He let his mind drift as she opened and shut her filing cabinets. It was Monday morning, and he’d crept out of the house in Berkhamsted while Cass was still asleep. Tom had caught him, naturally, up and at ’em early, as usual, but Jake had dodged his invitation to spend a lazy day at home. It had been a while since Tom and Cass had spent any real time together—alone together—and Jake wanted to give them some peace. Things were great with Tom, with both of them, but something was still off with Cass, and for once, Jake felt fairly certain the problem didn’t stem from their newfound sleeping arrangements. In fact, stretched out between Tom and Jake, a hand on each of them, was the only time Cass seemed happy.
The rest of it, he seemed tired and sad, like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Jake had heard him rambling in his sleep at night. He couldn’t make out a word, but the hurt in his muttering broke Jake’s heart. Something was tearing Cass to bits.
“Here you are, Mr. Thompson.” The librarian’s soft voice brought Jake back to the present. “The release papers are all there. You just have to sign here, and here.”
The librarian pointed to the dotted lines, and Jake scrawled his name, all the while waiting for someone to burst through the door and remind him he had no place putting his name forward as the face of a company like Urban Soul. “Is that it?”
“For now. You’ll be arranging transportation, I take it?”
“Friday,” Jake confirmed. “The floors are going down in the dining area today, then the decorating starts. Did you say you had some covers for the fire engine?”
The librarian nodded. “In the storeroom. We had them made when we refurbished the children’s section, to save moving everything around. I’ll have them put on for the removal men at the end of the week.”
Jake smiled. “Thanks. That’s really helpful. We don’t have anywhere safe to store it while the decorators are in, and I don’t want it to get damaged.”
Life would’ve been easier if they could’ve delayed the transfer of the car-sized fire engine, but with the builders’ typical setbacks, they’d messed the library around enough.
“It’s no problem,” the librarian said. “I think I’ve dealt with your boss before when I worked for the mayor’s office. Urban Soul sponsors the food banks in Peckham and Hackney, don’t they? And I think Pippa’s was the first restaurant in London to supply artisan bread to the poorest local schools.
That was news to Jake. Tom and Cass were both obsessed with ethical food production—animal welfare, biodegradable packaging, and sustainability—but neither of them had ever mentioned any charitable endeavours at street level. Bemused, Jake shook the woman’s hand and left the library. As he stepped outside, he put his hat on. The new year had brought a cold snap with it, and the wind whistling through Camden was bitter.
He made his way to the unfinished restaurant. As ever on a weekday morning, the place was a hive of activity. The structural building work had finished a week ago, the open kitchen was almost complete, and the decorators were about to move into the dining area.
Jake trod carefully around the carpenters renovating the hardwood floors and slipped upstairs to what had become his office of sorts, when he didn’t work at the house. A few tradesmen called hello, but most paid him no heed, used to him coming and going with no real routine. No one seemed to notice his tics anymore. The builders shot him the occasional stare, but Jake had grown up with men like that, and learned how to ignore them.
He sat down in front of the desktop computer, booted it up, and plugged his phone into the USB port. Most of his web design work was on his new laptop, but he’d stored the files for the Camden project on his phone so he could access them anywhere. He loaded up the blueprints for the completed menus—including his crackpot idea for DIY ice cream sundaes—and the table designs. Some samples of crockery and glassware had arrived at the end of the previous week, and Tom had charged Jake with going through them and making a short list.
Jake fetched the boxes and opened them up. The first sets were awful, the next lot less so, but only a few seemed like anything he could live with. He took the samples downstairs and found the funky black tables that had arrived that morning. After checking himself for incoming tics, he peeled the plastic away and set about creating a typical place setting. It didn’t work, and why would it? They weren’t developing a typical restaurant. The Camden project was a burger bar with ice cream and posh fizz. How the fuck did you lay a table for that? Did he even want to?
Jake had no idea, and the more options he tried out, the less inspired he became.
He bit the bullet and called Tom.
Tom answered on the first ring. “Hang on a sec.”
