After Felix (Close Proximity Book 3)

by Lily Morton

  “Well, one eye is,” I mutter. “The other one’s looking at the pub over there.”

  Max bites his lip and steps forward. “I’m watching you too,” he says in a deep and rather threatening voice. “I’ve got Felix’s back now, and it’s in your best interests to not come near him. I don’t want you speaking to him unless you can keep a civil tongue in your head.”

  My dad takes a judicious and probably sensible step back. “Whatever,” he mumbles. “You’re welcome to the little shithead. No use to a person, that one. He’s a sly little fucker.”

  I wince, but Max turns his back on my dad and steers me towards the door. My dad curses and stumbles behind us, but I focus on Max’s warm hand and the strength of him at my side. It’s strange and sort of amazing to have had someone at my side when my dad paid one of his visits. It’s always been just me before.

  I want to lean into Max’s strength, use it like a protective shield. But I can’t do that, of course. Max hadn’t even wanted to stay the night, so why the hell should I treat him as though he’s my knight in shining armour?

  I straighten my spine and force an unconcerned look on my face as I turn to him. It wavers slightly as he steps forward and drags me into a hug. “Ouf,” I say. His grip is tight.

  “Are you okay?” he mutters. “That was a bloody awful scene.”

  I rest against him for a second, giving in to the warmth of his concerned voice and all of his lovely attention. I love it so much that I step quickly out of his embrace.

  “I’m fine,” I say carelessly. “He’s just pissed.”

  “Would he have said all those things sober?”

  I laugh. “Of course, but at least his breath wouldn’t be a hundred proof, and he’d manage to string whole sentences together.” He carries on staring at me, and I shake my head, saying lightly, “You’re either turning into the Incredible Hulk, Max, or you’ve put my T-shirt on by mistake.”

  He looks down at the Little Mr Gobby T-shirt that Misha bought me last Christmas. The thin material is stretched over his taller and wider frame. “Shit, I thought it was drafty,” he mutters, and I laugh. His eyes seem very bright in the low light. “So your mum died when you were seventeen?” I nod. “I’m taking it that he never came through for you when she was gone?”

  “No, thank God.” I shudder. “I’d never have turned into the magnificent physical specimen that you see before you, if he’d had a hand.”

  He smiles, but his eyes remain intent. “And is that why you don’t want a relationship with anyone?”

  I stare at him for a second. Is that true anymore? The thought sends panic sizzling down my body. “Of course,” I say. I walk over to put the kettle on. “I’m just a poor boy with daddy issues. But a very beautiful poor boy with fantastic dress sense.”

  He shakes his head, his eyes knowing. “The most beautiful,” he says solemnly.

  “Shit, you inhaled his breath, didn’t you? Don’t try to drive for at least an hour and don’t stand near any open flames.” He opens his mouth to ask probably a thousand more questions, but I stop him with a wave of my hand as I lean against the counter. “You’ve never displayed any interest in my life before.” He winces, and I smile to make sure he knows I’m not hurt by that. “Did you think I’d come out of an egg?”

  He steps forward and cups my head between his hands. “A very spiky little egg,” he says, his voice very deep as he kisses my forehead with what seems like tenderness.

  He steps back, and it’s impossible to sort out the mingled emotions in his expression. Or the ones in my chest. The combination of warmth and wariness is vaguely nauseating but sort of nice too.

  “Did you want tea?” I ask. “It’s a bit shit waking up to that.”

  His face shutters as he looks down at his watch. “Better not,” he says briskly. “As long as you’re alright, I’d better push off. It’s late.”

  Maybe too late for me, I think a few minutes later, watching him lope off down the towpath, his long body limned with the light from the streetlamp.

  I shake myself. “Business as usual,” I say out loud. “Get it together, Felix Jackson.

  Chapter Six

  Three Months Later

  Felix

  My phone rings with the jaunty little tune I’ve allocated to Max. I hover my hand over it for a second and then quickly click to accept the call before he changes his mind and rings off.

  “Is this a booty call?” I ask breezily.

