“Have you called your mum to warn her we’re on our way? Or your auntie?”
“I… uh, no.”
“Shit, I forgot you don’t have your phone.” Ed pulled out his own and frowned at the no-service warning. “You can use mine the next time it’s got a signal.”
“Listen. I’m not sure….”
Ed caught his chin and held it. “Hey. I’m not going to lie. The last time I sat on a train, I was pretty sure that going home meant the contest was over. It felt like losing.” His intent expression gradually shifted. “But I was more pissed off about us getting split up than anything else.” Happiness softened the sharp line of his jaw as Ed smiled. “I wasn’t expecting this. Not for real.” He leaned in and kissed Pasha, his lips warm and dry and so soft. “I wasn’t expecting any of it at all. And I don’t care what management has to say about it.”
Beyond the window, Cornwall passed into Devon in a blur of green fields and dark red soil. “But”—Ed gradually pulled back—“I get it if you want me to keep a lid on it around your mum or anyone else while we visit.”
“There’s no need.” They weren’t going to see his mum.
“She knows you’re…?” Ed waggled his eyebrows before grabbing Pasha’s hand and squeezing it. “Will finding out you’re bi surprise her?”
“Not sure that would surprise anyone in Britain right now.”
That wasn’t strictly an answer.
“It surprised me.”
“That’s okay.” Pasha patted Ed’s head. “We can’t all be observant. You’ll have to rely on looking pretty.”
Now Ed laughed out loud, distracted nicely from his family questions. Pasha slid a little closer and returned his kiss, lips parting to encourage participation. Between one breath and another, their kiss progressed from soft to deeper and insistent. Ed’s hand curled around Pasha’s elbow, tugging him closer still until he broke off for a moment to flip up the armrest between them. Flushed and smiling, Ed quickly peered down the length of the carriage as if double-checking their privacy.
“Come here.” Ed pulled Pasha as close as he could without one of them having to straddle the other. Air cooled the warm skin of Pasha’s back when Ed pushed his hands under his T-shirt, Ed’s fingertips tracing the path of Pasha’s spine before spanning his shoulder blades and squeezing. “Wish this was a sleeper.”
“Why? You tired?” Pasha teased, then choked on his laughter when Ed pushed one of Pasha’s hands down over his fly. The outline of Ed’s cock, already firming and thick, was obvious despite being confined by his jeans.
“I’m not tired.” Ed’s hips rose a little, arching as Pasha pushed down, the heel of his palm slowly skimming from the head of Ed’s cock toward his balls. Ed’s eyes closed and he drewin a quick breath. “Fuck. There’s no way I’d go to sleep now. Just wish we were somewhere private for a few hours.”
“A few hours?” Pasha barely noticed when the conductor approached, but Ed was much more alert. He straightened in his seat and pulled a coffee-stained newspaper discarded by another traveler over his lap. A few minutes later, they were alone, tickets clipped, and hands on each other again the moment the door between carriages slid closed.
Ed held Pasha’s face in both hands, thumbs brushing against cheekbones. “Yeah. A few hours would be ideal.” His eyelids lowered when he leaned forward and took another quick kiss. When they opened again, his gaze was firm and focused. “Right now, even a few minutes alone would take the edge off.” He glanced in the direction the conductor had headed through the doors to the connecting carriage and tilted his head to one side as if evaluating options. “There are toilets through there. I could get you off right now. You could return the favor.”
“But?” Pasha could hear one coming and spoke again rather than let Ed voice it aloud. “But nothing.” He shifted position, aware of his own hard-on. “You don’t need to romance me. I’m not going to turn down a handjob in the loo.”
“But,” Ed persisted, “it looks like we might have a bigger problem than blue balls right now.” He lifted the newspaper from his lap and straightened it so the whole of the front page was visible.
“What the….” Pasha pulled the paper toward him. Anya’s face took up most of the page under a three-word headline.
#TrueBrit or #TrueLiars?
15
ED
Ed let go of the paper and leaned back to let Pasha spread it out across the table. A ring left by someone’s coffee cup blurred an already grainy image but it circled one area that was clear. Those were tears that streaked both of Anya’s cheeks.
Pasha leaned close to read the story. “True Liars? This is bollocks. Complete bollocks.”
Something about his tone was off. Expressionless, when his words implied anger. Instead of commenting on that, Ed shifted his gaze from the paper to Pasha’s face. His expression was surprising, bloodless and immobile like the faces of soldiers Ed had witnessed receiving bad news. The hashtag TrueLiars seemed to have brought out that same reaction, but they’d both been lying for weeks, so why had Pasha paled at that reference?
Only three things brought out that response in Ed’s experience: bad news from lovers, friends, or home.
He watched Pasha pause before reading each section of the story, following the text with the tip of a finger, shoulders stiffening as if each paragraph might reveal a secret he was dreading, and only relaxing slightly when he reached the end.
What the hell did Pasha expect a reporter to find out? More importantly, why hadn’t he shared it with him?