Jake heard the sound of rustling, then a door closing.
“Sorry,” Tom said. “Cass fell asleep on me.”
Asleep? It was nearly lunchtime. Maybe they were . . . “Are you in bed? I can talk to you later.”
“I wish. Nah, I was working in the living room. Cass is crashed out in front of Only Fools and Horses again.”
Tom’s tone was bleak. Jake waited for him to elaborate, but the silence stretched until Jake felt compelled to break it. “So . . . I looked through the tableware samples.”
“And?”
I hate them all. Jake tried to measure his words. Failed. “I hate them all.”
Silence, then Tom laughed. “Okay, we can work with that. What’s so bad about them? Too fancy? Too basic?”
“No.” Jake thought on it a moment, and let his imagination get the better of him. “Do you really want each table to look the same?”
“I hadn’t thought there was an alternative. Hang on a sec.” A door opened. Tom said something, but it was too muffled for Jake to hear. Then the door closed, and Tom came back on the line with a heavy sigh. “Sorry. I thought Cass was awake.”
“False alarm?”
“Oh no, he was awake all right—” Another door slam cut Tom off. “And now he’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“Yep, with the royal hump. He gets like this when he spends all night thrashing about.”
“Thrashing about?” Jake frowned. “You mean tossing and turning?”
“And the rest. I don’t think he’s sleeping well. He used to have . . . Fuck, never mind. It’s probably me who’s dreaming shit. Anyway, what do you have in mind for the tables?”
Jake blinked at the abrupt return to business. “Um, I don’t know, but none of that stuff in the boxes is right. It’s too, uh, clinical, I think?”
“Clinical, eh?” Tom sounded amused. “Okay, why don’t you do whatever the hell you want, and I’ll worry about it on opening night?”
“What?”
“You’ve done more on this project than I have.” There was a shrug in Tom’s tone. “And you’ve been right about everything else so far. It’s your design, your vision. Do what feels right.”
“What if it’s crap?”
“Then we’ll both be wrong, won’t we?”
Bastard. But there was nothing Jake could say to dissuade Tom, and he’d spend the next few weeks putting together a plan that was either going to be brilliant, or make the Camden project look like a bloody jumble sale.
And the Camden project wasn’t the only venture Jake had on his mind. The night before Pink’s website relaunch—Valentine’s Day—found him huddled in front of the fire at 2 a.m. with just his laptop and Souris for company. Tom had gone to bed around eleven, and even Cass had come home and gone straight upstairs while Jake toiled away in the dark. Over the past few months, he’d driven himself mad with font layouts and coding, and in a few hours, he’d see his efforts either crash and burn, or come to fruition as the biggest project he’d ever attempted. Alone in the living room, it was hard to be optimistic.
Souris batted his hand. She’d spent much of the evening draped across the back of the couch, but she’d grown agitated since Cass had come home, like she couldn’t decide where she wanted to be.
Jake sympathised
with her there. He felt a little torn himself, but he couldn’t sleep, not yet. Not while the threat of destroying one of Tom and Cass’s businesses hung over him. No. Jake was in this for the long haul tonight, and he was probably going to see dawn before he found rest.
The night crept away from him, and he felt cross-eyed by the time Souris put a stop to his frenzied triple-checking by nudging his laptop shut.
Jake took the hint and set his computer aside. It was still dark outside, but barely. Dawn was just around the corner, and he needed his—Tom and Cass’s bed, and them, even if he only got to enjoy their comforting warmth for a few moments before they got up and started their respective days.
Jake fed the cat and padded upstairs. He brushed his teeth, and thought about taking a shower, but then a noise from across the landing drew him out of the bathroom and to the bedroom he’d come to share with them.
Tom held Cass like a prisoner, his arm tight around his throat, restraining—choking him. He shoved his other hand into Cass’s hair and yanked his head to one side. “Say it.”
Cass groaned, naked and beside himself, every muscle straining and pulsing. His answer was unintelligible, a breathless whimper that sounded like it came from someone else.
