Page 9 of Animal Instincts
“Don’t dismiss it out of hand, because a hand is what you need and I’m not talking about your own.”
Oliver tutted and shook his head as James grinned at him.
“Did you know, if there were to be a study of the percentage of gay men per head of population, Love’s Harbour would score high. Very high. You wouldn’t even have to travel to find some easy going fun and games. But you can’t see it because you’re living your life under a very large stone.”
“You love to exaggerate.”
There was no way he was going anywhere near internet dating, yet wasn’t James right about Love’s Harbour?
There was a renowned photographer who’d converted one of the old fishing shacks into a gallery, and whose smiles had been a lot more than blandly polite when Oliver had first shown up in the village.
The two guys who owned and ran Dante’s, the stunningly good Italian restaurant on the harbour front, were married.
The son of the publican at The Fisherman’s Arms, probably the most popular pub in the village, didn’t hide who he was.
And of course there was Charles De Lacy, the handsome, urbane, and utterly charming owner of Harbour Coffee, whom he’d got to know on some level through James.
There was Declan, too, the flirty barista.
And there was Joss.
Oliver’s lips curved up in a small smile. His gaydar had never been particularly well-honed, but the young café assistant had set off every one of Oliver’s bells, whistles, and alarms.
Joss, utterly gorgeous Joss, with his butter blond hair and big soft eyes who, for the briefest of moments, had made him feel more alive than he’d felt in months. He could even forgive having cake chucked in his lap.
James coughed, loud and exaggerated, and Oliver snapped his attention back to his friend.
Across the table from him, James was scrutinising him with narrow-eyed appraisal. Oliver didn’t want to think about what James might or might not have seen reflected in his face, but even more so, Oliver didn’t want to examine the little seed of warmth in his heart. He made a show of looking at his watch. He had time, but the heat from the spotlight of James’ gaze was stronger than he wanted to endure.
“I need to go. I have another client arriving — soon.” Not for nearly an hour, but still.
“We’re here for a few days, so expect more intrusive and embarrassing questions on the dry pea that is currently your life.”
Oliver tried his best with a withering gaze, but James not only didn’t wither, he didn’t wilt one jot.
As he left, Oliver tried his best to set his mind on his appointment with Biggles the bunny, and not think about a man with a soft, warm smile and gold-green, long-lashed eyes.
SEVEN
“Joss? Joss? Josiah! Are you going to lie around in bed all day?”
Joss groaned and rammed his pillow over his head to block out Gran’s voice. What was she talking about,all day?It was only just gone nine but as his gran was always up and bustling around by five in the morning, he supposed it did seem late to her.
He didn’t feel like getting up, he didn’t feel like doing very much at all. His trip to Bristol the day before had been a waste of time, money and energy. The interview with the city centre vet had been a disaster and Joss had left with a heavy heart, his confidence at an all time low.
The job had been made for him.Animal Care Assistant Needed! On the job training! Paid study leave! Accommodation provided!It was like a gift from above, wrapped up with a big shiny bow, and with his name tag on it. He’d buffed up his CV and bigged up the experience he had with the local animal shelter before it moved, just a couple of months back, to larger premises too far for him to get to. He’d been passionate in his covering letter about forging a career in animal care, and the invite for interview had him fist pumping the air.
“Joss, will you please shake your lazy bones and get down here. Bingo’ll need walking soon.”
There was no point in even attempting to hold back the irresistible force that was Gran. Throwing his duvet back and dragging on the nearest clothes to hand — which always seemed to be a pair of jeans, a hoodie, and beaten up Converse — he thumped his way downstairs.
The smell of bacon and eggs frying on the stove made his nose twitch and his stomach rumble.
“You look like something the cat dragged in.” Gran eyed him from over her shoulder as she poked and prodded at the food in the pan. She wrinkled her nose. “Hungover, no doubt.”
“No,” Joss mumbled. “I only had a couple of drinks.”And the rest.
He’d drowned his sorrows waiting for the train back to Exeter. His mouth was dry, and he had a vague headache, which in his books didn’t qualify as a hangover. Or not exactly.