  There’s a startled silence, and then he gives his low, husky laugh. “Not this morning, sassy boy. I’ve barely had time for breakfast yet.”

  I smile. “You oldies and your need for sleep.”

  “That’s me,” he says wryly. “Just need to put my teeth back in, and I’ll be up to scratch.”

  “Lovely as this chat is, is there a purpose for it? I’m a busy and very important man.”

  “Oh, Felix, is that your office voice?” he says breathily. “I’m hard already. Quick, tell me something about ink cartridges and stationery.”

  “We’re out of paperclips and sticky notes,” I say in a voice of grave urgency. My smile widens at the sound of his laughter.

  When he quietens, he says, “Wow, that hit the spot. You could advertise this as a sex line.”

  “Lovely as that sounds, I don't think my boss would be too thrilled, and the paperclip speech might be a bit of a niche market.”

  “They’re missing out.” There’s a slight pause. “I rang to see if you fancy grabbing lunch together?”

  “Really?” I wince at the astonishment in my voice. And something worse—hope.

  Another pause and then he says quickly, “I’m out your way this morning for a meeting, so it was just a thought. Doesn’t matter if—”

  “No,” I interrupt quickly. “No, that sounds… nice.”

  “Well, okay then,” he says rather awkwardly. “I’ll ring you when I’m in Seven Dials, and you can give me directions.”

  After agreeing, I click End and set my phone down on the desk as carefully as if it were an unexploded bomb. In a way, it is, or at least it has the power to totally blow up my world.

  This isn’t the first time that Max has rung me, but it’s the first time he’s wanted to meet me for lunch when it’s obvious that sex won’t be on the menu. We’ve been fucking each other for over three months now, and he’s made no move to change our status.

  He doesn’t call unless it’s to arrange sex. We’ll meet and fuck, mainly in different hotel rooms around the city but occasionally on the boat. I know he has a house in the Cotswolds where he lives, but that’s the extent of my knowledge, as he never talks about himself. He’s made no declarations of exclusivity, and I’ve very carefully avoided asking questions about who he’s with when he’s not with me. I presume there are others. He’s too highly sexed to go without.

  However, over the last couple of weeks, that seems to have changed a little. He’s started to ring in between fucks, and each time he’s stayed on the phone a little bit longer. We talk about politics, world affairs, and tell each other funny stories. Sometimes when he rings, his voice will be flat, and I’ll detect a sadness there. On those occasions, I’ve worked extra hard to be funny and make him laugh, so when he rings off, he’ll be lighter.

  And therein lies the problem. I shouldn’t care about his state of mind. I shouldn’t be working to make him laugh. He might be footloose and free and fucking everyone around, but… I’m not. I haven’t slept with anyone else since I started this with Max. I haven’t wanted to, and that’s a problem because it’s never happened before. I’d fallen into a strings-free fuck arrangement and then knitted my own ties without consulting my partner.

  It likely started when he stuck up for me against my dad. That phantom warmth I felt that night has grown. I enjoyed his company from the beginning, but now I think about him all the time and miss him when I don’t see him for a few days.

  I sigh heavily and rub my eyes.

  “That’s a deep
sigh.”

  I jump and look up to see my boss leaning against the open door to his office.

  I smile affectionately at him. I’ve been with Zeb since I was twenty. I arrived as a temp when his previous assistant left, and I ended up staying because Zeb is wonderful. Dry and sarcastic on the surface but a total softie underneath. It doesn’t hurt that he’s a looker too. Tall, dark, and handsome might have been invented as a term to describe him. I’d idly considered trying to shag him when I started here, but he’s a lot older than me and allergic to fucking staff. Plus, I love the job, so I discounted that as shitting far too close to home.

  Zeb runs a temp agency that specialises in helping customers who are drawn mainly from the LGBTQ community. No day is ever the same, and we’ve provided temps for cleaning houses, shopping, and even pretending to be partners of our clients. It suits me. I love the organisational side, putting order to chaos, and I’m definitely a people person—much more than Zeb. I know our customers well and celebrate their triumphs and commiserate on their failures. It’s like having a family without any of the drunken demands for insurance money.

