Heart (13 page)

D
EX
WOKE
to a lukewarm cup of tea, a towel, and a crude sketch of a shower. He assumed it was meant to convey that he was welcome to use Seb’s bathroom in his conspicuous absence, but not trusting his ability to read the digital clock on the DVD player, he gathered his shoes and fled.

Out of sync, Dex found himself at work two hours early. Seb didn’t appear until 11:00 a.m. He winked at Dex, but neither man mentioned the night Dex had spent on his couch.

Later that night, after a
long
day at work, Seb handed him a paper-wrapped lahmacun. “Sorry I skipped out on you this morning. I had to sort something out.”

“It was early, right?” Dex took a bite of his late-night supper. “I was in the kitchen by eight.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“No. I didn’t know….”
Idiot
. Was he really about to admit he was too stupid to tell time? That he only got to work on time each day by asking the hostel warden? “Thanks for letting me stay.”

Seb grinned through a mouthful of food. “Anytime. You looked really sweet curled up on the sofa. I didn’t want to wake you.”

Dex balled up his paper and flicked it into a nearby bin. They were sitting on a bench by a bus stop in Dalston. He liked Dalston. It was rough, but around them, the borough’s nocturnal residents went about their business without so much as glancing their way, and Dex felt safe on her spice-scented streets.

“What are you going to do with your day off?”

Dex frowned. He’d forgotten about that. It seemed Rick had decided he no longer needed him to work seven days a week. His Friday-morning roll of cash would remain the same, but starting tomorrow, he’d have every Monday off. A whole day and night alone in the hostel. He couldn’t wait… not. “Dunno.”

“I get Mondays off too. It’s the quietest day of the week. Providing I leave plenty of prep, Rick can handle it. Do you want to get a drink or something?”

“A drink?”

Seb slid off the bench and ambled to the bin so Dex couldn’t see his face. “A cuppa, or a pint or something. Unless you’re sick of the sight of me.”

“No.”

Seb turned back. “No, you don’t want a drink? Or no, you’re not sick of me?”

“I’m not sick of you.”

“Good.” Seb came back to the bench, but remained on his feet. “Do you have a phone?”

“Rick gave me one, but I haven’t turned it on yet.” Dex didn’t add that he was waiting until he could read the instructions for himself. He hadn’t told anyone that. Besides, why did he need a phone? Who would he call?

“You can find your way back to my place, right? I’ll be home all day. Come over anytime and we’ll do something.” Seb nudged Dex’s shoulder. “Night, Dex.”

Seb walked away. He was halfway down the road before Dex found his tongue.

“Hey, Seb?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s flat twenty-three, right?”

Seb smiled, his eyes crinkling up at the sides. “That’s right. Press number four in the lift.”

T
HE
FOLLOWING
day, it only took a few hours of kicking about his empty bedroom for Dex to give in and go looking for Seb. Cold and lonely, he
missed
Seb. They’d spent every day together for a couple of weeks now, and Dex had grown used to his soothing company. Even when Seb was yelling at waiters, he still had gentle words for Dex. Gentle words that made him feel safe and warm. Not like the barren cold of his hostel room.

The warmth buzzing in his veins increased when he saw the chef hat hanging on Seb’s front door, guiding his way. He knocked. Seb pulled open the door, covered in the white dust and a broad smile. “All right, mate? Wasn’t sure you’d show.”

“Why have you got flour all over you?”

If Seb was offended by Dex’s greeting, he didn’t show it. Instead, he waited for him to kick off his shoes, and then beckoned him into the kitchen.

Dex stared at the mess on Seb’s sleek, modern counters. There was stuff everywhere, and he was clearly cooking up a storm. “It’s your day off.”

Seb shrugged and poured what looked like eggs into a precarious well in the center of a huge mound of flour. “I know, but I want to make Chelsea Buns for the old ladies’ lunch tomorrow, and the dough is better proofed overnight. Can you pass me the dough hook for the mixer?”

Dex ventured farther into the kitchen. He knew what a dough hook was. The planet-sized mixer at the restaurant had one. “Where is it?”

