After the Blaze Read online

  This is just like when we go camping. Sure, we’re a little closer together than usual, and there aren’t sleeping bags and layers of clothing between us or three or four other people just feet away. And we’re not lying on the hard ground, but instead a really fantastic mattress that my mother insisted on buying me as a housewarming present. Along with the super-soft thousand-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets, because my mother, angel that she is, knows what a weakness I have for fine fabrics.

  So… privacy, soft mattress, luxury sheets, close proximity, lack of clothing…. Sure. This is just like camping.

  I’m not going to sleep a wink.

  Happy New Year to me.

  Chapter Three

  April 2020

  The bell above the shop door chimes, and I look up with a smile on my face. It’s been a boring day of inventory management, and I’ll gladly welcome a gossipy customer.

  Except it’s not a gossipy customer.

  It’s Archie.

  My smile becomes a little forced. Not because I’m not glad to see him—I am. I’m always glad to see him. But since that night he turned up on my doorstep—or rather, the next morning, when his alarm woke us to find me twined around him, clinging like a limpet—things have been… weird between us. That’s normal, right? If you wake up basically rubbing up on a friend, it’s bound to cause some strange vibes.

  So yes, I’m glad to see him, but I wish I’d had time to prepare.

  “Hey. Aren’t you supposed to be working?” I tease, and he grins.

  “I took the day off, since I had to work on Sunday. Can you break for lunch?”

  I think about it. “I can’t leave the store,” I say regretfully. “Aunt Hannah’s not here today, and the courier is coming with a delivery. If I’m not here, he’ll take it back to the depot and we won’t get it until next week… and then your grandmother and all the other Saturday ladies will murder me.”

  He laughs. “I can’t even say you’re exaggerating. What if I get us something and bring it back here?”

  “Perfect. I’d love a burger.” I bat my eyelashes at him exaggeratedly, and he rolls his eyes.

  “Burgers it is. I’ll be back.” He leaves, and I sink onto the stool behind the counter. Phew. At least now I have some time to get myself together.

  I’m not going to lie; after he spent the night at my place, I had these vague, unspoken hopes that maybe things would change between us… but I didn’t think it would be like this, with this unacknowledged awkward edge. I mean, if a guy turns up on your doorstep when he’s tired and traumatized instead of going home to his loving family or to one of his lifelong friends nearby, it’s safe to assume that means something, right?

  And when that same guy insists you sleep in the bed with him, even though there’s a perfectly good daybed next door that you fit comfortably on… well, that means something too. Right?

  And when you wake up tangled up in each other, both semi-aroused, and snuggle closer for a moment before reality sets in and you both reluctantly let go… that definitely means something.

  Or am I just deluding myself?

  Because Archie got dressed, ate the breakfast I made, gave profuse thanks, and left without saying anything else. And since then, he hasn’t mentioned that night at all.

  I guess I could take the initiative. I could bring it up. I could drag this… this tension between us into the open and demand that we talk about it. I could tell him I’m madly in love with him and don’t want to pretend anymore.

  But what if he doesn’t want that? What if I lose him completely? His friendship is so important to me. And more… most of my friends here were his friends first. Lifelong friends. If Archie ended our friendship—

  No. I must give credit where it’s due. Archie would never “end” our friendship. He would never force mutual friends to choose sides. I know this, because two of his exes are still part of his friendship group. He’s not as close to them as to the others, but they’re all still friendly.

  He’d never end our friendship, but we’d never be as close as we are now.

  I just don’t have the guts to take that chance. I think I’d rather live with unrequited love and Archie constantly in my life than risk losing that.

  By the time he gets back, I’m ready. I’m smiling. Things are fine. He’s brought me a giant bacon double cheeseburger and twice-cooked fat chips, and I swear, I could love him for that alone. He even remembered the chocolate-caramel thickshake.

  We go into the back room, where there’s a small table in the designated “food and drink zone”—trust me, food and drink can have an awful effect on fabric—and I’m halfway through my greasy, fattening deliciousness, determinedly not thinking about the effect it will have on my skinny jeans, when he says, “We should go on a date.”

