Page 1 of Amid Our Lines

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Socks.Wherewere his socks? One fell out when Eric shook out his jeans, the other was still playing hide and seek. Under the bed, maybe?

“You could stay,” William said from behind him. “Round two in the morning?” He sounded hopeful, and ah, shit.

Eric fixed a regretful smile onto his face before he turned to the bed. Sprawled naked across the covers, William was watching him with an appreciative expression. They’d had fun, really—a drink and a snog back at the bar before they’d moved things to William’s place. Nothing too heavy, just nice and easy. Exactly what Eric was looking for.

And now this.

He shifted his weight, still in his boxers, with his jeans in one hand and a lone sock in the other. “Actually, uh… Thing is, I’ve got an early start tomorrow. Some other time?”

William frowned. “Thought you’re a songwriter?”

Right, Eric had mentioned that—mostly because he’d justhadto ask whether William was really Bill or Billy or Mac or Buddy, Sheryl Crow’s lyrics bumping up against Eric’s own impression that ‘William’ was far too grown-up a name for this cheeky, high-energybloke who’d walked up to Eric without even a hint of hesitation.All I wanna do is have a little fun before I die.

“Call with an Australian musician,” Eric said. “Time zones, you know?” Fuck, he’d never fancied himself the guy who made up excuses to scramble out of bed and out the door after a hookup. That wasn’t the kind of person he wanted to be.

“Oh, right.” William nodded like that made sense.

Eric pulled on his jeans before he sent William another glance. “You could give me your number, if you want? Meet up sometime.”

It seemed like the right thing to say because William’s frown melted away. “I’d like that.”

“Great,” Eric said when what he really wanted to say was, ‘I’m so sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.’

“Great,” William echoed, and Jesus, this was awkward. Or maybe it was only Eric who felt it because William’s smile seemed genuine as he sat up, blond hair messed up from Eric’s fingers, nice body and pretty face, good sense of humour. For someone else, he’d be a catch.

Too bad Eric wasn’t looking.

He located the missing sock underneath his jumper and pulled the rest of his clothes on while William programmed his number into Eric’s phone under ‘William Shepard’. Fortunately, William didn’t think to call himself—he’d stop waiting for Eric’s call in a matter of days and move on. After all, they’d known each other for barely even four hours. No big deal, right?

Eric might have skipped a goodbye kiss, but William took away that choice by rolling off the bed and tugging Eric in for a quick, sweet peck that left him feeling rather awful. Jesus, maybe he just wasn’t cut out for this love-‘em-and-leave-‘em lifestyle. Unfortunately, he wasn’t cut out for love either, it seemed, because three strikes and you’re out, right?

So. Celibacy, then?

Yep.

Once he stepped out of the studio flat and into a dimly lit corridor, his breathing eased. In the mirrored wall of the lift, he caught sight of himself—brown eyes a little tired, angular featuresemphasised by the undercut his hairdresser had talked him into trying. After having kept his dark brown hair cropped short for years, it still didn’t feel wholly familiar—but he’d been in the market for a change.

Outside, he zipped up his jacket against the humid air of a foggy November night, streetlights casting a diffuse glow on the damp pavement. A few pubs and restaurants lined the street, people hurrying along with their collars turned up against the chilly air. Goodge Street Station wasn’t very busy at this hour, and he made his way onto the platform as the rumble of an approaching train vibrated through the air. The muted grey of the station contrasted with the vibrant colours of posters that adorned its walls, adverts for movies, tech companies, the latest West End productions, and …

And of course.

Of fucking courseRhythm of Shadowswas among them. Lucas was captured in mid-leap, dressed in sleek, black attire to highlight his muscular body. And either because this was Eric’s life or because a clever marketing person had decided to put the rumours to good use, the poster right next to it announced Max Fina’s upcoming album that would no doubt go instant platinum. How adorable—the two alleged boyfriends, side by side in all their dazzling beauty.

Eric had never fancied himself a cynical guy, either.Thanks, Lucas.

The train ground to a halt, its doors hissing open. Turning away from the posters, Eric joined the trickle of people boarding.

Water under the bridge.

Eric came hometo find Kojo bumbling about his kitchen. That in itself was no unusual occurrence—Kojo worked as a sous-chef in a fancy restaurant in Covent Garden and often stayed in Eric’s extra room afterwards because it was far closer than his tiny flat in Edmonton. What was unusual, though, was the time.

“Mushrooms and garlic?” Eric asked as he kicked his shoes off next to the door.

“And thyme,” Kojo confirmed, the white flash of his smilecontrasting with his dark skin. He’d stripped down to a pair of jogging bottoms that might be Eric’s because ‘what’s mine is yours’ was an integral part of their friendship agreement. “On toasted sourdough.”

“Sounds great.” Eric dropped his key on the antique hall table that had come with the flat, bought by the previous owners during their honeymoon in France. With the divorce papers filed, they hadn’t wanted it anymore, and he’d taken an immediate liking to the history tucked into its intricate floral patterns. “You’re home early.”

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