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“Your bum’s rather yummy. Couldn’t help myself.”
He rubbed his nose against my chest. It was stupid how much I loved that he did little things like that, and how much I loved that I could just grip his arse in return, squeeze all that delicious hard muscle.
“So yeah, I told Mum. She wasn’t surprised, you know. About you. She was more concerned about me not having come out to her properly. Told me off for being all sneaky and stupid when I could have just told her. Well, I didn’t know.”
“Nobody should come out before they’re ready.”
“No. I know. I had no idea what it would be like, meeting someone who mattered. I mean, you can read all the books you like and watch all the films, but nobody can actually tell you how you’re going to feel when you fall in love. It’s not all good stuff. It’s a lot of weird stuff. Stomach aches. Pining. Bloody anxiety hitting you left, right and centre. I fell asleep on the train back and dreamt that I walked in on you and there was a guy sat in the kitchen. In my chair.”
“Yourchair?”
“Yeah.” He laughed nervously. “The one by the window where I sit. Anyway, in the dream, you were all, like, blasé and just went, ‘Oh, Conny. This is my next hook-up.’”
“Noooo…” Fuck. I shouldn’t have told him about my hook-up…thing.
“And then I woke up and I hated you for about one second until I realised I was sitting on a train and the lady opposite was staring at me.”
“She’d probably seen all your naughty bits on TV,” I teased.
“Yeah. And. Eh. Sorry for just turning up again.”
I didn’t know what to say to all of that, so I kissed the top of his head. This was fast. Too fast. High speed on a grand scale, but somehow?
“You never have to apologise. I’ve lived here for two years, and now all of the sudden, the place feels wrong when you’re not in it. I feel wrong.”
“I thought about us today. Quite a lot.”
“No more hook-ups, OK? I promise. I’m not an arsehole.”
“I know you’re not. Which is weird becausehowdo I know you’re not? You could be some huge scam artist—no…wait, a superfan and stalker, and now you’re going to tie me to the bed and chop my fingers off or something.”
“Wow. You have read far too many novels.”
“I was into horror books for a while. Messed with my head. Nightmares and all.”
“I promise you, I’m no stalker. I’m a proper normal nerd. I don’t do anything naughty or silly or dangerous. Ever.”
“Well…you go to the gym?”
“Where I get assaulted by famous actors.”
That made him smile and hug me tighter.
“I’d clocked you before, at the gym,” I admitted. “I’d recognised you off TV and used to look out for you, watch you do your lines. Sometimes I could kind of make out what was happening, like when you pretended to get into fights. Other times, it looked quite tame, like you were handing out traffic fines or something.”
“Detective Powell hasn’t handed out a traffic fine in his life.”
“Nah. I can’t see him doing anything menial like that.”
“He’s a bit of an arse. I mean, I’ve always thought they wrote him a little bit too perfect. He always gets the girl, and then he gets the boy too. And the kid. And his colleagues all think he’s awesome, and he’s shagging his boss on the side and getting away with it. Cass Powell always solves the crime. Yet he’s a bloody bastard to everyone around him. Never says a kind word to anyone, and it’s been pissing me off for a while. Because if that is the perfect life, what does that make me?”
“Rather observant,” I deadpanned. “But I agree. Cass Powell is not a normal bloke. Nobody lives their life like that. I hate to use that word, but…it’s a soap opera with guns. Nothing that ever happens to him is realistic.”
“I’m kind of…this sounds awful, but…I hope this season will be the last. Just so I can do something else. I’ve got a play coming up.”
“The one that you’re naked in?”
“Everyone will be naked in that play. It’s a proper gay play in a Queer theatre. Kind of backstreet stuff but with a solid reputation. I went to see one of their plays with Lucia—you know, my agent—and it was really good. Hard hitting and real. Not that I would know, but anyway. Every show is usually sold out, and full nudity is an expectation. Simulated sex. Graphic stuff. I’ll have my dick on display. No protective dick socks. No make-up artist to cover all my bodily sins.”