“Cupboard by the bread bin.”

It took a few moments, given Dex was looking for something far bigger, but eventually, he retrieved the white enamel dough hook and attached it to Seb’s domestic mixer. “Why’s your mixer pink?”

“Because my brother thinks he’s bloody hilarious.”

“Your brother?”

“Yeah, Ezra. I told him I was gay when I was fifteen, and he’s been buying me pink shit ever since.” Seb scooped up a huge ball of dough he’d created from the mess of flour and eggs and dumped it in the stainless steel bowl of the mixer. Dex could see it said “kitchen” on the logo, but he didn’t know the other word. “Turn it on to speed six, and grab me a beer from the fridge, will you? There’s some WKD in there for you.”

Seb put his hands in the sink without waiting to see if Dex understood his instructions, and began washing his hands. Dex turned the mixer on and opened the fridge, eyeing the other untouched ingredients on the countertop. “What else are you making?”

“Pizza.” Seb poured his can of beer into a glass. “There’s enough dough left over, and I figured we could both use some real food.”

Dex couldn’t argue with that. He’d missed Bernie bringing him his usual morning butty, and he hadn’t eaten since their shared supper at the bus stop. “How do you make pizza?”

Seb grinned. “Give the mixer ten minutes, and I’ll show you.”

And, over the course of several drinks, that’s just what Seb did. He taught Dex how to make the biggest pizza he’d ever seen, and after that, how to fold the dough in half to make a stuffed pasty he said was called a calzone.

“How do you know so much about pizza?”

Seb wiped his mouth and pushed his plate away. “The dough part is basic pastry skills, but I learned how to spin it when I spent a few months in Naples.”

“Where’s that?”

“Italy. I traveled around Europe when I was training. Naples, Paris, Barcelona, Prague. Seems like a lifetime ago now, but I’ve still got some tricks.”

Dex swallowed his last bite of calzone. “How old were you?”

“Nineteen.” Seb shot Dex a strange look. “How old are
you
?”

Dex squirmed. “Twenty.”

Seb narrowed his eyes. “Don’t lie to me again. Rick said you told him you’re nineteen.”

“I was
then
.”

“When was your birthday?”

Dex thought hard. He knew it had passed, but it had been so long since he’d marked the occasion, he often forgot all about it. “Last… Thursday, maybe?”

Silence. Dex averted his gaze. He’d forgotten he’d lied to Seb. When they’d met that summer in Padstow, he’d told Seb he was twenty-two. By that reckoning, he should’ve been pushing twenty-four by now. Like anyone would ever believe that.

Seb nudged his shoulder. Dex glanced up to find him just a hairbreadth away. He could smell basil and garlic on him, mixed with the vanilla that was uniquely Seb. The intoxicating scent took him back to a kitchen even smaller than this one, a kitchen rattled by the ire of a summer storm and the tattoo of his own stampeding heart.

Dex sucked in a breath as Seb stared him down. That night, he’d felt the warmth of Seb behind him burn into a heat too consuming to ignore. For the first time in his life, he’d asked, no,
begged
another man to take him and fuck him until there was nothing else in the world.

Dex swallowed. Did he want that again? Could he
bear
that again?

Seb bit down on his lip so hard Dex thought he’d bite it right off, and then he rubbed some stray flour from Dex’s face with the hem of his T-shirt and sighed. “Come on. Let’s go out.”

S
EB
SLID
another bottle across the table. “They didn’t have the blue one.”

Dex shrugged and tilted the bottle of bright orange fizz to his lips. It looked like Lucozade and tasted like soap, but he was about four drinks past caring.

He glanced around, taking in the dilapidated interior of the grotty Tottenham pub. It felt familiar, like the seedy pubs Braden used to visit… while he left Dex sitting outside on the curb.

The unpleasant nostalgia had made him nervous, and to calm the monster in his belly, he’d gulped back every drink Seb and Damon, another chef from the restaurant, had pushed his way. A sensible strategy, it seemed, as now he was so drunk he could think of nothing but Seb’s knee wedged against his thigh under the tiny wooden table.

