William

by Anyta Sunday

  Before he could slink back out the office, Candice’s gaze caught him and reeled him in. Eric’s grin widened and he sat back in his chair to follow the scene, mouthing ‘good luck’.

  Will gulped, lifting the punnet of ice-cream as if it would serve as shield against Candice wrath.

  No such luck.

  Maybe he should have opened up Mickey instead.

  “Great!” Her nose flared and she shook her head. “So not only is my stupid, effing, entire thesis spitting out the crap crap makes, you have to bring ice-cream. Really. Does this look like an ice-cream situation? I’m going to flunk my masters, no-one will ever hire me, I won’t be able to afford a place to live—and to top it off, I’ll have gained a hundred kilos, have rotting teeth, and no-one would even care to give me a pity-fuck.”

  She proceeded in theatrical glory—er, much the same as he had just yesterday—to knock her forehead against the edge of the desk.

  Yeah. This was so not the time to bring up Harriet.

  He dumped the ice-cream on his desk with the plastic spoons. “I’m sure it’s not that bad—”

  Candice looked up to him and then the abandoned ice-cream. “What are you doing?” She motioned for the punnet. “Give it to me.”

  Once she’d shoveled a good few spoons of ice-cream, she relaxed. At the same time, the Chili Peppers blared from his phone.

  Another message.

  You free this evening?

  Hell yes! Free for any whim you ask for, boy. He smiled, starting to type back when Candice suddenly frowned and studied him closely.

  “Wait a sec. You had no idea I reset my test data for a new run before realizing I hadn’t checked the results into the version control yet. Two weeks of work—gone. Two weeks.” She shook her head, frowning as if to figure out what her train of thought was. “Oh yeah, so why the ice-cream?” She dropped the spoon. “You have bad news, don’t you?” Looking at the ice-cream, she sighed. “You will be forever representative of bad news. Such a pity. Now, spill it, Will.”

  So he did. Delicately as he could manage. But it didn’t matter—he saw the pain cut into her, even as she nodded as if she understood. Eric thoughtfully excused himself and left them to it.

  “Right,” she said, stuffing things into her bag to leave. “Well. As long as he’s happy, right? It’ll be Sweet As. Sweet. As.” A sheen in her eye and a tremor in her lips belied her words.

  Looking down at his phone, he re-read his half-written text. He deleted the message and typed in he would be busy tonight and sent it quickly—before the disappointment could hit him. Grabbing his stuff, he followed Candice out the office.

  “You don’t have to follow me, you know.”

  “Yes, actually, I do. It’s my duty as the friend to take you out to dinner, then to a movie or dancing or something, and basically do whatever until you are really smiling again—even if that means making a fool of myself.”

  “Like singing karaoke?”

  He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. “Singing karaoke it is.”

  She grunted. “Are you going to use my emotional vulnerability to try and figure out the canvas mystery?”

  “But of course.”

  9 Birthday

  The next few days there were texts. Lots of texts. About random things, mostly, but still, it didn’t matter. It was fun. Heath cracked him up. And electronically turned him the hell on, too. His favorite was a simple: Damn, I like you, after he’d cracked what he thought was a pretty lame joke about the idiot Republicans running for the nominations in the primaries for president.

  Well, whatever worked to get a Damn, I like you.

  The only awkwardness with the texts was that he wasn’t sure where they stood with each other. There was no formal forgiveness, no mention of his mom or family or Rory. And never a word about that night. The texts were random, funny, but not real life.

  Sadly.

  At the end of his birthday dinner, Will opened a new text message on his lap, out-of-view from the others. Not that they’d notice much; Sig was too busy sucking Harriet’s lips, and Candice flirted as loud as she could with Eric, who was nice enough to play along for her, disregarding the fact he checked the waiter out every time he came to the table.

  What r u doing?

  Candice jumped up from the table, water all down her front. She ran her hands down her shirt and skirt, flicking the liquid off and scowling at Harriet.

  “Sorry,” Harriet said, not looking much sorry at all. “My bad.”