  One of my delicious twice-cooked fat chips lodges in my airway, and I spend the next few minutes coughing and hacking and wheezing, tears streaming down my cheeks as Archie pounds me on the back and implores me to take a sip of his Coke.

  When I finally subside in my chair, I’m utterly limp and exhausted. Who knew breathing was so important?

  Also… did Archie ask me out?

  I look across the table to where he’s taking his seat, lips turned down in remorse.

  “I’m sorry,” he begins. “I shouldn’t have surprised you like that. Unless…” His skin turns an ashy colour. “Um, it was surprise that made you choke, right?”

  “What the hell else would— Oh. No, Archie, I wasn’t so horrified by what you said that choking to death seemed like the only way out.” There. That’s reassuring without being too eager. What I really wanted to say was along the lines of, “My darling, you’ve made my dreams come truuuuuuuuee!”

  “Oh. Well. That’s good.” We sit in awkward silence for a moment. I debate whether it’s safe to try eating again, pointedly not thinking about what Archie said and whether or not he’s going to follow it up. “So what do you think of the idea?”

  Point to Archie.

  “Of us dating?” Yes, I’m stalling for time. I need to find the right words. This will not be another word disaster.

  “Yes. What do you think of us dating? Of going on a date… with me.” His focus is all on me, his gaze soft, maybe a little nervous? There’s a half smile on his beautiful lips, and I want to kiss it.

  “Uh… isn’t the point of dating to get to know each other?”

  The sentence thuds down like a boot on a redback, smashing the almost flirty atmosphere that was building.

  I suck. They might have been coherent words, but they were the wrong ones.

  “I mean,” I backtrack quickly, “we already know each other better than most couples who’ve been dating for weeks… or even months. For example”—I wave at the remains of my lunch—“I didn’t even need to tell you what to order for me, and you got it exactly right. What benefit will we get from dating?”

  He blinks slowly. “I have no idea if you’re saying you don’t want to be with me or that you do, and you want to skip right to being boyfriends.”

  Boyfriends. A thrill races down my spine.

  I swallow hard.

  “I—I think boyfriends might be premature.” Where the fuck is this coming from? Shut up, you moron, Archie wants to be your boyfriend! “Maybe we should skip to the pre-boyfriend stage of dating.”

  The corners of his mouth twitch up into a grin. “The… pre-boyfriend stage?”

  I nod, my face getting hot. I wish whatever devil has control of my mouth would just vanish so I can eagerly accept the whole boyfriend thing. “Yeah. Not official boyfriends, but not just casually dating, either. Kissing and holding hands and… stuff.” Oh, holy fuck, my ears feel like they’re on fire. I don’t want to know how red they are.

  His grin turns lascivious. It’s a look he’s never directed at me before, and my body responds eagerly.

  Down, boy. Not now!

  Hopefully later.

  “Stuff, huh? That sounds like a great
idea. I can get onboard with kissing and holding hands and stuff.”

  Oh, fuck it. “Why don’t you come over tonight?” There’s so much blood pumping through the blood vessels in my head that fainting is a distinct possibility. My heartbeat is pounding in my ears.

  He shakes his head.

  My heart plummets.

  “I want to take you out for dinner first. Then maybe we’ll go back to yours. But I don’t want this to turn into friends-with-benefits or anything. Everyone will know we’re… pre-boyfriends, because I’m going to take you out and show you off.”

  I sigh dreamily. “Okay.”

  How can a besotted gay boy refuse?

  I hate myself for being a cliché, but I change my shirt three times while I’m waiting for Archie to pick me up.

