Page 1 of Asking For a Friend
I rush through the door of the coffee shop, shaking my head to get some of the water out of my hair. It’s chucking it down out there. I don’t mind the rain, not if I’m warm and dry indoors and I can sit on my windowsill with Flanaghan, my larger-than-life ginger cat, and watch it stream down the pane.
With a whoomph, I bash into a broad, firm, wool-coated body. “Shit!” he exclaims. A cup hits the floor, and coffee splatters everywhere. I dodge out of the way of the scolding liquid, but I’m too late. The bulk of it ends up on my jeans.
“Ow! Fuck!” I shriek.
“Oh, my god! I’m so sorry,” we both say.
Hell’s bells, he’s divine. Exactly my type: tall, dark, and so bloody handsome. “God, you’re lovely.”
I clap my hand over my mouth. Shit, why do I always blurt things out as if my brain has no connection to my mouth? His full lips lift into a stunning, brilliant smile. Heaven save me—he has dimples. “Um, thank you. Are you okay? You seem to have most of my Americano down your jeans.”
“Well, I’m wet anyway, so what’s another drenching going to matter?” The coffee is already cooling on my legs.
Kate, one of the baristas, arrives with a mop and bucket, pushing us out of the way. She rolls her eyes at me. “Only you, Lando.”
“I’m so sorry, Kate. Do you want me to do it?” I try to take the mop from her, but she holds it out of my reach.
“You don’t work here anymore, lovely. Go find a seat, and I’ll get you your tea in a minute.”
“And another coffee for him.” I gesture to the solid brick wall of a man still looking at me highly amused. “I really am sorry.”
“How about you make it up to me by giving me your number?”
He wants what? He doesn’t even look like he’s taking the piss.
“Huh, what? No, you don’t want that.” I shake my head, and my cheeks heat up. I know I’m turning bright red, the curse of being a redhead.
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t. Or maybe I should keep coming back here and wait to bump into you again?” And oh hell, there are the dimples again.
“Lando is always here,” Kate answers for me. “You’ll see him again.”
“Thanks, Kate,” I mutter under my breath. No way he’s actually interested in me. And even if he is, he won’t be for long. I’m short and slim, not bulked up, which seems to be the trend nowadays. My hair tends to do exactly what it wishes, and he’s already got acquainted with my lack of a brain-to-mouth filter.
“That’s good to know.” He takes a fresh coffee from Simon, another barista, and gives me a wink. “See you again, Lando.”
He walks out, and I stare at the place he vacated. Did that just happen? Kate looks at me like she wants to smack me on the back of my head.
“Go on. Say it. I know you want to.” I let out a long sigh. Damn, why haven’t I given him my number?
“Thank you.” She grins. “Lando Hardwick, you’re a damn fool. That man asked you for your number. That incredibly melt-your-knickers hot man, and you didn’t give it to him. What’s going on?”
Do I really want to tell her guys like that only want to play around with me? Three dates, a quick fuck, and they show me the door and block my number on their phone. I know the type well enough to say no and save myself the shitty feeling I’m left with. Call it self-preservation. I’d rather be alone. Or arrange my own kind of fun when I want to. “Nothing. I don’t need the aggro. He may be pretty, but I think he knows it a bit too much.”
“Your loss, babes.” She finishes clearing up, and I squeeze past the takeaway customers and sneak into my usual spot in the back corner.
Once I’m sitting, I pull out my laptop and get to work. I keep my head down and write. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. But I never had the chance to explore it until now, with the help of a nice little inheritance from my uncle, which was a huge bone of contention between my parents and me. Apparently, he was such a miserable, mean arsehole of a man he wouldn’t even speak to his brother, let alone include him in his will. It’s not like they even needed the money. They have plenty of their own. They’re just greedy. Spite, my mother calls it every time she sees me. I call it kind. My uncle knew exactly how homophobic my parents were and told me I’d always have him to fall back on. It wasn’t until I was sixteen that I learnt how true his words were.
A cup of lemon and ginger tea is placed on the table, along with a mozzarella and pesto panini. “Here you go, Lando, and please eat it this time. You’re getting too thin again.”
I smile. “I do eat, Kate.”
“Not enough, babes, not enough. Now tell me just how hot your latest characters are?” She folds her arms under her boobs and waits.
“They’re fine, just getting to know each other still. Now leave me alone, or I’ll never get this chapter written.” I laugh, put my earbuds in, and turn up the DMA’s playlist, then pick up the toasted sandwich.
The words don’t want to flow today, and however much I look at my plot lines, the story isn’t coming to me. All I can think about are the decisions I’ve made over the years since I walked out of my family home with my head held high, straight into the car of the man who had promised me everything. At eighteen, I was in love, but at thirty, he wasn’t, and I soon moved out of his home into a house share with three other gay men. They introduced me to the gay club scene, something my ex thought himself above. Just think Queer As Folk and times it by ten.
I found myself in those days and have never regretted any of it. My regrets started after we all began to move on. But I went back to men older than me and falling for the pampering and promises that soon faded away and I was left feeling like shit. It’s been nearly three years since I’ve been down that destructive path.