  Candice sent her a rather square smile. “Never mind. Not all of us can be graceful. Will, can you pass me the naan?”

  “I’ve got it,” Sig said, picking himself up from his chair and rounding the table to pass her the bread. He handed it to her and crouched at her level. His hand rested on her shoulder as he spoke quietly under his breath. Not even Will’s snoopy ears could pick it up. Damn.

  Candice took the offered naan with a nod and bowed head.

  The waiter brushed past William, almost knocking the cell from his hand. He fumbled to catch it and while the waiter shared a smile with Eric, he quickly typed into the phone.

  Surviving dinner. U?

  A minute later—a very long minute later sitting with this crowd—came the reply:

  A little drunk. Friends bolted. Where r u?

  His friends bolted when he was drunk? Charming. Really, the guy’s friends sucked.

  Will texted him the name of the club they were about to head to for dancing. Then, after paying for the dinner, he ushered the group there.

  They pushed their way through undulating crowds, the bass vibrating around the old church and seeping up his legs. At the bar, Candice smacked the back of his head and slid next him on a stool. “Why’d you pay for dinner?” She had to raise her voice to be heard of the pumping music. “You’re the birthday boy! We were meant to all chip in for yours.”

  “That’s the way it’s done in my family.”

  She shook her head. “Well, thanks. But you can be sure we’ll make it up to you. Starting with”—she motioned to the bartender—“a little something.”

  When the bartender came over, she spoke into his ear. The response was a thumbs up. A minute later the guy came back carrying a large cake with candles and the Freak Zoners sang—shouting?—Happy Birthday.

  “Make a wish,” Candice said, and he blew out the candles doing just that. “It’s plain chocolate. Well, your name is done in white chocolate—but you can leave that part if you like.” She cut a few pieces and handed him one with a napkin. “Anyway, no yummy bits in it. Just the way you’d like it.”

  He placed it in front of him—really not sure he could eat anything more—and punched her lightly in the arm. She grinned, and it got wider when Harriet announced she had to leave to get to another friend’s party.

  “You are so see-through,” he said so only she would hear it.

  She slapped a hand over her mouth and out came a muffled: “Shit.” She dropped her arm and ordered a bourbon and coke. “I—I, crap. I’m terrible. But I’ve promised myself I’d be a better person this time around.”

  “Better, eh? So telling her she was clumsy was what? Just being honest?”

  “You sound just like Sig.” The bartender slid her drink to her and she chugged half of it down. “I’ll try harder.”

  She glanced over his shoulder and her eyes widened a second. Picking up her drink, she slid off the stool. “You’ve got a visitor. I think I’ll just go make myself scarce. Practice being nice. . . .”

  He waited for Heath to approach him, feeling the air charge with static when he got closer. “Will.” His deep voice had him clasping his stool with his rapidly dampening hands. A nervous and excited thrill shot through him, intensifying when he looked up. Well, hello, Tall and Handsome.

  He came dressed in black jeans and a navy blue shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows—much like the first time he’d seen him. The shirt had a rather magical effect, making his eyes loo
k that much bluer—the blue of tropical beaches—and inviting him to bathe in it.

  Heath frowned—a little exaggerated in his drunken state. “Will?”

  He blinked. “Uh, hey.”

  A smile started to pull at Heath’s mouth, but it stopped when he glanced at the cake in front of him. “It’s your birthday?”

  “As you can see.” He pointed to his name in white chocolate.

  “Yeah, but . . . wish I’d known.” Heath rested a palm on his shoulder and came closer, speaking into his ear, his breath igniting little shivers with each word. “I’d have gotten you something.”

  Truth was he’d wanted to tell Heath—had wanted to invite him to dinner, too, but he wasn’t sure what they were exactly. Did a couple of days of texts mean they were friends? He hoped so, but—he looked over to Sig leaning at a table across Candice and Eric—well, he was misreading things all the time, wasn’t he?

  He shrugged and gestured for Heath to sit. “I didn’t see the point. It’s not like we’re friends, right?”

  Yes, it was blatant fishing.

  But he wasn’t above that.

