The Best Man: Part One (2 page)

She does, glancing over her shoulder and then back at him, whistling lowly. “Wouldn’t kick him out of bed.”

It’s an understatement. Noah’s never seen anything like him. Looks like he’s just walked off a goddamn Hollywood movie set—the thrilling, mysterious bad boy.

Because Noah knows, without a doubt, that there’s an edge to this man, and it sends a shiver down his spine.

Whichever lady he’s here to have dinner with, she’s a lucky cow.

Only it’s not a lady he spots, who makes a grin spread across his face. It’s Connor. And when Connor looks up from where he’s chatting to his sister at the dinner table, his eyes brighten like stars and his face transforms into absolute, pure delight. Then he’s getting up from the table in a hurry and rushing across the room and suddenly he and this man are hugging, clinging to each other, like old friends parted by time.

Old friends.

Connor’s oldest friend.

Patrick Walsh.

Shit
, Noah thinks, his heart sinking like a lead weight into his gut. Because it’s one thing being almost overwhelmingly attracted to a complete stranger he’ll never see again, a brief moment of fantasy that harms no one—but this man is his fiancé’s
best man
, the absolute worst kind of off-limits fantasy.

Noah hates him instantly. Hates him for being so violently attractive, for putting these thoughts in Noah’s head and then sticking around for the foreseeable future, making Noah work to not see him that way.

Noah’s marrying this man’s best friend. He’s not allowed to be so attractive that Noah feels gut-punched by the very sight of him.

“Look at you,” the man—Patrick Walsh—is saying as he pulls out of the hug and grasps Connor’s shoulders, his grin wide and skin a little flushed. “Can’t believe you’ve found someone willing to put up with you.”

Connor laughs, gives Patrick’s chest a good-natured push. “Shut up, you prick. Come and meet him.”

Noah panics, looks at Julie in alarm. She frowns at him, because of course she doesn’t know, doesn’t understand.

“Noah,” says Connor, bringing Patrick over to the bar. “I want you to meet someone.”

Noah stands up off his stool and takes a breath, looks at Connor and then into the eyes of Patrick Walsh.

Patrick’s smile, when he looks back at him, freezes on his face before sliding off completely, and Noah doesn’t miss the way his eyes flick down the length of his body and back up. It happens in the fraction of an instant, and Noah doesn’t know if he’s being judged or appreciated. He’s not happy with either, and he tries to keep the scowl off his face.

Connor doesn’t notice anything. He’s grinning, all amped up on happiness at having Patrick here with him. “Noah, this is Patrick, my best man. Patrick, Noah. My fiancé.”

The handshake seems to take an eternity to happen, though in reality Noah’s vaguely aware that it doesn’t. He and Patrick have their gazes locked, and Noah sees him swallow, and the barest ghost of a frown dents his brow before it vanishes and he smiles again, tight and strained.

“Pleasure,” he says, his voice like roughened silk. Then he raises his hand, and there’s a glint of something in his eyes that feels like a challenge.

Noah takes his hand and shakes it, holds his breath at the contact. “Nice to meet you.” He reckons he couldn’t sound less sincere if he tried.

Julie’s introduced next, and then Connor’s taking Patrick away to greet everyone sitting at the table, and finally Noah can breathe.

Julie’s looking at him with concern, and it irritates him. “What?” he says, turning his back to the table so he doesn’t have to see Patrick’s stupid face anymore.

“Oh
Noah
,” she says, exasperation in her tone. “For god’s sake. He’s your fiancé’s best friend!”

His skin itches, and his head’s starting to throb. “Dunno what you’re on about,” he mumbles, but he does, of course he does.

“Patrick!” he hears Connor’s mum exclaim, absolute joy in her voice. “So lovely to see you again.”

There’s the sound of kisses, and the grunt of a tight hug, and then Patrick’s drawling voice: “You’re looking younger every time I see you.”

“Oh, stop,” she titters.

Noah scowls at the bar top. “Creep,” he says, and Julie nudges him, rolls her eyes.

“Noah,” Connor calls a minute or so later. “Come on, time to eat.”