Tom tightened his grip. “Say it. Say my name.”
“Tom. Please.”
Then Cass slumped forwards, his eyes glazed and distant. Tom pushed him down face-first and drove into him, slamming him so hard the bed slid across the unvarnished floor. A flush crept over his fair skin, and a sheen of sweat glistened. With his strong body and set jaw, the dim light of the room made him look like a god. Only the tender gleam in his eyes gave him away as a man entirely human—too human to hurt the love of his life beneath him.
Cass let out a desperate gasp. His face was hidden, but the plaintive plea needed no explanation. He needed this, needed to feel something all consuming, but he couldn’t take much more.
And Tom heard his call and pulled him up, wrapped his arms so tight around him that Cass’s breath caught in his chest. “I’ve got you.”
The words were whispered, for Cass’s ears only, but from his position, frozen in the doorway, Jake felt each one like a sledgehammer.
It took him a while to realise Cass was crying.
A few weeks later, Jake rolled over and his reaching hands found empty space. He let out a restless puff of air. It had been a while since he’d truly slept alone, and he didn’t like it at all. Even the bed didn’t feel right, though he’d spent weeks alone in it when he’d first come to Berkhamsted. With Tom and Cass stuck in London for the night, it had seemed the sensible thing to do, but he regretted it now. Their bed may have been big, cold and lonely, but at least the pillows smelled of them. Not like this bed. This bed had been neglected so long it didn’t smell of anything.
A paw touched Jake’s face, reminding him why he hadn’t gone to the flat to be with Tom, or braved Pippa’s to track down Cass. Tom thought Souris would be fine by herself, but Jake wasn’t so sure. The cat was his shadow when Cass wasn’t around, and he didn’t want to abandon her.
Tom had found the sentiment amusing, but Cass had seemed comforted, and Jake felt like Cass needed comfort right now, though he still had no idea why. Sometimes, he could convince himself that nothing was wrong, but then he’d remember the heartbreak in Cass’s face when he’d seen him with Tom, remember his tears, and he knew that Cass needed him—and Tom—more than ever.
Shame he was never home for Jake to try to take care of him. Since the night Jake had seen him crying in Tom’s arms, Cass had hardly been home at all. Work, work, work. These days, it seemed that was all Cass ever did, despite his long-forgotten promise to come home every night, and Jake was astute enough to recognise when a man was hiding from the world.
He just didn’t know what to do about it.
Jake fell asleep with the cat on his chest. She still seemed restless, so when he was started awake by movement in the bed some time later, he figured it was her terrorising his feet. He shifted away from the disturbance, drifting off again. A tired voice pulled him back.
“Don’t make me chase you.”
Jake bolted upright. Cass sat on the side of the bed. In the darkness, Jake could see he was still wearing his coat and shoes.
“Cass? Thought you were staying at Pippa’s?”
“Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d come home and count sheep with the cat.”
On cue, Souris padded across the bed and leaped onto Cass’s shoulder, reminding Jake that she was, at heart, a one-man cat.
“What time is it?”
Cass shrugged. “Dunno. It was 1 a.m. last time I looked.”
What had driven Cass to come home to him, and not take the shorter route to Tom in Hampstead? Jake rose up on his knees and put his hands on Cass, pushing his coat—and the cat—from his shoulders. “You’re freezing. Did you walk home? I thought you had the car.”
“Hmm? Nah, I sat on the steps and had a fag before I came in. Don’t tell Tom.”
Jake grinned. If Cass wanted to hide his smoking from Tom, he’d have to do it himself. He massaged Cass’s tight muscles. “You should get some sleep. Wanna go to bed?”
“Kicking me out of your room?”
“No.” Jake kissed Cass’s cheek. “I’ll come with you, if you want?”
Cass hummed and leaned against Jake. He didn’t look like he wanted to move.
Jake took pity on him and unzipped the hoodie Cass was wearing under his coat. “Fuck it. Get in.”
