English Lads Page 3

  “Who’s Nevil?” Jake asked, alerted to the fact that they suddenly seemed to have a gay friend now that they knew Jake’s own sexual orientation. Wasn’t it always that way with straight people, just because you’re gay and their friend is means by tomorrow morning you’ll be picking out china patterns and booking a B&B wedding in Vermont. Still, Jake wasn’t opposed to meeting someone. Wasn’t that why he was here, start over, start fresh? But a guy named Nevil? Serves Jake right, no one forced him to choose England.

  “Nevil Masters is only tonight’s birthday boy. Yeah, he’ll like you…but I think you can do a lot better,” Jennie said with a Queen-like wave. “Actually, you know who Jake would like…and who would like Jake…”

  She clammed up the moment Steven shot her a warning look. “Don’t even go there.”

  But Jake was interested. “Sounds intriguing.”

  “Hunter Abbott is anything but intriguing,” Stevie said, “and besides, I doubt he’ll even show. Mind of his own, that fellow.”

  Jennie nodded. “True. Hunter is as reliable as…well, as my Stevie is hairy.”

  Jake set down an empty beer can. He’d have to pace himself if he was going to be in any condition for later. “His name’s Hunter? I like him already. If he lives up to his billing, I might just be happy being a gatherer. Count me in for tonight. If your mysterious friend shows, I want to be there. Maybe I’ll take a page from Kimberly’s playbook and drop trou right then and there, let him have his way with me.”

  “Christ, you got me all turned on,” Jennie said.

  Back at ya, Jake thought, thinking about a guy named Hunter and a guy named Nevil and imaging both of them living up to their names. One was probably wildly sexy, aggressive in bed, while the other no doubt would lay there like a sack of potatoes. Opposites the two of them. Jake Westbury was left feeling torn. He wasn’t here to meet the bad boy. A guy like Nevil, he sounded nice, safe…a guy you could build a relationship around. A guy like Hunter, surely he meant only bad news.

  So then why did Jake envision his legs in the air, the bad boy pumping away at him?

  * * *

  Jake closed up the back window to his flat, again gazing at the languid waters of the Thames. At 6:00 in the evening the tide had come in, the water level lower than he’d noticed earlier. Noticing that his neighbors had cleared out of the garden, Jake decided that before making us way up toward the pub he would take a quick tour of the grounds.

  He’d tossed on jeans and a fresh T-shirt, throwing a casual long-sleeve shirt over it. The temperature was still on the warm side, but the BBC had reported a cold front moving in tonight, so the extra shirt would offer him some warmth when needed. A quick check in the mirror, he ran a finger through his hair, smoothed down his goatee. Was he pleased with the result? Yes, but that still didn’t mean he wasn’t nervous about meeting the friends of his new friends. Steven and Jennie, they were quite a pair. She was quick with an insult, he seemed unfazed by them. For a second, Jake was jealous of their relationship, the ease with which they kept company. Why was that so difficult for him to find?

  As he opened his door, he heard noises coming from the flat directly next to him. Hard, urgent cries, the banging of furniture against a wall. Okay, guess that was the first drawback to the house: thin walls. He’d known them only a few hours, and already Jake was privy to the sounds of their lovemaking. Keep that in mind, he told himself, assuming he had opportunity this summer to give his bed a nice sweaty workout. Just then he thought of the alluring Hunter, imagining a sexy hunk with an impressively hairy chest and a big, thick dick. Fantasy was nice, but he probably looked nothing like that. A pasty Englishman with a beer gut and crooked teeth, that’s the second image that flashed in his mind. Like Steven. Jake’s cock pressed against his pants, even as he tried to quiet his inner urges. The sound of climax coming from next door didn’t help matters.

  He made his way outside, following the path that led to the garden. Opening the wooden gate, Jake went past the table and chairs he’d previously sat at, making his way down the water’s edge. All around him, the world moved, modes of transportation surrounding him. A train crossing over the Putney Bridge, boats bobbing in the turgid waters of the Thames, and above him one plane, then another, heading for Heathrow. Obviously this was along their flight path. Still, Jake was pleased to be on solid ground, his feet able to take him where he needed to go. That was the good thing about big cities. You could walk. New York was like that, London too. The differences were minimal between the two cities, but enough divided them to give Jake a sense of renewal.