  “Was that the new mystery boyfriend?” he asks.

  I make a moue of distaste. “Please, for the love of God, don’t call him my boyfriend.”

  He shakes his head and puts some papers on my desk. “You’ve been seeing him for a while now.”

  “I haven’t been seeing him,” I say, making exaggerated air quotes. “I’ve been shagging him. I see him naked and give him a good seeing to, but that is the extent of any seeing.”

  “So, he’s making booty calls to you in your workplace?”

  I laugh at his outraged expression, and then it dies, and I look at my phone. “No, he called to chat.”

  “That tone of voice would be better used if he’d rung to tell you he’d dismembered your grandma.”

  I stare at him. “What is the matter with you?”

  “Sorry.” He grins unrepentantly and leans against my desk in a manner that suggests he’s settling in for a chat. I try a discouraging frown, but it doesn’t work, as he just winks at me. “So, he rang to talk to you? Wow.”

  I narrow my eyes. “I’m sure he’d have arranged a fuck if I’d stayed on the line long enough.”

  “Really?” He sounds suspiciously innocent. “So, what did you talk about if it wasn't the latest sexual positions?”

  I fidget with a pen. “Well he, erm, he rang to say he’d pick me up for lunch.” There’s an extended silence, and I groan. “Oh, shut up.”

  He puts a hand to his chest. “You wound me, Felix. You really do.”

  I lean back in my chair and scrub my hands down my face. “What am I doing?” I say plaintively.

  When I pull my hands away and blink up at him, he’s watching me. “Is there a problem with having lunch with him?” he asks softly, and I know I’m going to tell him everything. He’s like a member of my family.

  “There’s no problem with him. To him, I’m sure, it’s just a casual thing. You know, ‘Hey, I’m in the area so I might as well swoop over and take Felix out for a sandwich. He’ll make me laugh, and if we eat quickly, he might fit in a blowjob.’”

  “So, why is it a problem?” he asks when I fall silent.

  “It’s a problem for me because I really don’t think this is casual for me anymore. I think honestly it hasn’t been for a while, Zeb.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s clever and funny and kind. He makes me laugh, and we never run out of things to talk about. I feel… alive when I’m with him. I’m starting to care about him, and he watches out for me too in a funny sort of way.” I hesitate. “He makes me feel safe,” I finally say in a small voice.

  There’s a protracted silence as he watches me intently. “And why is any of that a problem?”

  “Because I don't do that, Zeb. I never wanted any fucking commitments or a relationship that lasted beyond a bloke removing his dick from my arse. And now look at me.”

  “I am looking,” he says kindly. “You’re brilliant, Felix, and maybe this mystery man is seeing this, and that’s why he’s meeting you for lunch. I mean, he seems to ring you a lot. You said he was waiting for you with takeout and a foot rub last night when you were tired.” He shrugs. “People don’t do that for a shag-only arrangement. The arrangement you had seems to me to have morphed into more for him, as well as you. Perhaps he wants that and doesn’t feel able to ask.” A wild hope stirs in my stomach, and it makes me feel sick. “And I’ll never entirely understand why someone who has so much to offer doesn’t want someone who’ll appreciate it,” he carries on. “I think you’d actually enjoy having someone of your own.” He hesitates. “You’re sort of alone in the world, Felix, and having your own person is lovely.” I redden, and he rushes into more words. “But that’s my view. Maybe I’m the one who’s wrong about the benefit of relationships.”

  Footsteps sound from outside. There’s a sudden shout of “Zeb!” and Patrick appears in the doorway. I groan. He’s Zeb’s boyfriend and a complete wanker. I know for a fact that he’s been unfaithful a couple of times, and he treats Zeb like shit. But Zeb is the most loyal person I know, and he refuses to hear a bad word said about him.

  Zeb walks over to greet him, and I shake my head. “I don’t think there’s any maybe about it if this is the sort of relationship you think I should be hankering after,” I mutter.

  “Did you say something, Felix?” Patrick asks. “You’re always saying something,” he mutters sourly.

