Junk (17 page)

“Come on,” Jasper said. “I’m treating you to coffee, and if you’re really good, you might get cake.”

“Ooh, is this a date, then? Kinda doing things backwards, isn’t it? I always thought you were meant to get all that kind of stuff out of the way before you started shagging. Mind you, I could never see the point of waiting. I’m pretty cheap, you know. You needn’t go the extravagance of buying cake to get me to put out. You’d have been quite welcome to come round and hop into bed with me.”

Jasper ran his hand along the railing, searching for the right words. “Mas, I don’t think that’s going to h—” He came to an abrupt halt as a hand slapped over his mouth.

“Don’t say it. Let me keep on hoping, yeah?” Mas’s eyes were the same colour as the river, and it was hard to resist the way they implored him.

Jasper peeled Mas’s hand away gently and held on to it in the same way Lewis held his hand. Now that he was doing it himself, he realised with a pang how the act was purely comforting, not sexual. But that didn’t change the fact he had to be honest with Mas. “I don’t want to mess you around. I’d like to stay friends, though. I don’t…” He turned to stare at the sun glinting off the water. “I don’t have many of those.”

“Yeah?” After a long moment, Mas’s fingers tightened around his. “I’ve got tons of friends going spare. You’re welcome to a few if you want.”

“Doesn’t sound like you need me for anything, then.”

“Hey, I’m always happy to find room for another friend. Besides, they’re all pub-and-club mates. You can be my elevenses friend if you like. The one man I’m willing to drag my arse out of bed for before noon on a Sunday.”

Jasper squeezed Mas’s hand back. “Thanks. That means a lot to me.”

“No worries.” Mas dropped his hand and grinned. “Just remember, I’m only a penniless shop assistant so you’re buying. Can’t even afford to get myself new clothes on sodding eBay at the moment. Got outbid on a pair of jeans yesterday. I swear, the price of second-hand glad rags is going through the roof.”

“Just wait. When you get your first paycheque from modelling, it’s your round,” Jasper said, aiming for gallant flattery, but Mas just pulled a face and laughed dismissively.

“Yeah, right. They told me I didn’t have the physique for it, the bastards. Too bloody skinny apparently. That’s all right, though. I could always hire myself out as an escort for a bit of extra cash. Mind you, I don’t reckon I’d be all that into desperate middle-aged men pawing all over me.” Mas smirked. “Still, there’s always a demand for cute twinks in porn. I could make myself a bloody fortune and shag more sexy men than I’ve had hot dinners.”

Jasper stared, aghast. “I hope you’re joking. You know how risky the sex industry is, don’t you?”

“Yes,
Dad
. God, you’re worse than having a conscience. Tell you what, how about I just find myself that sugar daddy I’ve been talking about?”

“Sounds like a better idea.”

“Right, then, let’s go for coffee. I can scope out the wealthy men, and you can feed me cake. We spot anyone likely, I’ll fake an orgasm like that chick in that eighties film I saw the other night. When Someone Met Someone or other. That’s bound to catch their interest.”

Jasper shook his head and couldn’t help smiling. “Just make sure you don’t swear as much as you usually do.”

Mas threw his head back and moaned filthily. “Oh, Jasper, fuck, that’s it, right there. Harder, do me harder!”

Cheeky little blighter. Jasper cuffed him in the shoulder, and Mas collapsed into a sniggering fit.

An unfamiliar feeling rose inside Jasper. Something warm and comfortable, and quite different from the confusing way Lewis made him feel. Yes, being friends with Mas was definitely the right choice.

It just remained to be seen whether things would ever be this easy between him and Lewis.

Chapter Sixteen

The next couple of weeks proceeded just as Lewis had hoped. Jasper made some progress with the newspapers in his kitchen and eventually agreed to take a carload of them down to the recycling centre. It was time-consuming work, as Jasper had to look through every single paper first—the English-language ones, anyway. He was making separate piles of foreign-language ones out on the back veranda.