Seb seemed equally inebriated, though he was more extroverted about it than Dex. Dex had noticed that over the last few weeks. In contrast to the solitary creature he’d appeared to be in Cornwall, Seb was always smiling and laughing. Everyone loved him. Seb was everybody’s friend, and the only friend Dex had ever had.

“You’re not going to drink that Irn Bru shit, are you?”

Dex glanced at Damon and placed the half-empty bottle carefully on the beer mat in front of him. “Might as well.”

Damon sniggered. “You’re going to be hanging in the morning. That orange crap stays with you. Hey, Seb. Are you going to dick around on your phone all night or play some darts with me?”

Seb rolled his eyes and shoved his phone in his pocket. He seemed annoyed, though Dex couldn’t be sure. “Really? Again?” He cast his gaze in Dex’s direction. “Damon’s the worst darts player in the history of the world, and that’s saying something, considering how bad I am. Want to play?”

Dex had played darts before, a long time ago with Mikey when he was feeling charitable. The rules escaped him, but he was fairly sure the idea was to hit the tiny red dot in the center of the board.

Easy enough, but maybe not, judging by Seb’s raised eyebrow when Dex hit his mark for the fourth time.

“Okay. If you’re going to hit a ton-eighty every time, it’s going to be a pretty short game. You ever played Around the Clock?”

Dex shook his head, glad the concentration of aiming the dart had shifted his introspective, drunken haze. “Is that like Pontoon?”

“Not quite.” Seb put his arm around his shoulders and explained the rules of a convoluted game Dex had no hope of understanding. “Just aim where I tell you,” Seb said in the end.

Damon scowled. “Oh, I see. Two against one. Nice. Is this because I work the grill instead of poncey desserts? Arseholes.”

The gripe was good-humored and Damon’s grin wide, but Dex still felt a tremor of apprehension run through him. A tingle. Like he could feel unwelcome eyes all over him.

He shook off the sensation and took the darts from Damon’s extended hand. The only eyes on him were Seb’s, and his whirlpool gaze felt like Dex’s own secret world. A world where nothing and no one could touch him. No one but Seb.

Dex let the dart fly, aiming where Seb pointed. Taking turns with Damon, he hit his mark, once, twice, three times, until Damon threw down his darts in defeat. “Bloody hell. I give up. One more round in here before we hit the Dolphin?”

Seb nodded. Dex shrugged too, though he was pretty sure he’d reached his capacity for sugary carbonated drinks. His belly felt full and bubbly, and for once, it had nothing to do with Seb grasping his elbow or pushing his hair back from his face. No. This time, he was simply so drunk he could hardly comprehend the low rumble of Seb’s voice in his ear or the yearning look in his eyes.

Or the louder voice in the back of his head telling him the drink Damon passed his way was one drink too many.

He took a swallow of the red drink. A bitter taste hit his tongue, and it was all he could do not to spit it all over the table. “What
is
that?”

“Absinthe and cranberry. My missus drinks it all the time.”

Seb swiped the glass from Dex’s hand. “Don’t give him that. Donna would drink weed killer if you put it in a glass with a cherry on top.”

Dex didn’t know if he was annoyed or relieved. Annoyed that Seb thought he needed babysitting, or relieved he didn’t have to drink the red drink that tasted like petrol. He opened his mouth, but to say what, he’d never be sure, as Damon cut him off. He reached around Dex and punched Seb’s shoulder.

“Look lively, mate. Your freaky boyfriend’s heading this way.”

Sixteen

S
ILENCE
. S
EB
glared at Damon then scowled again at whoever was approaching their table. “Ex-boyfriend,” he said gruffly. “I finished with him yesterday. Fuck’s sake. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Damon let out a grunt that seemed approving, but over the noise of the raucous pub, it was hard to tell.

With Seb gone, Dex swiped back his absinthe-laced juice and knocked back a long swallow.
Seb has a boyfriend. A boyfriend. Seb. Seb has a boyfriend. Seb has a boyfriend.
Nope. It didn’t sound right, no matter how many times he said it. He took another pull of absinthe. Drained the glass. Fuck. He needed a piss.