With a heaving sigh, Noah gets off the barstool and heads to the table, takes a seat next to Connor and somehow finds himself opposite Patrick. He tries to pay him no attention as they all read menus and place their orders, and it’s not until he’s picking away at a bread roll out of boredom—everyone having conversations that don’t really involve him—that Patrick speaks, drawing Noah’s eyes up to him.

“So, Noah. It is Noah, right?”

“Yes,” says Noah, biting the word out.

“I only left my boy here six months ago, and you weren’t on the scene yet.”

Connor laughs beside him, drapes his arm over the back of Noah’s chair. “Well, when you know, you know,” he says, shrugging. “There’s no point waiting.”

Patrick raises an eyebrow. “If you say so.”

Connor’s mum has caught onto the conversation, and she tutts, gives Patrick’s arm a flirtatious tap. “Don’t be jealous just because you haven’t found that special someone yet.”

“You know me, Karen.” Patrick’s smile for her is pure charm. “I like to keep my options open.”

“No lady in your life then, Patrick?” Connor’s dad pipes up, sitting at the head of the table and a little pushed back, his generous gut straining against the buttons of his shirt.

“Patrick’s gay, Dad,” Connor’s little sister says mildly, and everyone on Noah’s end of the table falls silent.

Noah watches Patrick’s face, the way his lips tighten at the corners. Ignores the bruising of his own heart thumping against his ribs.

“What?” says Connor’s dad. “Since when?” He sounds astounded by the information.

“Since always,” she says.

“But that pretty young thing you used to bring over all the time—”

Patrick clears his throat, gives Connor’s dad an empty smile. “Just a friend.”

Connor, possibly in an attempt to change the subject and save Patrick from this discomfort, says, “What’s Lacey up to these days?”

Patrick gives him a look of barely concealed relief. “Haven’t spoken to her in a while. I might stop back home before flying back to the States.”

“I’ll have to take you there sometime after the honeymoon,” Connor says to Noah, giving his shoulder a little rub. “Meet the lads.”

“Not sure he could handle them.” Patrick’s words are dry and teasing, and it gets Noah’s back up.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Patrick’s only response is a smirk.

The conversation moves on, and Noah half listens to Patrick’s debate with Connor’s dad about why on earth he’d want to leave the UK for America. No one talks to Noah, although it’s not much of a surprise. He glances up the table at Julie, who’s sitting amongst some of the cousins, looking as isolated as Noah feels. He exchanges a smile of sympathy with her.

He’s just put his fork down on his plate when he finds the plate snatched away from beneath his nose.

“You finished with that?” Patrick asks, putting Noah’s plate on top of his own empty one and digging into the remains.

“Don’t worry,” says Connor, amusement in his tone, “he’s always been an animal.”

But Noah’s not thinking about that. He’s caught on how Patrick’s using his fork—didn’t swap it for his own, just picked up Noah’s and used it to feed the leftover pasta into his mouth, tongue wrapping around metal that Noah’s just had in his own mouth.

It makes his collar feel tight, and he tugs on it.

Patrick winks at him. “Never let good food go to waste, my friend.”

“Don’t you find him annoying?” Noah mutters to Julie later as they stand at the bar once again, getting some breathing space.

“No.” She looks nonplussed. “Should I?”

Noah shrugs. “Just seems really full of himself.”

“Excuse me,” says Patrick’s voice in his ear then, alarmingly close, and Noah freezes before going hot all over as Patrick pushes right up against him, reaching around him for the pen sitting by the till.

“D’you mind?” Noah huffs, trying to shrink away from him and failing.

Patrick’s eyes, when Noah cranes his neck around to glare at him, are glittering. This close, he’s even more shockingly attractive, and Noah feels smothered by him.

“Nope,” says Patrick, the hint of a smirk on his face.

The pen, as it turns out, is so that Patrick can sign the bill and pay for everyone’s meal. The ladies at the table are beside themselves with it.

“Patrick, you shouldn’t—”

“Oh Patrick, this is so good of you—”

“Ugh,” says Noah, because really.

Julie laughs. “It’s not his fault you fancy him.”

“I don’t fancy him,” Noah grumbles, going red as he says it.

