Page 30 of The Making of Jonty Bloom
“A glass is fine. A large glass.” In case Jonty brought him something tiny.
“Anything else? A mouth-watering dessert? I’m sure I could whip something up.”
Devan swallowed hard. “No, that’s all.”
“No problem.”
Devan put the phone down. Had Jonty been offering a dessert or something else?
Maybe the chef hadn’t yet left for the night. Now Devan was thinking about food, his stomach rumbled. Had Jonty been on a late shift last night as well? When did he sleep?
What does it have to do with me?
WHEN THE KNOCK CAME ATthe door, Devan doubted it was going to be what he’d ordered. His guess was beans on toast. Maybe cheese on toast. Either would be fine. He pulled open the door to see Jonty standing there in that too-tight grey suit. Next to him was a trolley, a domed stainless-steel cover sitting over the food. Devan’s heart jumped. So did something else. He felt like a horny fifteen-year-old.
“Shall I set it out on the table, or outside on the patio in the howling gale or would you like to eat in bed?”
“The table.” His voice cracked as he spoke.
Devan watched as Jonty carefully laid everything out. He’d even put a pink-flowered stem in a vase. Devan held back his snort of laughter when he recognised it. Rosebay willowherb. A pernicious weed.
“Don’t sniff the flower,” Jonty said. “I can’t guarantee that Dottie hasn’t peed on it.”
“Right. Will you thank the chef for me?”
“You were too late. I cooked it. You better wait until you’ve tasted it before you thank me.” Jonty lifted the dome. “Ta-da!”
“It looks…”
“Nothing like beans on toast?”
Devan gaped at him.
“I told you mindreading is one of my many superpowers. Cooking chicken might not be. It’s okay if it runs a bit bloody when you poke it with a knife, right?”
Devan pressed his lips together.
“Now, you’re hoping that was a joke.” Jonty smiled. “See? I’m so good at seeing inside people’s heads. The chicken is properly cooked. I know how to do that. Raw chicken is dangerous unless you’re a fox. Are you a fox? Sorry. No. Are you gay?”
Devan gaped at him. “Where did that question come from?” Hadn’t Mike told him?
Jonty looked around. “Is there someone else in here?”
“You pick now to ask me that? Why?”
“It’s annoying me that I can’t tell whether you are or not. I think it’s partly because you haven’t stared at my arse. Unless you did it when I wasn’t looking. I suppose if I was walking away from you, I wouldn’t notice.”
“Do you voice every thought you have?”
“When I’m nervous. Are you gay?”
“Yes. Are you?”
“Ah.” Jonty grinned. “Now you’ll wonder like I did.”
“No, I won’t.”
“How can you tell I’m gay?” Jonty asked indignantly.