“Just while the weather stays nice,” he explained. “I’ll take them back in if it looks like rain.”

“Or we could just take them directly to the van. Why are you keeping them, anyway?”

“In case…someone might want them. A language student. They’d be good practice material.”

“Really? I would have thought that with foreign-language websites, people had easy enough access to that sort of thing these days.”

“I suppose…”

Lewis pressed his point. “This is old news now. Don’t you think a language student would rather practice on fresher papers? Maybe you could put up a sign in your library or something, and they could come and collect the new ones.”

“Hey, that’s a brilliant idea. And then I wouldn’t have to bring them home, would I?”

It was hard to bite back the comment that Jasper didn’t have to bring them home, anyway. He had his reasons, warped though they might be. “What if no one wants the old papers? What’s the normal thing to do with them at work?”

“Normal? I suppose…on days when I’m not there, they get thrown in the recycling.”

Lewis kept his voice light, nonjudgmental. “Do you think you could do that yourself next time there’re old papers going spare?”

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to. I’d want to save them. I always want to. Drives me nuts when I can see them at the bottom of the recycling bin. I’d fish them out, but it’s too high for me to reach in.”

“Why do you think they need saving? Isn’t being pulped and turned into something new a good use for them?”

“Yesss…” Jasper didn’t sound convinced. “It just seems wrong. Destroying all that information.”

“And you want to save it all from destruction, like a curator.”

“Exactly.”

“But we live in a world overflowing with information, don’t we? There’s more out there than anyone could hope to absorb in thousands of lifetimes.” Lewis paused, choosing his words carefully. “Surely the real goal for curators is in carefully selecting the information that’s valuable and discarding the rest. If we keep everything, it just gets drowned out in the white noise.”

“I’m no good at making those kinds of decisions. I just want to keep it all. Save it all.”

“In the way that you couldn’t save your mother?”

Jasper went silent then, and Lewis studied his face carefully. The emotions ran deep and were normally well hidden, but he could see the pain and distress in his eyes.

Eventually, Jasper spoke, his voice quiet but firm. “I can see what you’re saying, and maybe you’re right. I don’t know. There’s probably a connection. It was tough. Being her carer when I was so young. I just coped however I could.”

“You did a great job of coping.”

Jasper scowled. “Yeah, right. I filled my house with crap.”

“Not crap. Information. Books. Things that gave you comfort.”

“And now you think I can just let go of them? That I don’t need that comfort anymore?” Jasper glared at him then, the paper in his hands tearing as he twisted and pulled at it.

Okay, time to back off. “That’s something only you can decide. For now, though, I was just going to suggest we work on some acquiring guidelines for papers and magazines.”

“I don’t need rules for everything.” Jasper shoved the paper down onto a nearby pile, which teetered and fell, scattering papers across the veranda. “Pigging hell!”

God, maybe it was the heat making Jasper crabby. It was certainly having an effect on Lewis. The sky was clear, and the August sun stood almost at its zenith, blasting the garden with a stultifying heat. Made it tougher and tougher to keep up the professional facade. To maintain the distance Lewis knew he needed to keep.

Jasper was still glaring at him, but unfortunately for Lewis, the expression suited him. Anger only increased his attractiveness—darkened his eyes and intensified his features—unlike Lewis, who got sweaty and red in the face.

Jasper slammed his hand down on the pile of papers. “I’m not some kind of weak-willed moron.”

“I never said you were. Listen…” Lewis couldn’t resist the temptation to reach out and place his own hand on Jasper’s. The scowl melted off Jasper’s face to be replaced by a hungry expression. Oh God, he should be resisting the urge to touch—he knew how it would be interpreted—but Jasper’s hands felt so good. “A set of acquiring guidelines is a tool, not a crutch. You come up with them, and you remain in control of them. If they don’t work for you, then you can change them.”

Jasper looked away into the garden, and when he looked back at Lewis—a fleeting glance that lingered just a little longer than usual—his eyes were sad. “I’m going to need to use them for the rest of my life, though, aren’t I?”