  I grin at him and mouth the word wanker, secure in the knowledge that Zeb can’t see me as he shakes his head reprovingly at his boyfriend.

  “Did you need me?” Zeb asks.

  Patrick sighs. “Mother’s been on the phone.”

  “With her knowledge of witchcraft, I’m permanently amazed she can’t just use mind control,” I mutter.

  It’s my turn for a reproving glare from Zeb. “Can you two get along, please?” He sighs, pinching his nose.

  “We could,” I say sweetly. “But the root of the matter is if we should.”

  Patrick huffs. “I’ve got better things to do today than try to get along with him.”

  “What would that be?” I ask sweetly. “Are you getting botox in your saggy scrotum?”

  “Okay,” Zeb says quickly as Patrick’s face turns purple. “Let’s go into my office.” The door closes behind them.

  My phone rings. “Hello,” I say hurriedly.

  “Hey you,” Max says in an affectionate tone. “I’m in Seven Dials. Whereabouts are you?”

  “Do you know Neal’s Yard?”

  There’s a pause. “I do, actually. I’m standing outside it at the moment. My stepbrother works there.”

  “Oh wow, maybe I know him. That would be funny. Where does he work?”

  “He owns an employment agency. It’s funny, because he was on about his assistant the other day, and he sounded as sassy as you.”

  I shake my head in utter disbelief at the workings of fate. “Max, what employment agency is it?”

  “The Evans Agency. It’s in the building with the orange-painted windows, but I haven’t visited him in years. We normally meet at a pub.”

  I start to laugh. “Well, why don’t you visit him now, and I’ll wait for you?”

  There’s a long pause. “Are you sure?” he says, sounding confused. “What about lunch?”

  “Oh, very sure. I’ll wait.”

  I ring off, and a few minutes later, I hear the front door open and footsteps coming down the corridor to my office. I can hear Max’s voice on the phone saying, “I was in the area so I thought I’d drop in. You need to be quick though because I’ve got a lunch date and— Felix.”

  He stops dead inside the door to my office, still holding his phone to his ear, and I start to laugh. He looks at me sitting behind my desk and gives his head a quick shake, as if to clear it. He ends his call, sliding the phone into his pocket. “You’re Zeb’s sassy assistant?”

/>   “At your service.” I sketch a salute. “And you’re his nefarious stepbrother.”

  He bites his lip, looking as discomposed as I’ve ever seen him. “That’s me.”

  The way he says it is cautious, and my smile dies away. Zeb and Patrick appear before I can question him.

  “Max,” Zeb says. “What’s going on?” He looks between the two of us. “Sorry, where are my manners? Have you two met before? This is Felix, my assistant.”

  “Oh, we’ve met,” I say demurely. “But mainly in the biblical sense.”

  Max’s mouth twists for a second, but an anxious expression wins out over a smile.

  Zeb looks back and forth between us and then again. “Oh God,” he says faintly to Max. “You’re Felix’s mystery man.”

  I instantly get my own anxious expression, because that was not a happy voice. I’m not happy either, as I remember how many secrets Zeb could spill right now. I’ve been confiding in him for three months. About his stepbrother.

  My cheeks flush as the memory surfaces of me describing Max’s rimming technique.

  Zeb swallows hard, looking slightly sick. I’ve got a feeling he remembers that conversation too.

  “I can’t believe it,” he says again.

  An uneasy silence falls. I look between the two brothers and feel a deeper twinge of anxiousness. What is going on here?

  Patrick edges around Zeb in the doorway and glares at Max. “Max,” he says frigidly.

  Max’s lip curls. It’s strange. I’ve never seen a look of disdain on his face before. He’s usually open and welcoming and friendly. It’s part of why I feel so safe to be myself around him.

  Zeb coughs, and Max attempts a smile. “Patrick, what an adorable surprise,” he says smoothly.

  “I suppose it must be,” Patrick says modestly. He looks between Max and me with an avid stare. “So, you and Felix are…?”

  “They’re together, yes,” Zeb intercedes quickly.

  “Really?” Patrick looks far too entertained for my peace of mind. “Together. What a complete surprise.”