Hard Tail (18 page)

Adam was wrong. I wasn’t all right. I felt sordid—soiled in more ways than one. This wasn’t at all how I’d imagined my first time with a man—or if I had, my fantasies had never ended with me feeling like this. “I’ve got to go,” I said desperately, tearing myself out of his grasp. Damn it, I’d need to call a taxi. I wished I’d brought my car so I could get away from here right now. Plus, if I’d driven, I wouldn’t have been drinking, and then I’d never have got into this mess.

Possibly.

I realised Adam was loping along beside me. “What?” I snapped.

“Wanna lift?”

“No.” I strode to the front of the pub, where a few drinkers had milled out around the door, smoking and laughing. Scrabbling for my phone, I desperately tried to remember the cab firm’s number or how to find an alternative. There was a number, wasn’t there? Or an app or something, and why the bloody
hell
hadn’t I got it sorted before I’d come out?

A hand gripped my arm. “C’mon. ’S just over there.”

I gave up and let him steer me toward a shiny red Ford Mondeo parked down a side street. My sense of unreality deepened—this was what Adam drove? “’S my mum’s,” he explained helpfully.

I sat in silence as he drove me home. Adam turned on the CD player, and we listened to Jessie J exhorting her sisters to “Do it like a Dude.” I could have told her that based on my experience, it’d be unlikely to end well. Adam didn’t seem to need directions, and a horrible suspicion planted itself in my mind. “Have you and Jay ever…?” I asked, beyond embarrassment by now.

Adam almost doubled up with laughter, which didn’t make me feel any safer since he was still driving. “Jay?
Jay?
” He sobered up eventually in the face of my continued refusal to see the funny side. “Nah. ’S straight.” He was still chuckling silently as we pulled up outside Jay’s house.

I hoped he wouldn’t expect an invitation in for coffee, either euphemistically or otherwise. “Thanks for the lift,” I said politely, like he hadn’t just sucked me off in a pub garden.

“’S all right. See y’round.”

Never had the clichéd response, “Not if I see you first!” seemed more appropriate. Not trusting myself to speak, I just nodded, got out of the car and scurried down the path to let myself in the house.

Wolverine was waiting for me. “It’s all right for you,” I muttered, heading on autopilot for the can opener. “You probably had the snip before you’d even worked out what your willy was for. Take it from me, you’re not missing much.” As my mind flashed back to Adam’s blowjob, my dick jumped up to call me a liar.

“And don’t think
you’re
getting anything from me after the way you behaved tonight,” I told it sternly.

Wolverine
miaowed
indignantly.

I sighed and forked the tuna into his bowl. I should probably have explained I wasn’t talking to him, but somehow, I just couldn’t find the strength.

Chapter Thirteen

I spent a restless night plagued with excruciating dreams of Adam sucking me off in front of Matt, Jay and my mother. Matt and Jay weren’t paying much attention, being too busy excavating each other’s tonsils with their tongues, but Mum was staring with folded arms and narrowed eyes, occasionally muttering, “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Timothy—show a little enthusiasm!”

Not surprisingly, I woke up headachey, exhausted, and limper than a piece of spaghetti that’d been boiled for a week. Wolverine wasn’t on the bed—I supposed all the tossing and turning had been too much for him. I briefly considered taking the day off sick—but I couldn’t do that to Jay. Or the customers, come to that—there were at least three people booked to come in and collect repaired bikes today.

It made me realise how cocooned from reality I’d been, in some ways, working for a large firm. Able to take a sickie any time I wanted to, confident there would be other people there able to take up the slack. If Jay—or I, as his stand-in—took a day off, that was a day’s sales gone and a dent in the customer goodwill. I was doubly impressed with the way he’d managed to stick it out, with only a day and a half off a week.

I dragged myself in to the shop and spent the morning practising fake smiles for the benefit of the endless stream of customers. Just after lunchtime, the door jangled—and admitted a welcome sight. “Matt!” I could feel my smile splitting my face. “Thought you were taking the day off—shouldn’t you be down in Brighton?”

