left him warm all over. Jake loved dancing, especially pissed in a club—a gay club—with his inhibitions a distant memory. Did he want to do that with Cass? Did he want to get up in Cass’s personal space? Touch him? Feel him?

  Jake put his hand on Cass’s chest. Felt a spark jump between them which he’d never noticed before. Perhaps it was the booze, or the reckless air of the club, but yeah.

  Yeah, he did.

  Cass led him to the dance floor and into the throng of sweaty bodies. He put his hands on Jake’s hips and drew him close. Jake sucked in a harsh breath. They moved together, and for the first time since he’d found himself under Tom’s thrall, his connection to Cass, built on friendship, felt right. Real.

  They danced chest to chest, cheek to cheek. Jake felt Cass’s hands all over him, and his rough scruff scratch his face. It was so different from Tom’s clean-shaven skin, but he loved it all the same. Felt his body respond. Heat. Blood. Sweat. In an effort to control himself, Jake pulled his body back from Cass and put his lips close to his ear. “How did you get all your staff to come and party in a gay club?”

  Jake felt rather than heard Cass’s laugh.

  “Cheap drinks,” Cass shouted. “And it’s open till 4 a.m. This lot are animals when they get going.”

  Jake could believe that, if Tom’s alcohol consumption that night was anything to go by. He said as much.

  Cass laughed again. “Don’t bank on seeing it often. It’s a once a year kind of thing.”

  The music changed to something deeper. Jake let his body slow down. He felt Cass do the same and draw back, and he wondered if Cass would return to Tom.

  Not for long. Cass fingered the hem of Jake’s T-shirt. “Take this off?”

  Jake glanced around the teeming mass of bodies. Most of the men on the dance floor had shed their shirts, and he didn’t mind people seeing him. He pried his shirt from Cass and yanked it over his head. “Your turn.”

  Cass licked his lips, then his shirt was gone, flung over his shoulder with no care to where it landed.

  Jake swallowed. Tom was a broad man, well built and strong, but Cass . . . wow. Who knew his collection of grungy hoodies and faded band T-shirts hid a body so beautiful? Covered in ink and piercings that stood out against his pale skin, Cass was stunning. Jake touched the bar in Cass’s left nipple, watched it prism under the club’s lights. He traced a line of ink across Cass’s chest, and followed it down the light dusting of dark hair on his abdomen.

  He frowned. He’d seen Cass’s tattoo before on the photographs he’d tried so hard not to open on Cass’s computer, though he’d managed to resist the albums that seemed to bare more skin. No. That wasn’t it. Jake had seen Cass’s tattoo somewhere else, but where?

  An image of a simple wooden sig
n flashed into his mind, along with the gentle smirk behind Tom’s words to him then. “That fact that you think you have confuses the hell out of me, but I like it . . . Let me know when you see something that jogs your memory.”

  “Fuck. That’s the sign from the Dragonfly.”

  Cass caught Jake’s fingers. “I thought you knew that?”

  Jake shook his head, letting his fingers twine with Cass’s. “I saw the sign, and I recognised it, but Tom wouldn’t tell me why.”

  Shit. Jake realised his mistake too late. TS and a booze-loosened tongue didn’t mix.

  Cass stilled, then he drew Jake closer so he didn’t have to shout over the music. “Why did you recognise my ink?”

  “Um . . .” Jake tried not to be distracted by Cass’s skin on his.

  Cass began to sway with the music again, taking Jake with him in a soothing rhythm. “You can tell me, Jake. You don’t have to be scared of me.”

  Jake snorted a soft puff of air into Cass’s chest. “I’m not bloody scared of you.”

  “So tell me. It can’t be that bad. Have you been spying on me in the shower?”

  “What? No!” Jake shoved Cass, though not hard enough to separate them. “I . . . um . . . looked at some of the photos on your laptop.”

  “That all? Damn, what did you see that has you blushing like that? Was it the Thailand ones?”

  Jake shook his head. “I didn’t open all the albums, but I saw you on the front of some.”

  “Ah, bet you only opened the ones you saw Tom in, right?”

  Jake didn’t deny it. When Tom had first given him Cass’s laptop, he’d been too lost in a haze of obsession, desperate to know more about Tom, the man who captivated him so entirely, to look for Cass. Back then, it had been easier to think of Cass as just a number on his phone, not a tangible human being. “I’m sorry.”

  Cass shrugged. “Don’t be. Just think yourself lucky you didn’t open all the holiday ones. We went through a phase of taking dirty photos a few years ago.”

  “You don’t do that anymore?”