My Prince (26 page)

Alex nodded and screwed up his face, then rubbed his fist into his eye.

“Hey,” George said softly, sitting down next to him. “Have a little faith, okay? If we want this to work, it will.”

“You’re so….”

“Go on, finish that sentence.”

Alex laughed then. “Optimistic?”

“Didn’t know that was an insult.”

“It’s not. You’ve just got this—
fuck—
I know you, and I know what you’re like, and I’m scared you’re going to walk out on me.”

“I’m scared you’re going to decide one day that you can do much better than some scummy kid from a council estate in Manchester and go and find someone respectable to be with.”

“I don’t want that.”

“Not now you don’t,” George said. “You might change your mind.”

“You might decide I’m not worth all the hassle.”

Neither of them said anything, then George snorted with laughter. He finished his tea and set it aside, then took Alex’s mug and put it on the bedside table next to his own.

“Come here,” he said, lying back on the bed next to the suitcase and bringing Alex on top of himself.

“Are we being idiots?” Alex asked, his face buried in George’s T-shirt. He gathered up two fistfuls of it and clung on tight.

“I have a strong suspicion we might be.”

“Oh dear.”

“Wanna try taking it one day at a time?”

“That could work,” Alex said, propping his chin up on George’s chest. “Oh, and by the way?”

“What?”

Alex’s grin was radiant. “I love you too.”

I
T
HAD
been Doug’s suggestion—surprise surprise—that he and Alex gatecrash one of George’s “rugby lads night out.” Not that George had ever made Alex feel like he wasn’t welcome at one of the testosterone and beer fueled gatherings—more that Alex wanted to give George space. It was heart-achingly clear that George didn’t really have a large group of friends, and since the rugby boys had accepted his sexuality with little more than a shrug, Alex had decided they were all scrummy little angels.

This particular Saturday night they had gathered in a pub in the New Town rather than the rugby club in Leith. Well, Alex had a suspicion it had started at the rugby club, then escalated to the New Town. Either way, Doug wanted to join them.

“What are you wearing?” Alex asked, cradling the phone to his ear as he stared into his open wardrobe.

“Jesus, laddie, I’m not a teenage girl.”

“I’m not asking you so we can coordinate,” Alex snapped. “I want to make sure you’re not going to flame your way in there.”

“I do not…,” Doug started, then lost steam halfway through his indignant outburst. “Alright, I do, but I won’t embarrass him.”

“I’m sure you won’t. What are you wearing?”

“Jeans, shirt, jumper. Lacoste jumper, you know, my emerald green one? And one of my tartan scarfs.”

“Take the scarf off,” Alex said. Sometimes he really cursed the size difference between George and himself—there was no way Alex could steal one of George’s nice shirts. George was too broad across the chest. Alex would be swamped in it.

“Why?” Doug moaned. “Scarfs are my
thing
.”

“I know. You don’t need it, though. It’s warm out there tonight.”

“Fine. What are
you
wearing?”

“Not sure yet.”

“And you’re giving me shit? You’re not even dressed!”

“I’ve got those burgundy jeans on and I can’t decide if they’re too much.”

Doug hummed down the phone, and Alex started flicking through the hangers for the fifth or sixth time.

“Put a T-shirt on,” Doug said.

“Really? Most of the lads will be in shirts. Polo shirts at least.”

“Yeah, but if you put a shirt on, it’ll look too much. Put a white T-shirt on and don’t shave.”

“I haven’t.”

“Good. I’m getting in a taxi now. I’ll come and pick you up; then we can go over together.”

“Shit,” Alex muttered and hung up. Doug wouldn’t mind.

With traffic, it would probably take Doug about fifteen minutes to get across to him in a taxi, so Alex did as he was told, grabbed a well-loved white T-shirt—those were designer holes, thank you very much—and pulled on his boots.

By the time the taxi was beeping outside, Alex was running up the stairs, frantically texting George to find the name of the pub and shrugging into his favorite leather jacket.

“They’re in Dirty Dick’s,” Alex said to Doug as he hopped into the taxi.

“My, my,” Doug drawled. He relayed the instruction to the driver, then cast a critical eye over Alex’s outfit. “You look good. Good choice.”