  For a moment he hoped his friends Matt and Freddie were experiencing their own level of romantic bliss. Whether along the Seine or the Tiber, each river was emblematic of their search for something bigger in life, a steady flow toward tomorrow. Whether grand declarations of love or the endless pursuit of the next party, his friends were hopefully enjoying their own summer excursions. So too was Jake determined to indulge his passions. About to depart for the pub, he gazed directly down from the cement wall, noticing a ladder made of rope and at the bottom, which led to a dock and a lone kayak. He guessed Steven liked to glide out on to the waters; perhaps he’d asked to borrow it someday, take his own sojourn along the legendary river.

  He recalled Jennie’s directions on how to get to the Railway, but figured he didn’t have to take the most direct route. If they were still fucking upstairs, no telling when they might arrive, and while Jake had no problem having a drink on his own he liked the idea of starting his trip with a night out with newfound friends. So he made his way toward Putney Road, and eventually the High Street. There was a Marks & Spencer where he could stock up on food; an Orange phone store where he could add more money to his temporary mobile; an HMV store attracted his attention. Record stores were dinosaurs in New York City, so he was heartened to see this store, reminding himself a visit would no doubt introduce him to some new music. He passed other pubs, fast food shops, a Boots pharmacy. As he ambled his way up the narrow, busy street, to his left he saw the rumbling of the National Rail train, which Jennie had said was a faster way to Central London than the tube across the bridge. He’d have to check it out and added that to his growing list of things to see and do.

  At around 7:15 in the evening he arrived at the Railway Pub, a sign above the door indicating this was a “Weatherspoon’s” establishment. Just have some good cask ales, that’s all Jake cared about. He made his way into the large pub located on the northeast corner of the Putney High Street and Upper Richmond Road. The place was buzzing with a large crowd that wound its way along the long bar, at tables and chairs. Jake detected another large crowd on the second level and was beginning to wonder how he would ever find his new friends amidst the dense crowd, assuming they were even done, dressed, and drinking here.

  “Jake, over here!” he suddenly heard, a thin, pale arm waving above a few heads.

  It was Jennie, he recognized her voice above the din of the crowd. He pushed his way through mostly thick-bodied men who were knocking back pints of thick, hearty ales and ciders. They parted as best they could, and at last Jake emerged into a tight circle of four people. Along with Steven and Jennie was a tall, striking woman with hair the color of flame, who gazed directly at Jake, a smile breaking across her pretty face. She wore high boots and a low skirt and if Jake had to guess this was the flirty Kimberly. The only other person was a thin man about 5’8”, with wire-rimmed glasses and potent blue eyes enlarged behind them. He was cute, if book-ish, and his cheeks held a ruddy, reddish innocence to them. No way was this guy Hunter, Jake decided.

  “Jake Westbury, I’d like you to meet Kimberly Locke and Nevil Masters.”

  They all shook hands, with Jake adding a “nice to meet you” and “happy birthday, Nevil.” Steven busied himself by ordering Jake a drink, handing him a pint of Green King Abbot Ale. “No more of that boring Carling for you, that’s like Budweiser swill to you. This will coat your insides.”

  “Thanks
,” Jake said, taking a healthy gulp, smiling when he set the glass down. “Perfect.”

  The small group moved away from the crowded bar, scooping up a newly empty table and chairs. They settled down and raised their glasses in cheer, toasting Nevil’s birthday and welcoming Jake to London. Kimberly, Jake noticed, had moved in close to him, her eyes wandering over his body. Shit, so Jennie hadn’t told her he was gay, she really did want her friend to make a fool of herself. How to avoid embarrassing her—and himself? That’s when he noticed that Nevil was equally attentive toward him, his eyes practically sinking into Jake’s. Out of the corner of his eye Jake could see a smirking Jennie. Steven looked disinterested, happy to just knock back his brew.

  “So, Jake, what brings you to London?” Kimberly asked.

  “Just a chance to escape my other life in New York—I’m a freelance writer, assignment have dried up in this economy, so I thought maybe I’d write a book. Here I am.”

  “How long are you staying?” Nevil asked.

  “All summer.”

  “Really?” they both said simultaneously.