  Heath didn’t answer but hummed as he fished his phone out of his pocket. He checked something on his phone as he slid onto the stool, his knees brushing over Will’s leg as he did. Then Heath handed over his phone. Will stared at the screen and gulped.

  “So, Will,” Heath said, words only marginally slurred, “what part of damn, I like you doesn’t sound like us being friendly?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “But what?” Heath leaned closer to him, raising a brow.

  “But it wasn’t real life. I wasn’t even sure you’d forgiven me for what I said that night—for being such an insensitive bastard and all that.”

  “Well, okay, you were that.” Heath’s shoulders sagged and he studied the sticky bar in front of him. “But I do forgive you. Actually, I wasn’t so sure you were going to forgive me for over-reacting. I knew what you meant to ask. And I never acknowledged your apology, either. That, well, that sucks of me.”

  Heath snagged the bartender’s attention and ordered a double shot of tequila. Once he’d knocked it back, he sighed. “I needed that before I tell you this next part. Please don’t take it the wrong way, but”—he peered at him out the corner of his eye—“I lied about my friends having bolted before. I think I was the one who did the bolting. I just—you know, I just really wanted to see you.”

  He struggled like hell not to let too much of his internal cheering to slip past his cool facade. Calm down. Sure it was thrilling Heath wanted to see him—but he’d first qualified it with don’t take this the wrong way. So really, there was no need to be cheering at all.

  That thought settled him quickly.

  “So?” Heath said.

  “So, what?”

  “Do you forgive me?”

  “What for?”

  “All of it. Particularly the over-reacting.”

  Will glanced down at the bar and pushed his slice of uneaten cake and napkin over to Heath. “I know how much you like chocolate.”

  “That’s a yes?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. Eat.”

  Heath grinned. “Sure. But I’m gonna need to burn this off after. Wanna, maybe, dance?”

  Like he needed to burn anything off. But hell if he’d say no to getting closer to that body. “Yeah.?”

  His smile widened. “Good.” He lurched off his stool, almost tipping it. “What do you say to the burning part first and the eating later?”

  Heath’s warm hand locked around his wrist and tugged him up. His touch coasted up his arm and sent his blood rushing downward. He wanted to grip the guy by the head, drag his lips to his, and grind against him as he kissed out all his pent-up want. No, make that need.

  Honestly, he’d never felt so out-of-control around a guy before. Not like this. In fact, he’d always managed to wait three weeks of dating before ever hitting the sack with anyone. But damn, Heath was like a drug, doing crazy things to his body, and he could barely think clearly. Probably because all his blood seemed to have abandoned his head for the warm, hot, hard South.

  With insane control, he held back, letting out a rather gravelly, “Like the sound of that.”

  The pit used for dancing was thick with students and twenty-somethings. Heath didn’t seem bothered by the lack of space and dragged him into the middle. Mostly girls surrounded them: sweaty and screaming with the music. They all moved together so it felt Will wasn’t only dancing with Heath but all the girls, too. A couple of girls tried to snag him into a grinding session, but he politely spun them farther from him with a shake of his head.

  Heath, on the other hand, had girls draped over him and he went right with it, taking turns dancing with them all, keeping his back to Will. Against it, actually. Probably because the space was so crammed.

  Will broke their shoulder-blade contact as a woman dancing near him had her glasses knocked off her face by a rather exuberant drunk. He grabbed them before anyone could step on them and handed them over. She threw him a smile and mouthed ‘thank you’ at the same time a warm hand locked around his wrist.

  At that touch, his blood leapt. He spun to see Heath who shook his head. “You stay with me,” he shouted over the music.

  The song ended suddenly and the girls erupted in cheers when the next one started. An elbow knocked into him, and Heath pulled him closer as the crowd tightened around them. Really tightened. He and Heath were pushed almost flush now—

  A surge of female euphoria at the chorus shoved him against Heath.

  He didn’t want this song to ever end. God, no. Not when the crowds had crushed them together like this, undulating, and with it bringing Heath as close as he’d ever felt him. Not when Heath’s smile curled like he was equally happy to be jammed there with him. Not when Heath dipped his head toward his, breathing in his ear, hot and sultry. “You can really move.”