Matt shrugged, grinning back at me. “Nah, we came back last night—well, you know, once the clubs shut. Steve’s gone to test drive a new car, so I thought I might as well come in and see how you were getting on.”

“Fine, really—but it’s great to see you.” I realised I was being a bit over-the-top, and tried to tone it down. Thankfully, Matt didn’t seem to have noticed.

“Had many new repairs in?”

“Four or five. I tried to be conservative on timescale, seeing as I couldn’t really tell what needed fixing.” I passed Matt the repairs book, and he gave it a quick scan.

“Looks all right to me—long as the ones in for a service don’t need anything major doing, we’ll be fine.” He smiled as he passed it back, and my heart felt a little lift.

“Are you staying?” I asked.

“Yeah, why not? Might as well make a start on some of these.” He didn’t head off out back immediately, though. “Did you do anything much last night?”

“No. I, er, stayed in. Watched TV. Something boring, can’t remember what it was. Er. Why don’t I show you where I put the bikes that came in?” God, why did I have to turn into a babbling idiot every time I tried to tell a lie? I was probably beetroot red as well. And Christ, how had I managed to forget Adam was Matt’s best mate? For all I knew, Adam had rung him straight up after our little encounter to give him a blow-by-blow account. So to speak.

It wasn’t like it’d have taken him all that long, given my embarrassing performance.

I marched into the back room, avoiding Matt’s gaze as if it had the power to turn me to stone, so I couldn’t tell if he was giving me a funny look or not. “Here they are—I’ve labelled them, so let me know if you have any trouble working out which one’s which.”

Still looking anywhere but at Matt, I hurried back to hide behind the till.

By six o’clock, I’d just about regained my composure. Matt hadn’t said any more about last night, or Adam, and he hadn’t been acting strangely around me either, so it seemed Adam wasn’t the sort to kiss and tell. Not that there had been an awful lot of kissing involved, but
suck and tell
just sounded so, so wrong.

Matt had finished up and emerged from the back room, and I was just about to close up for the night when the bell jangled again. Sighing, I looked round—and froze.

It was Adam.

He loped in casually, hands swinging by his ankles. “’Lo, Matt. All right, Tim?”

I froze behind the counter. What the hell was I going to say to him? Especially with Matt here.

It turned out I didn’t have to say anything. To my utmost, cringing horror, Adam casually sauntered on up to the counter, sidled through the gap and, slinging one arm around my neck, pressed a sloppy, chewing-gum-flavoured kiss to my paralysed lips. I was too stunned to even react. As my panicked gaze darted over to Matt, I saw he had the same problem.

“Great night, warn’t it?” Adam must have caught sight of Matt’s eyes, which were currently rivalling the twenty-nine-inch wheels on the bike he was holding onto, possibly for support. “Got together with Tim at the Cock. He’s all right.” Having in two short sentences both outed me and damned me with faint praise, he turned back to speak to me. “Wanna go out for a curry?”

“I…” I couldn’t speak. All I could do was look at Matt’s soft brown eyes, desperate for some sign he didn’t think I was an utter wanker. In vain, as he was currently looking at me as if I’d just stripped stark bollock naked and announced my intention to enter for the world puppy-kicking championships.

Then he gave his head an almost imperceptible shake. “That’s great. That you’ve, um, got together. Look, I’d better go. Steve’ll be wondering where I am. You have a good time tonight.” He hurtled out of the shop, no doubt anxious to get back to the oh-so-perfect Steve.

My stomach twisted at the thought—but I was glad, after a moment, that he’d mentioned Steve. It helped me remember what was going on here. No matter how much I might want him, Matt wasn’t mine and in all likelihood never would be. After all, even if Steve fell under a bus tomorrow, would Matt really want to get together with a bloke who’d lied to him? Lied about his night out, about his sexuality—God, Matt probably doubted everything I’d ever told him right now.

I turned to Adam, who was still smiling away obliviously. He wasn’t all that bad-looking, really, if you didn’t mind freckles and a rather un-evolved appearance. And he was a decent sort of bloke. Plus, although I’d only had a pitifully short time to base my judgment on, he seemed pretty good at sucking cock. My trousers tightened at the thought. I could do a lot worse for my first tentative foray into the world of man-loving.