  If Jake was into threesomes—well, threesomes that involved women—they could be at his flat faster than they could get their clothes off. Truth be told, neither was exactly his type. Kimberly for obvious reasons. Nevil…he just seemed a bit too queeny, too much of a twink. What was he, 25?

  “I think we need to let Jake settle in, maybe have a second beer,” Steven said, “before the two of you begin stripping for him. Geez, you two are practically creaming your jeans.”

  “Steven!” Jennie exclaimed. “Guys, really, sorry…”

  “Don’t apologize,” Jake said, not wanting his first night in London to be marred by such juvenile antics.

  Still Nevil looked positively chastised and faded into the background by playing with his mobile. Kimberly reacted the opposite, spurred on by Steven’s challenge. “I don’t think Jake minds the attention one bit. A man likes to know when someone finds him attractive, and who better than a vixen like myself to let him know. If two people find each other attractive, why go through some ridiculous dance?”

  Jake was spared answering. Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of someone new, his shadow arriving first before his body blocked their view of the bar. Kimberly’s mouth quieted as she crossed her arms across her bosom. Nevil gazed up, sneered, then looked back down. As for Jake, he merely stared at the man standing before him, a man whom he could only describe as the perfect specimen. Heat seemed to sizzle off his body, giving rise to the temperature in the crowded bar. Jake felt a sudden tightness in his balls, a slight thickening of his interested cock. My God, he thought, is this guy hot or what? Did he dare think this was the alluded to Hunter? He had to hope so. The guy was about six feet tall, with a strong body evident from the tight T-shirt he wore, the leg-hugging jeans. His forearms were coated with dark brown hair that matched the deliberately-styled messy thatch on his head. Three days of stubble created a roguish quality to his handsome face. What had Steven said earlier, Nevil and Kimberly both might cream their jeans over Jake? Well, now it was Jake’s turn and it was all because of this guy…this hot, yummy, delicious stud before him. Jake could only imagine what Hunter looked like naked.

  “Ah, Hunter, you made it,” Steven said.

  Bingo. Hunter, who Jake already knew was gay, seemed on the surface exactly the way he had imagined him. He wouldn’t mind one bit seeing his fantasy follow through to fruition. Which meant he wouldn’t mind waking up in this guy’s bed with a sore ass.

  Oh, thank the good Lord he was gay.

  “Who’s this bloke?” Hunter asked, his direction focused on Jake.

  “Oh, a new friend, visiting from the States,” Jennie said. “He’s Stevie’s new tenant. Jake Westbury, meet Hunter Abbott.”

  “Pleasure,” Hunter said with a crooked grin, extending his hand.

  Jake thrust his hand out, perhaps a bit too eagerly. As their hands connected, Jake could feel the sharp prickle of hair on the back of Hunter’s hand. An electric charge jolted him, causing him to nearly strangle on his greeting. “Hey, uh…Hunter, nice to meet you.” He swallowed, took a breath. “You don’t sound like you’re from these parts.”

  “American myself, not that I usually admit to that. Haven’t been home in years.”

  “Oh, what do you do?”

  Silence hovered around the table before Jennie began to talk. Was something wrong with that question? Hunter held up his hand and silenced his friend.

  “This and that,” Hunter said, addressing Jake specifically. He offered nothing further. “Look, sorry gang, I’ve got to run. Shame I can’t share a beer with you all. Nevil…good to see you…a happy one to you. Perhaps I’ll see you Friday night. I’ll have to let you know.” He allowed himself a private laugh. Nevil continued to sneer. “J and S—all the best till again. You too Kims.”

  Hunter then gazed about the room once, twice, his eyes darting suspiciously, as though looking for someone. Or perhaps hoping not to see someone. Jake realized he’d been doing that pretty much since Hunter popped up at their table. And now he was gone in a flash, faster than he’d arrived.

  “Wow, who was that masked man?” Jake asked.

  His Lone Ranger reference was lost on the pile of Brits before him.

  “He’s a bore, too full of himself anyway,” Kimberly said.

  “You’re just jealous, sweets,” Jennie said, and then looked at Jake. “She hates the gays. They don’t want to date her, and she’s not outrageous enough to do in drag.”