  Oh, and so can you.

  With the excuse of the crowds around them, Will pressed himself closer, wanting to ease into Heath’s arms and sink into a slow sway. For a second, he wished the music would mute just for him so he could feel the beat of Heath’s heart as they moved together—see if it was as fast as his own.

  He ignored the niggle in his head, reminding him not to take any of this seriously—Heath was drunk, after all, and had told him plain and clear he didn’t see him that way—and let himself give in to this moment. Take what he could from it, because, God, he was so unbearably hot for Heath, and this was probably as close as he could come to quenching it.

  Their bodies slid against each other and he knew, come morning, the memories would torment him. So close and yet nowhere near close enough.

  Heath closed his eyes a moment as if to feel the music and let it soak into him. When he opened them again, he stared at Will—intensely. Will hoped he saw desire, but most likely he was projecting. But then Heath’s hand slipped up Will’s arm to his neck and squeezed, eliciting an explosion of shivers all through him.

  The song finished. The crowds didn’t feel as thick anymore, and yet the two of them didn’t move back.

  Which maybe they should have, because at that moment, in the pause between songs, a drunken idiot just off the dance floor began pointing at them and yelling. “You cocksuckers, get a fucking room. No one wants to see that shit here.”

  Heath broke away from him, snapping his head toward the prick. “Fuck you.” He charged off the dance floor toward the guy, flushed with anger, fists pulsing at his sides.

  Will shook off his shock. More from Heath’s contact than the drunken insult. He grabbed Heath’s elbow before he got to the guy and his friends, who’d very quickly gathered around the prick. One of the friends was the girl whose glasses he’d saved. She was letting loose a string of nasty words at said prick as she pulled him away. Even his guy-friends didn’t look impressed. This prick didn’t need Heath to blow a fuse—it looked like he was already being taken care of.


  He tugged harder at Heath, yanking him around.

  “You’re just okay with that?” Heath yelled over the next song. “Well I’m fucking not.” He pulled out of his grasp and made for the prick again. Only, a few steps from him, Heath paused. His shoulders rose and fell sharply and in a stiff movement, he twisted away, anger still crackling off him, and made for the doors.

  Will found him outside the church bar. Heath glanced at him and punched at a cardboard ‘Garage Sale’ sign on a streetlight. “That son-of-a-bitch.”

  “Yep,” Will agreed. “Certainly was that.”

  “God, I wanted to punch him.”

  “He’s not worth it.” He placed a hand on Heath’s shoulder, but was shaken off.

  “I know. I wouldn’t have done it. I promised William I would never hit anyone after . . . And damn, if I won’t live up to that promise.” He let out a long, heavy breath, then looked at him out the corner of his eye. “How could you stay so calm? Didn’t it bother you?”

  “Of course it did. It always bothers me, but I’ve learnt to ignore it. There are always going to be stupid people out there, people who don’t like what we are, but I honestly don’t want to waste my time and energy on them. I try to ignore it, mostly. That, or throw something equally nasty back at them.”

  Heath stopped at that, looked at him, and grinned. “Equally nasty, eh?”

  “Well, I’m not a saint and some people piss me off that much, yes.” Rory comes to mind . . .

  Just then Candice and Sig piled out of the church, followed by a bouncer.

  “You guys all right?” Candice asked, cradling her hand. Sig stood behind her, hands on her shoulders, trying desperately, it looked, to hide a small grin.

  Will gave Heath a look. “Yeah, we’re all good. Right?”

  Heath nodded.

  “What’s wrong with your hand?” Will asked as Candice shook it gently, wincing.

  Sig answered. “She slapped him, nice and hefty across the jaw.”

  “Dylan’s such an arse,” Candice fumed. “A friend of mine dated him for a month. I’ve been wanting to slap him for a long time now. And after what he said . . . ” She started to get worked up again, and Sig rubbed his thumbs over her shoulders, calming her. “I’d have done it twice, but the first time really hurt. That and we got kicked out.”