Page 57 of Persuaded

Josh handed over a drink that had been sitting on the bar and Quinton drained it. He was a good-looking guy, Finn supposed, if you liked tall, blond and arrogant. The man’s eyes flicked over him, up and down, like he was assessing a purchase. “Won’t you introduce me to your gorgeous friend?”

Josh’s expression was difficult to read. Embarrassed, maybe? “Finn, this is Quinton Jones. Quinton, Finn Callaghan.”

“The actor”—Quinton held out a hand—“of course. Enormous fan, naturally.”

“Right,” Finn said, shaking his hand. “Good to meet you.”

Quinton leaned into Josh, so close you couldn’t get a cigarette paper between them—and where the fuck had his other hand gone? “Are you here to sing tonight, Finn? I hear you have a good voice.”

“I, uh—” He glanced at Josh, but he was frowning and not looking at him. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Dreadfully cheesy, of course, but why not? Josh and I are going to, aren’t we? In fact”—he glanced at his watch—“we’re up in five. Shall we go?”

And then, for the second time that day, Quinton fucking Jones was dragging Josh away from him.

“I’ll see you after?” Josh said. “It won’t be long.”

“Sure.” But his eyes fixed on the way Quinton reached for Josh’s hand. They were holding hands. He turned to the bar, ordered a scotch and downed it in one. It didn’t do much to settle his stomach. Maybe he should just leave? Only Josh had asked him to stay and that was enough to keep him where he was for now. That thin ribbon of hope was enough.

Soon, Josh made his way to the keyboard set up on the other side of the room and Finn turned around to watch. Josh looked gorgeous, a spotlight making his eyes sparkle and his dark hair gleam. Finn could have gazed at him forever if it hadn’t been for the limey bastard standing next to him doing all the talking. Finn tuned him out, focused only on Josh as he ran his fingers over the keys. Then he and Quinton looked at each other—it was only to count themselves in, but it still looked intimate—and Josh began to play Cohen’s “Hallelujah.” Finn threw a prayer of his own skyward, thankful that it wasn’t Skynyrd’s “Tuesday’s Gone”; if he and Josh had had a tune, it would have been that.

Difficult enough, though, watching him and Quinton together. The way Josh kept looking up at him, the way Quinton kept smiling down at him. Fuck, but they looked like they were screwing. Maybe they were. They probably were.

And then Quinton’s hand moved to Josh’s shoulder and their eyes locked. Finn turned away, eyes closing, because now he knew. He fuckingknew. The whisky soured in his stomach, sloshing as he slid down from the bar stool. He shouldn’t have come here. Stupid idea. He should have stayed in LA where he was safe, where he could keep a lid on all this crap.

Because you could never go back. What was lost was lost, what was gone was gone. He’d known that from the moment Josh ended it.

All around him, people started joining in with the infinite hallelujahs as Josh kept playing. But Finn pushed his way through the crush toward the exit—he had to leave, he couldn’t watch anymore.

Applause broke out before he reached the door and no one paid him any attention as he shouldered his way outside. The rainy streets were starting to freeze in the bitter cold, and he paused to pull on his hat and gloves before looking around for a cab. Behind him, the door opened.

“Finn!” Josh stood in the doorway, flushed from the heat. “You’re leaving?”

His chest tightened as he saw Quinton lurking behind Josh. “I, uh, I got no reason to stay. I’ll see you around, Josh.”

And then he started walking, out into the cold night, cursing himself, cursing the world, and cursing Quinton fucking Jones.

* * *

Despite Quinton’s invitation, Joshua did not go back to his apartment that night.

“Ah,” Quinton said as Joshua pulled on his jacket, one eye on the door through which Finn had left. “I see I’m too late to the party.”

Distracted, Joshua frowned. “Uh, what party?”

A slight smile. “This one.” He tapped Joshua’s chest, cocking his head. “That, I assume, was the one that got away?”

“Not exactly. That is, it’s more complicated than that.”

“Hmm.” Quinton gave him an appraising look. “Pity.” He flashed a smile at the barman and gestured for another drink. “Well, if you ever change your mind, darling, give me a call.”

Joshua offered a hand to shake—“I’ll bear that in mind”—but Quinton ignored it and leaned in to kiss both cheeks.

“Go on then, run after Prince Charming.”

But Joshua didn’t run. Instead, he went straight home and spent a sleepless night wondering what Finn’s anger meant and what he should do about it. The next morning he went out early and bought himself a new phone. Whatever else he did, he knew he needed to talk to Finn. He didn’t have his number, but he still had Sean’s card. It made his stomach pitch, but he was going to call Finn because something had almost happened last night. He knew it had, and he needed to find out where he stood with Finn Callaghan for once and for all.

Overnight, snow had started falling and it still fell as Joshua made his way back to Ruth’s apartment through icy streets. He flexed his fingers, glad for his gloves—Finn’s gloves—and smiled at the warm glow the thought provoked.

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