  Jake barely heard what she said. He was still looking at the exit door, his attention returned when he felt a touch on his shoulder. He turned to find Nevil right before him. “So, Jake, a few of my real friends are throwing me a birthday party on Friday night—that’s the actual date. Steven and Jennie couldn’t make it, that’s why we’re here tonight. But if you’re free, why not come? In fact, if you’re free beforehand maybe I can show you a bit of London, then we can go to the party.”

  Jake said nothing at first, realized they were all waiting for his answer. How could he say no in such a public forum? So he readily agreed, thanking Nevil for his hospitality, all the while thinking of that sexy creature who had just delivered a knockout punch to Jake’s heart. To his crotch, too. He barely heard what was said next.

  “Aw, shit, another gay one.”

  Kimberly of course said that. Then, with a melodramatic pause, she bellied up to the bar for a fresh round of drinks. Her friends all laughed, except for Jake. He had taken another look at the front door, where he spotted not Hunter but another man. A huge, hulking man wearing nothing but black, unless you counted his sour expression

  Why did Jake get the sense that this beast was the man Hunter had been looking for?

  And by looking for, meaning trying to avoid.

  Just who are you Hunter Abbott? Jake wondered. And what kind of trouble are you in?

  CHAPTER THREE

  Jake Westbury usually led an ordered life, with each day carefully planned. As a freelance writer by trade, he had his patterns of writing, pitching, researching, all of which helped give structure to his days. He even had a certain schedule he ate around. Some of his friends called him OCD. He would just say he was organized, usually when placing some item in his apartment back to its proper place. And what was wrong with that? He always knew where to find his stuff, from his wallet to his keys to his cell phone. Which is why the incident at the airport when he’d lost his passport had thrown him so. Was he nervous about this London trip? Too late now, he was already here, and besides, nothing untoward was going to happen to him here. Right?

  Friday afternoon, Jake was walking along the Embankment having just finished off a good fish & chips and pint at The Opera Tavern pub across from the famed Theatre Royal Drury Lane. He’d crossed over the Strand, slipping down a side alley near the Savoy Hotel to the traffic-heavy river’s edge. It was a beautiful day, blue sky marred only by white fluffy clouds
, ideal for photographers and postcard creators. They had to get those shots sometime—it didn’t always rain in London. In fact, Jake had yet to see any inclement weather in the days since his arrival. And today, with the temperature in the low 80s, Jake had opted for shorts and T-shirt, much more comfortable as he walked the city. Yet now as the afternoon waned toward early evening, he had to consider whether the outfit was appropriate for the party he was attending. He’d be meeting Nevil in an hour on Westminster Bridge. That did not give him time enough to get back to Putney and return. Hmm, he should have considered this better. See, that’s another thing that bothered his sense of order. Normally he would have packed a shoulder bag with jeans and a nicer shirt. But he didn’t want to be burdened all day with a heavy bag. Maybe he’d just go shopping,

  Jake looked around. Embankment, the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben loomed before him and across the river the London Eye millennium wheel soared into the sky. Unless you wanted souvenirs, this just wasn’t an ideal shopping district. Jake considered backtracking, making his way up Charing Cross Road to Oxford Street. You could buy anything on Oxford Street, that’s what he’d heard. But that would take time, too. Damn, why hadn’t he taken down Nevil’s mobile number? He could have called and altered when and where to meet. If he was late, Nevil might think he was being stood up.

  Indecision bothered Jake Westbury.

  Perhaps he’d ask Nevil if he should change, maybe they could go shopping together?

  God, that sounded so gay.

  Jake emerged from under a covering of trees, wound his way down a set of cement steps so he could walk nearer along the Thames. The water wasn’t the clearest, more brown than anything else, but he’d read recently that the river was on the road to recovery, that fish were actually starting to return to its waters. Unless Jake took a tour boat, he doubted he’d be getting all that close to the water. Still, the sight of the Thames as a backdrop to the picturesque scene of London was ideal, exactly as he’d remembered it on a previous visit about 12 years ago. He’d fallen in love with the city, vowing to return and this time for longer. Three months sounded about right. He’d taken a couple days to get acclimated in Putney, filling up his fridge at Marks & Spencer, getting a mobile phone for easy calling within England, unpacking. Now he was out and about and thrilled to be doing so.