“Thanks. George knows we’re coming. Obviously. I’m not sure if he’s prewarned them or not.”

Doug rolled his eyes. “We’re a couple of queers, Alex, not the Spanish bloody Inquisition. They’ll cope. And trust me, it’s not the first time there’s been some gay men in Dirty Dick’s.”

“Perv,” Alex muttered affectionately.

The pub was an old-man pub, gloriously cluttered with decades of decoration layered over the dark walls. It was easy to find the rugby team gathered together in a corner and still managing to take up about a third of the bar.

George was at the edge of the group, an almost-finished pint in hand, his cheeks a little flushed from the warmth of the pub. Alex waved at him to get his attention, then mimed another drink. George nodded and extracted himself from the conversation. When he finally got to Alex he leaned in and kissed his cheek softly.

“Hi.”

“Alright?”

“Yeah, good. Hey, Doug. Want a drink?”

“You two are nauseating. I’ve got this one. What are you drinking?”

George looked into his glass, like the contents would maybe give him a clue. “No idea. Darren bought it for me. Some pale ale, I don’t really mind.”

“I’ll have the same,” Alex said, secretly thrilled when George’s arm snaked around his waist and pulled him close to George’s firm chest. Doug elbowed his way to the bar, and Alex tilted his head so he could whisper in George’s ear. “Are you sure this is okay?”

“Course it is.”

“Okay. Did you have a good game today, then?”

“It was a friendly,” George said. “The season’s finished really, but we keep playing for fun over the summer.”

Space was made for them at the table when Doug had dealt out the pints to Alex and George (he was on gin and tonic) and a few of the lads nodded to Alex in recognition.

George’s hand didn’t leave his side.

Two pints later, and George’s hand was under the T-shirt, gently stroking over Alex’s ribs and waist. Alex felt like he was fighting his arousal as he maintained a conversation with Jason, one of George’s rugby mates. Doug was deep in conversation with one of the other boys, and Alex wondered if the poor kid had any idea that he was being chatted up.

“Right, I’ve got to ask,” Jason said, loud enough to catch the attention of a few of the other boys. Jason was a more typical rugby player than George, in Alex’s opinion. His ears were mangled, his nose crooked from likely more than one break. He had heavy eyebrows and a sweet smile and smelled like cheap cologne.

“Oh God,” Alex murmured against George’s neck, making him laugh.

“Is it true gay men have more sex than straight ones?”

Alex blinked. “Uh…,” he stuttered. Doug turned, apparently willing to let up on his poaching on Dave to listen to this. “I’ve never had a girlfriend, so I can’t answer that,” he said, finally finding his words.

Eyes swiveled to George.

George had apparently had enough to drink to consider the question very carefully.

“Are you including blow jobs in your definition of ‘sex’?” he asked.

Jason turned to his left and frowned at the others. “I don’t know. Do we?”

“If you get off by anything other than your own hand, it’s sex,” Dave said with the sort of confidence that three or four pints gave a guy.

“Yes,” Jason said. “Include blow jobs.”

George looked at Alex and grinned wickedly, squeezing him again. “I reckon we have sex, I dunno, three or four times a week?”

“Yeah. Maybe more than that.”

George seemed to consider it. “Yeah. Maybe more.”

When they turned back to Jason, his eyes were bugged out. “Are you serious?”

Alex nodded. “We’re not at it like rabbits. But a few times on the weekend, and a couple of times during the week….”

“You’ve answered your own question there, mate,” Darren laughed, pushing at Jason’s shoulder.

“Jesus,” Jason breathed. “I’m lucky if I get it once a week from Andrea.”

“Maybe you need to swap her for
Andrew
,” someone Alex didn’t know crowed across the table.

Jason frowned at George and Alex again. “So, out of the two of you, who’s—”

“Nuh-uh,” Alex said, holding up a finger. “Nope. We have a very healthy and satisfying sex life, thank you. I’m not giving you any more details than that.”

George moved his arm from around Alex’s waist to around his shoulder and kissed the side of his head. It wasn’t their first display of affection in public, but probably the first with so many people paying attention to them.

“Cute,” Darren said and rolled his eyes.