Cass didn’t take much persuading. He shed his hoodie and his trainers and crawled into Jake’s bed already wearing the soft tracksuit bottoms he often wore to sleep in. He looked like he’d driven home in his pyjamas, but Jake let it slide.
They lay down together, Jake on his back with Cass’s head on his chest. It was an unfamiliar position, but it didn’t feel strange. Cass wasn’t like Tom, he didn’t need to be the strong one, and how many times had Tom silently told Jake that Cass liked—needed to feel loved?
Jake wrapped his arms around Cass and kissed the top of his head. “Why couldn’t you sleep. Something on your mind?”
Cass didn’t respond right away, apparently distracted by Souris digging a nest behind him. Then he shrugged, like the shadows in his gaze were nothing. “Feel like I’ve forgotten how this week. No good at sleeping alone anymore.”
“Then you should get rid of the flat and let someone else live at Pippa’s. Having those places makes it too easy for you and Tom to be apart.”
Cass shifted and met Jake’s gaze. “It’s not just Tom I miss anymore. I can’t sleep without you, either.”
Jake kissed Cass, one of those slow, sweet kisses he’d become addicted to, but now, without the lure of Tom to distract him, the kiss bloomed into something deeper, until Cass was on top of him, grinding them together in a rhythm that made Jake’s toes curl.
Jake gasped as Cass broke the kiss and buried his face in Jake’s neck. Jake moaned. God, he wanted Cass, wanted him so much it hurt, but despite the heat between them, Cass was clearly exhausted. When the wicked pressure of his hips faded away and his breathing slowed, Jake knew he’d fallen asleep.
Jake woke up with Cass still on top of him, and for a moment, it seemed like he hadn’t been asleep at all, because Cass was kissing his neck again, and without the shadow of exhaustion hanging over them, the slow-burning fire enveloped him.
He closed his eyes and gave in to Cass’s touch. For months, Cass had been careful with him, restrained, but now, floating along in that hazy place between reality and the best fucking dream ever, Jake felt his hands all over him—his throat, his chest, his belly. Sliding past his waistband and brushing the boner Jake felt like he’d had for days.
Jake arched his back as a low grumble of pleasure escaped him. Cass jumped in his arms and reared back, his eyes wide.
“Shit, sorry. Fuck.” Cass reclaimed his wandering hands and rolled away. “Fuck, sorry. I was having a mega-dirty dream.”
&
nbsp; “Those are my lines.” Jake chased Cass down and drew him close again. “And don’t apologise. I liked it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Jake swallowed Cass’s response with a kiss, then put a finger over Cass’s lips. “And I don’t want to stop.”
Cass squirmed and sucked Jake’s finger into his mouth. He let it out slowly, with just a graze of his teeth. “What do you want?”
“You.” Jake tugged on the T-shirt hiding Cass from him. “I want all of you.”
Cass didn’t protest as Jake stripped him of his clothes, or even when he climbed all over him, kissing, biting, and made him groan. Jake clambered out of bed and fetched condoms and lube from the other bedroom. When he got back, Cass was still sprawled out, the duvet bunched at his hips.
Jake straddled him, a condom in his hand.
Cass clutched Jake’s hips. “Slow. You’ve got nothing to prove.”
Jake didn’t understand the sentiment, but it didn’t matter. He was far from ever understanding Cass, or the crazy life they were forging with Tom, but he understood the deep, aching desire he felt to have Cass inside him. He caught Cass’s chin in his hand. “Lie still. Raise your arms over your head.”
Cass obeyed. Jake rolled a condom onto him, lubed up, then lowered himself, taking Cass in until there was nowhere left to go.
For a long moment, Jake didn’t move, swept up in the dizzying pressure of Cass filling him, then he leaned down, his face so close to Cass their noses touched. “Why are you sad?”
Cass didn’t blink. “I’ll tell you about it one day, but not today.”
“One day soon?”
“Maybe.”
Jake stared at Cass and filed his words away in his ever-growing stash of Cass’s promises. One day could be tomorrow, or ten years away. Why the fuck couldn’t Cass just tell him now?
Misfits Page 17