  I don’t change my jeans—they’re my super-skinny black strategically ripped jeans that make my arse look amazing and outline everything else to perfection. These were my clubbing jeans when I lived in Melbourne, and they’ve hardly been worn since I moved here, because… well, there’s not much call for club clothes at the kind of restaurants that pop up in a small seaside tourist town. Definitely not at the pub. But for a pre-boyfriend dinner with Archie, I don’t care if I’m overdressed. My face is closely shaved, my hair styled, I’ve added a sparkly eyeshadow to my usual liner, and my nails are freshly painted. I haven’t paid this much attention to my appearance since I moved here.

  I wonder where we’re going? I hope it’s for seafood. It’s been a while since I’ve had a good seafood meal, and since we had burgers for lunch, it’s not likely to be that.

  I’m going on a date with Archie.

  Yeah, yeah, I know I said we knew each other too well to date, but what the hell else is it, really? Dinner with maybe afters at my place? That’s a big fat fucking date!

  Do you know what this means? Archie is interested in me. Somehow I missed that this afternoon. But he must have feelings, because I know him, and he wouldn’t risk our friendship for a quick fuck. Plus, he said he doesn’t want friends with benefits. He wants to show me off.

  Oh, holy fucking shitballs, if tonight goes well, I could end up being Archie’s boyfriend.

  And just like that, the uncertainty and nerves are gone.

  Because that would be perfect.

  And of course tonight will go well. Archie and I are great friends. What could go wrong? Lack of sexual chemistry? Pffft. Please. I have so much sexual chemistry just thinking of Archie that I could… I could…. That sentence didn’t work out how I thought. Just know that sexual chemistry is not going to be a problem.

  There’s a knock before I can go too far down that rabbit hole and change the fit of my jeans. My heart goes pitter-pat, because on the other side of that door is Archie, who’s going to be my boyfriend.

  I grab my keys and race over to whip the door open. A smile breaks across my face. He’s so handsome, and he’s smiling at me with his whole face. I feel like I’m the most desirable, amazing man on the planet, because that’s how he’s looking at me.

  How did everything change so quickly? This morning, I was too afraid to tell him I wanted more than friendship. And now….

  “Hi,” I breathe.

  “Hi. You look good enough to eat.”

  I blush. Because you know exactly where my thoughts just went.

  He laughs—presumably at my red face—then leans down and kisses me.

  Thoroughly.

  So thoroughly that when he pulls back, we’re both panting and dazed. His pupils are blown, his lips wet, and all I can do is say, “Hi.”

  See? I told you the sexual chemistry would be good.

  He clears his throat. “We should have done that sooner.”

  I bob my head in agreement. “Much sooner.”

  We stand there staring at each other. I’m this close to asking him to come in. We can eat later—I have two-minute noodles and tinned tuna. Add in some sundried tomatoes and parmesan cheese, plus ice cream for dessert, and it’s a minimum-effort feast. Plus, we could eat naked. Who needs to go out?

  I open my mouth to suggest it—

  “We’d better go. We have a reservation.”

  —and close it again. This obviously matters to him. So, we’ll go out to eat and save the naked time for later.

  I obediently lock my front door and follow him to… not his car. He drives a battered old Land Cruiser that’s perfect for taking off-road when we go camping (and wasn’t that a shock the first time I went camping with him. I expected a proper campsite with an amenities block. What I got was a packet of Wet Ones for cleaning up and a chemical porta-potty for my “personal” needs—and was told how lucky I was, that last time they’d just taken a spade).

  “What’s this?” I look around as he opens the driver door of the sleek black Mercedes, stupidly expecting to see his car, like he might have accidentally gone to the wrong vehicle.

  “I borrowed Mum’s car,” he explains. “Thought I’d make the night extra-special.”

  Aww.

  I get in the Merc, and I have to admit, it’s more comfortable than the Cruiser. Archie pulls into the street, and it’s a smooth ride—until we turn onto the main road and my seat comes to life.

  I shriek.

  The car swerves slightly as Archie startles. “What? What is it?”

  “The seat is moving! Oh, holy fuck, the car is possessed!” My voice has reached an octave that may only be audible to dogs, and I struggle to get the seat belt undone. Moving or not, I am getting out of this car.