“Curry sounds great,” I said.

I had second, third and fourth thoughts about my date with Adam as I got ready to go out. Did I really want to do this?
Yes
, a certain part of my anatomy told me firmly.

Was I really being fair to Adam? I might like what he did with his tongue; I might even like him as a friend. But even my overenthusiastic prick couldn’t convince me I had any kind of romantic feelings for him. Wouldn’t the honourable thing to do be to get out now, before any feelings might develop on his part?

Then again, what if that had already happened? Wouldn’t it be worse, in that case, to cancel? Maybe I should go out with him after all. I could let him down gently then. My prick thought that was an excellent idea.
Before
any blowjobs happened, I reminded myself sternly. The burgeoning tent in my boxer briefs deflated like a leftover party balloon.

Then again, who was to say I mightn’t feel more for Adam when I got to know him better? I should give him a chance. My prick nodded its agreement.

I wasn’t going to bother dressing up particularly—after all, this was Adam we were talking about; his idea of dressing up probably involved a T-shirt that wouldn’t show the curry stains. Actually, thinking about it, that wasn’t a bad idea. The state my nerves were in, I’d probably spill more than I ate. I quickly changed into a wine-red, tailored shirt I’d bought after seeing
Sherlock
on TV. I hadn’t worn it much; people always seemed to stare when I did, and I’d got the impression Kate hadn’t liked it much. But Adam, I was fairly sure, wouldn’t even notice.

I checked my reflection; hmm. The shirt fit snugly, emphasizing just how skinny I was, and made me look almost vampirically pale. The black jeans completed the picture. It was the closest I’d ever come to flirting with the goth look I’d yearned for, back in the youth I’d lacked the courage to misspend. I was fairly sure I’d passed the point of being able to carry it off now. Still, the ensemble would definitely hide any embarrassing mishaps with the tikka masala. I nodded at myself, gave my darkening chin a quick rub, decided Adam wouldn’t give a toss if I shaved or not, and headed downstairs just as the doorbell rang to announce the arrival of my escort for the night.

When I opened the door, Adam just stood there and stared at me for a moment. He was, as predicted, as scruffy as ever in baggy three-quarter-length cargo pants and a faded T-shirt that read, bizarrely, “Archaeologists do it in ditches”. Bugger. Was I hideously overdressed?

“Um,” I said by way of greeting. “Should I go and change? Have a shave?”

Adam shook his head slowly. “Nuh-uh.
Nuh-uh
. Y’re perfect.”

I was? “Er, thanks. Do you want to come in? Or shall we head straight off?”

Adam looked torn. Clearly worried by his show of indecision, my stomach rumbled loudly. Adam laughed. “All right. Food first.”

The curry was pretty good, as it happened. Adam was quite a fun companion, with plenty of stories about mountain biking mishaps told with his customary economy of words, not to mention vowels, but helpfully illustrated with an impressive collection of scars. Some of them I was amazed he got away with showing me in a public place. Subtitles would have been useful, no question about it, but we seemed to get along just fine.

It was ironic, though—my first ever date with a man, and it felt
exactly
like going for a meal with a mate. I mean, I’d never have taken a woman to this place—it was far too laddish for a date with a girl. But for Adam, it seemed just right. There was no holding hands across the table—I guessed neither of us fancied getting our heads kicked in by the lagered-up rugby players celebrating today’s win with a vindaloo and the makings of a killer hangover—and no gazing soulfully into each others’ eyes. We just talked, ate and laughed.

Actually, we talked quite a lot about Matt. I got to hear Adam’s opinion of the school they both went to back in Somerset (“’S shite”); Matt’s mum, who’d died a year or so after they’d started there (“Lovely”); Matt’s step-dad (“’S a bastard”) and Matt himself (“’S all right”). Hearing that made me feel a bit better about having been described the same way—apparently it was Adam’s all-purpose seal of approval.

“Do you know Matt’s, um, boyfriend well?” I asked casually.