He catches up to Connor ten minutes later, stood outside and attempting to hail cabs to take his half-drunk family home. “Listen,” Connor says to him, eyes focused on the road, the traffic, “I’ve told Patrick he can stay in our spare room.”

The bottom falls out of Noah’s stomach. “What?”

“Just until after the wedding. Then he’ll be heading back to America.”

“After the wedding? That’s six weeks!”

Connor looks at him then, noticing his tone. His eyebrows draw together. “I could ask him to go to a hotel…?”

Yes, that’s exactly what Connor should do, but Noah’s not going to make him. He can’t stand the thought of having Patrick in his space for the next six weeks, having to look at him and listen to his voice and breathe his air. But this is Connor’s best friend, and these six weeks are all he has. “No, it’s fine.”

Connor beams at him, slings an arm over his shoulder, goes to open his mouth to say something but is interrupted by Patrick, who’s unlocking the door of what looks to be a high-spec rental car.

“Connor,” he says, beckoning him over with his hand, “got a bottle of whiskey in here with our names on it. C’mon, fella.”

Connor gives Noah a look that speaks of apology and Noah sighs. “Give me the keys,” he says. “I’m gonna take Julie home. I’ll see you back at the flat.”

“Love you,” Connor says as he fishes the car keys out of his pocket and drops them in Noah’s palm. He kisses Noah on the cheek.

“Yeah,” says Noah heavily, then goes to find Julie.

She’s still banging on about Noah’s reaction to Patrick as he drives her home—“…he is gorgeous, though; I can see why you…”—although he ignores her for the most part, makes the appropriate noises to pretend he’s paying attention.

He gets back to the flat to find Connor and Patrick on the sofa, already a quarter way through the whiskey bottle. Connor’s wearing a drunken grin, his eyes hazy.

Patrick doesn’t look affected at all, his eyes steady and dark when he tracks Noah’s movements through the flat.

“Hey,” says Connor. “You get Julie home okay?” His words are starting to slur.

“Yeah.” Noah gets a glass of water, goes back into the living room, avoids Patrick’s stare. “You staying up long?”

“We’re just catching up,” says Connor, and then he laughs, although Noah can’t see why. “Why don’t you join us?”

“Nah. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He heads to the bedroom, Patrick’s deep, rolling drawl following him, the words slithering up his spine as he walks away.

“Goodnight, Noah.”

He swallows and closes the bedroom door on him.

Hours later, in the dead of night, his pre-bedtime glass of water revisits him and he tiptoes out of bed, goes to the bathroom. On the way back he notices the door of the spare bedroom is open a crack, a soft glow of light spilling through, and Noah pauses, looks through the gap.

Patrick’s reclined back on the bed still fully clothed, a laptop propped against his raised knee, his face awash with blue-white from the screen. Noah watches him for a moment, even though he’s doing nothing but staring at the laptop; but then he must feel Noah’s presence because he looks up suddenly, his gaze cutting across to Noah’s like a whip. It makes Noah suck in a breath but he doesn’t move, and they stare at each other, and the place is so dark and silent that it almost feels dreamlike, as though it’s not really happening, he’s not really standing here staring into Patrick’s eyes through a gap in the door.

Neither of them speak, and eventually Noah gets a hold of himself and backs away, heads into his own room.

He wakes Connor up and coaxes him into sex, Connor keeping a hand over Noah’s mouth the whole time so Patrick doesn’t hear.

Noah kind of wants him to.

* * * * *

Noah wakes up to an empty bed, which isn’t anything unusual. Connor’s always been an early riser, whereas Noah likes to sleep until the last possible minute, often pressing his snooze button a few times too many just to catch a few more minutes of peace.

He gets up and he stretches, and he’s almost forgotten all about their impromptu houseguest until he finds him in the kitchen, sitting at the breakfast bar and reading the paper. Noah receives barely a glance from him as he ducks into the bathroom, and he finds himself noticing all the ways Patrick’s pushed into his space already—the unfamiliar bottle of aftershave on the bathroom counter, the extra toothbrush in the pot, the damp towel hanging on the back of the door.