The bar called his name. He ordered the vodka he’d been craving all day, with ice, and pulled out his wallet to pay for it.
“No, you don’t.”
Warmth settled in Sacha’s bones before he’d even turned his head. A solid body pressed up beside him and pushed the hand clutching his wallet aside.
“I’m getting this,” Jonah said. “Don’t fight me.”
“Or what?”
“You’ll lose.”
Sacha let the transaction happen. Jonah ordered a rum on the rocks for himself and paid for both drinks with the swipe of a black card. Then he turned with the grin Sacha dreamed of when his mind wasn’t full of website code, bandwidth disasters, and clunky interfaces that had failed from the start.
“I wasn’t sure you’d show,” Jonah said.
Sacha shrugged and reached for his drink. “You left your card where I would see it for a reason, no? Maybe I want to know that reason.”
“You know the reason.”
“Say it.”
Jonah glanced around, then leaned closer. “We’re friends. That’s reason enough. And, I wanted to thank you for helping my team today. It’s crazy what can happen when you leave the office for an hour.”
“It would not have mattered if you were there. The problem would have been the same.”
Sacha didn’t add that he’d probably have left his post and gone to Jonah’s aid a lot quicker than the ten minutes it had taken him to decide to intervene that morning. Or that he’d only done that because Helga had told him FG were about to flunk the pitch Jonah had spent all night writing. He didn’t add anything at all. Just tracked Jonah’s mouth as he sipped his drink. Followed his tongue as it darted out to lick his pillowy lips.
“Anyway,” Jonah said. “Thank you. That pitch was important to me—to us.”
“I know. I watched you sweat over it all night.”
“I did not sweat.”
“Yes, you did.”
“That had nothing to do with the pitch.”
“I know that too, Jonah Gray. You are so easy to rile.”
“Am I?” Jonah stepped closer, invading Sacha’s personal space.
Sacha took a slow sip of his ice-cold vodka and stole a glance beyond Jonah to the rest of the pub. He still saw no one he recognised. “Yes. You are. But never mind that. Where are your team? I heard they want to buy me vodka too.”
Jonah smouldered for another few seconds, then stood down, retreating to his own bubble. “They’re next door in the student place.”
“Why aren’t you?”
“Christmas karaoke and technicolour shots aren’t my style. I only came to buy them a few drinks for their hard work today. I was happy to see them go.”
It pleased Sacha more than he was ready for to learn that he had Jonah all to himself, that they were alone, even in the crowded bar. He tipped his vodka down his throat and ordered another, along with a rum for Jonah. “Let’s sit. It has been a long day.”
Sacha took Jonah’s arm and steered him through the bar. It reminded him of the ball and the night they’d met, but this was Farringdon, not Mayfair, and an altogether different crowd. The pub was dark and sticky, decked out in tacky plastic for the festive season, not the regal gold of the Dorchester, and Sacha liked it just as much. Only the growl of his belly made him long for something else.
They found a couch in a quiet-ish corner and huddled together out of a necessity that Sacha enjoyed. Jonah’s leg pressed against his and they were close enough that an inch more would mean a kiss.
Sacha’s lips tingled. He blamed the vodka, drank more, and asked Jonah banal questions about his work that neither of them cared about.
For a while, Jonah appeared to humour him, but his roaming fingertips said something else as they danced on Sacha’s thigh, leaving fire in their wake.