“It will get easier, with practice. Eventually you’ll internalise them so most of the time you won’t even have to go through it as a conscious thought process.”

“Is that what it’s like for you? When you’re clothes shopping?”

“Most of the time.” He didn’t think it would help Jasper to share just how challenging he’d found it to walk past his favourite Park Street menswear boutique just the previous day, even though he already had a new purchase from farther up the hill hanging off his arm. Easier to blame his weakness on the heat than admit how tempted he was to buy things for Jasper. “It comes and goes with different moods. But yes, most of the time I don’t have to think it through consciously.”

“So that isn’t a new shirt, then?”

“This?” Lewis fingered the crisp fabric guiltily. It was covered in a pattern of Swiss cheese plant leaves in soft blues and greys, and he hadn’t been able to resist at that price. “Well, yes. But I’m allowed to buy some new things, aren’t I? Just like you with your books. It’s about setting a level that’s manageable. I’m allowed to get something every week.”

“Fifty-two new garments every year? Your wardrobe must be overflowing. I don’t think I even own that many items of clothing. And that’s including socks.”

“Now why doesn’t that surprise me?” Lewis eyed Jasper’s threadbare old T-shirt. With the holes at the seams, it really was only fit for the bin, but Jasper still somehow managed to look sexy in it. Maybe it was that whole
who cares?
attitude he exuded when it came to his appearance. “That T-shirt ought to be condemned.”

A look of mischief dawned on Jasper’s face. “You want me to throw it away? Yeah, I suppose I could do that. I’ll have to take it off first, though.”

Before Lewis could protest, Jasper was lifting the shirt over his head, revealing a lean torso. Lewis couldn’t tear his gaze away, no matter how much he knew he ought to. Jasper was hairy. Not excessively so, but a pelt of dark hair swirled around his nipples and arrowed down towards his groin. Although the olivey skin there was paler than his face and forearms, he was still at least two shades darker than Lewis at his most tanned. What’s more, his physique was toned without being overly developed, which made an intoxicating change from the gym bunnies Lewis usually went for.

“See something interesting?” Jasper asked, and Lewis flushed to have been caught staring. Distraction required. Right. His gaze fell on the rumpled ball of cotton fabric Jasper had so carelessly tossed aside.

“Yeah. This.” He grabbed the T-shirt. “You said you could get rid of it.”

Jasper crossed his arms. “Yesss…” he started.

“No time like the present, then. I vote it goes on the compost heap. No good for anything else.”

“Well, hang on. I could… I could use it for cleaning rags.”

“You’ve got plenty of cleaning rags.” Lewis had encountered a whole drawer of them when looking for a teaspoon one time. “Compost. Come on. Betcha can’t catch me.” And with that, he took off, bounding down the steps into the garden.

For a moment, he didn’t think Jasper would be capable of unwinding enough to follow, but then there it was—the sound of Jasper’s bare feet slamming down the steps. Lewis glanced over his shoulder. Jasper was making short work of the distance between them, but while his chaser might be faster, Lewis would bet he was more agile.

He headed towards the mini orchard and swerved around a stand of fruit bushes, yelping as he narrowly missed having his arm lacerated by a rambling blackberry cane. Wouldn’t want it to hurt Jasper.

Lewis halted, turned, and the full weight of Jasper crashed into him, knocking him to the ground.

It took a dazed moment of catching his breath for Jasper to realise what had just happened. He was lying on top of Lewis, face-to-face, and somehow his glasses had been knocked off in their tumble. He raised himself up on his arms, relishing the sensation of his lower body pressed against Lewis’s, their legs tangled together. It was cooler under the shade of the fruit trees, and the grass grew lush and juicy, tickling his bare calves.

Jasper blinked, adjusting to the shade. Good thing he was short- rather than long-sighted, meaning he could still make out every freckle on Lewis’s cheeks, every lock of his hair gleaming like gilt against the long grass. Their eyes met, and instead of the apprehension Jasper had expected to find, Lewis radiated a desire to equal his own.