“Not really.” Sebastian stuck his hands in his pockets. “It’s more that I wouldn’t blame anyone who wanted him back.”
But Wesley only scoffed. “He is a lovely person, I’ll freely admit that. A good friend. But we were terrible together.”
“Really?”
“Wretched,” said Wesley. “He drank like he could drown his demons and I couldn’t see past my own miseries either. We quickly discovered we couldn’t manage a conversation without fighting and ended up mostly ignoring each other. But it was the longest anyone had tolerated me and I assumed that was as good as relationships got. Until I saw him with Rory.”
He shook his head. “It’s night and day to how he was with me. Rory actually makes him happy, the way you—well.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway. Point being,youare obviously also worth sailing an ocean for, as here I am.”
Oh.
“You should see your face right now,” Wesley said, sounding amused. “You didn’t think of that, did you? Didn’t stop and think,Wesley wanted Arthur back in London the same way he wants his hats in a tidy row, but now Wesley is with me, sailing off wherever I want to go. You do see the difference, don’t you?”
He exhaled, smoke floating away into the yellow glow of the park’s Victorian streetlamp. “And as for you not being as handsome as Arthur, well. I think you ought to know that Arthur came moping to me in London in May because he thought Rory was going to leave him for, and I quote, an obnoxiously handsome man.”
“Really?” Sebastian said, surprised. “Who?”
“Yes, whoever could it have been,” Wesley said dryly. “Who on earth is obnoxiously handsome and was spending time with Rory in London in May—no, don’t guess someone else,” he added, as Sebastian opened his mouth. “It was you, you impossibly attractive sod. So there will be no jealousy out of you. It’s ridiculous and pointless, like all emotions.”
It was Sebastian’s turn to scoff, but he had a small smile. “You just spent ten minutes making me feel better.”
“So?”
“If you really think emotions are ridiculous and pointless, why do you care about mine?”
Wesley narrowed his eyes. But he didn’t seem to have a response to that.
Sebastian held out a hand. “You want me to take the cigarette away?”
“God, yes, please.” Wesley held the cigarette toward him. “And for Christ’s sake, don’t let me make any more assumptions. If you ever want to know anything about me, just ask.”
“I want to know everything about you,” Sebastian admitted, as he took the cigarette and stubbed it out on the ground. “But I’m going to start withhow old are you?”
“You truly don’t know your lover’s age?” Wesley said wryly.
Sebastian huffed. “I bet there’s lots of things you don’t know about me.”
“You think so?” said Wesley. “Like what?”
“Um...” What would a man as smart as Wesley not know? “My full name.”
“Juan Sebastián de León y Marin-Torres.”
Sebastian stared. Wesley had even rolled therr. “How—”
“I asked your brother, of course.” Wesley’s smile was amused. “Darling boy, you might be paranormal, but you’re also Spanish. I am aware there are countries beyond England and that not every culture uses the same naming conventions. Thought the odds were fairly good that there was more to your name.” The smile was still playing on his lips. “But I’m certain you don’t know my full name. We’ve slept together how many times now? And you don’t even know my age.”
Sebastian winced. “This is so embarrassing.”
Wesley only looked more amused. “You’re twenty-seven. I’m thirty-two. So quite a bit older—and taller, while we’re on the subject.”
“How are we on the subject of height?” Sebastian said. “And you’re barely older. Barely taller.”
“Five years and five inches is notbarely.”
“Fiveinches? You’re one inch taller. Two at most.” More like three or even four, but Sebastian didn’t have to say that out loud. “Age and height don’t matter between us anyway.”
“I suppose you might be right,” Wesley said delicately. “After all, none of that ended up mattering last night.”