  Archie laughs. He laughs so hard, he has to pull over and stop the car. Since I figure he wouldn’t be laughing if we were in danger of being attacked by a demonic car, I give up on wrestling with the seat belt and just wait for him to be done.

  Finally, he wipes tears from his eyes and subsides, a broad grin the only remnant of his laughter. “Sorry,” he manages. “Uh… it’s not possessed. When the car turns a corner, the seat compensates. It... well, it basically ‘hugs’ you so you won’t move around too much.”

  Oh.

  “That’s such a huge relief.” I don’t know what else to say. It’s hard to come back from a high-pitched shriek and a declaration that the car is demonically possessed.

  Archie leans over and kisses my cheek. “It startled me the first time, too.” Then he pulls back onto the road, and I’m so lost in a haze of how wonderful he is that it takes me a few minutes to realize we’re not headed to the esplanade, where most of the town’s restaurants are.

  In fact, we’re going in the opposite direction. There’s really only one place out this way where food’s available.

  “Where are we going?” I ask nervously. It’s entirely possible that I am way underdressed.

  “To the resort. The restaurant has a great view, and I thought it would be nice if tonight was a bit different from our usual.” He pauses. “Plus, my parents want to meet you properly. They’ve been nagging me about it since New Year’s. I told them they could join us for dessert—I hope that’s okay.”

  Well, that clears up the nerves… not.

  “Can we go back? I need to change. I’m not dressed for the restaurant at the resort.” I know this for a fact. I’ve never eaten there myself, because since I moved to town there hasn’t been occasion for me to spend $200 on a meal not including drinks, but some of the locals like to go for super special occasions—graduations, engagements, fiftieth anniversaries… that kind of thing—and I’ve heard all about how fancy it is. Ripped jeans, no matter how sexy, do not fit the dress code.

  “You’re fine.” He smiles over at me. “You look great.”

  Well, yeah, but… I don’t want to embarrass him. And I’m going to meet his parents. This is not what I would have chosen to wear for that. He’s not turning around, though, so I resign myself to being mildly embarrassed and decide I’m going to enjoy the evening anyway, because it’s a pre-boyfriend date with Archie.

  It’s going to be magical. I just know it.

 
And it is. The resort is absolutely incredible, and I say that only having seen a tiny portion of it. I still can’t get my head around spending an undisclosed amount of money for a hotel room, but if I was ever going to do it, it would be for somewhere like this.

  At the restaurant, we’re welcomed deferentially (with not even a second glance at my outfit) and ushered to what has to be the best table in the place, with spectacular views over the town and ocean. The chairs are plush, with arms that perfectly cup the elbows—I could seriously spend a whole day in this chair. We order the tasting menu, which is prepared with locally sourced seasonal ingredients, and I really can’t fault it. There are a few things I probably wouldn’t eat again, but that’s down to my preferences rather than quality.

  And the conversation….

  Archie and I have been friends for years. Conversation between us has always been easy and comfortable, even when I’m being an awkward dork. It’s still exactly like that, but more. Now we have sexual tension and innuendo and playing footsie under the table. We have hot, lingering looks and the memory of how great our kiss was.

  This is easily the best night of my life.

  I’m feeling mellow and content when the last of our meal is cleared away and our server asks if we’d like dessert.

  “Yes,” Archie says, “but could you call up to my parents first? They wanted to join us.”

  She murmurs an assent and moves away, and nerves strike me again. My teeth worry my bottom lip.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  He reaches across the table and takes my hand. The nerves instantly settle. “They already love you, Charlie. You called to let them know I was safe and fed me soup and let me sleep in your bed. My mum pretty much wants to adopt you.”

  I wince. He thinks he’s helping, but…. “They haven’t actually met me yet. They may change their minds,” I say drily.

  “Grandma loves you,” he points out.

  I blink. “She does?” The astonishment in my voice surprises even me. I know Mrs Tucker is kind of fond of me, but that’s about it. She still sometimes looks at me like I’m a bug under a microscope.