“This is why we don’t let girlfriends come out,” Jason whined. “Because someone always gets sloppy drunk and starts pawing at them.”

“Well, you shouldn’t remind me how lucky I am to have a boyfriend instead of your Andrea, then,” George said.

People laughed. Doug sighed and drained his G&T.

“How did last weekend go, George?” Doug asked, and Alex shot him his best evil eye. “I know what Alex thought, but I want to know what
you
think.”

“What happened last weekend?” Jason demanded.

“I met Alex’s parents,” George said.

Jason
oooh
’d. “The king and queen?”

“Fuck off,” Alex said with a laugh. “My parents aren’t the king and queen. My uncle is.”

“Oh,” Jason said. He sounded disappointed.

“It was good,” George said. “They weren’t nearly as scary as I expected.”

Alex grinned at him. “I told you. They’re just normal people.”

“I never said they were normal,” George said, teasing. “They made you, after all.”

“Fuck off,” Alex told him and elbowed him in the ribs.

They stayed for another half hour, watching Doug try, and fail, to chat up several different members of the team. George’s arm mostly stayed securely around Alex’s shoulders, and he tried not to preen, to show off that he was with this man. This sweet, gorgeous, wonderful man who wanted him.

“You wanna go?” George asked, murmuring the words low in Alex’s ear as Alex stifled a yawn.

“No, I’m okay.”

“Well, I want to go.”

“Oh. Okay. You sure?”

“Mhmm. Do we need to get Doug somewhere?”

“Hell no. He can find his own way home.”

George snorted. “Okay. We should go down to Prince’s Street. Can probably pick up a taxi from there.”

“Unless you want to walk home?”

George groaned. “No thanks. I took a few hits earlier. Will probably ache like fuck tomorrow as it is.”

“Okay,” Alex said again and resisted the urge to press a kiss to George’s cheek.

They gathered up coats and waved or kissed good-byes, depending on the recipients, then stepped back out into the night that had grown cold.

“Thanks for coming out,” George said as they turned together, heading back down to the main street.

“I thought you might be annoyed with me.”

“Really? Why would I be annoyed?”

“For interrupting your boy time?”

George snorted. “They don’t care. I like having you around.”

“Even during your male-bonding activity? With all the beer and testosterone and cheap aftershave?”

“Oh God,” George groaned. “We keep telling Jason that that shit will repel women, not attract them. But he doesn’t listen.”

Alex laughed and reached for George’s hand automatically. He had every intention of just touching it, then pulling away, but George seemed to have other ideas. He linked their fingers together and pulled Alex closer to him.

“You sure?” Alex asked softly.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Plenty of taxis were waiting when they got to the main road. They’d managed to escape during the sweet spot, between people calling for a ride out to when the pubs kicked out and the rush to get home. There were plenty of people around too. Alex wondered if anyone would notice them. If anyone would recognize them. If anyone would care.

He squeezed George’s hand.

Fuck them.

Chapter Fifteen

“Y
OU
’
RE
SURE
about this?” Alex asked when he turned up at George’s place. He handed over the second Starbucks takeout cup and leaned against the low brick wall outside the house, curling in on himself against the early morning chill in the air.

George laughed, white puffs drifting from the warmth of his mouth. “I’m all packed, Alex.”

“Yeah, but still.”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay.”

George tipped his head to the side, gesturing to the front door, and Alex followed him inside. The house was quiet; apparently all the horrible roommates were still asleep.

This was the first time Alex had been in George’s room. When he stepped over the threshold he understood why George preferred to spend time at Alex’s place. The room was small, not that that was necessarily a problem. With some care and thought, small spaces could be homey, welcoming.

George’s room was neither. None of the furniture matched. The bed was a single and looked rickety, like it would be incredibly uncomfortable for someone with George’s bulk. A desk sat crammed under the window, a huge wardrobe took up far too much space, and a ratty rug covered the floor.

George had borrowed one of Alex’s suitcases and that was on the bed, which had been stripped of its sheets. His duffle bag was on the floor next to the door, overflowing with rugby gear. There were three cardboard boxes of stuff, and George’s big TV.

“Is this it?”

“I travel light,” George said with a shrug. “None of the furniture is mine, so we don’t need to worry about that.”