Men of London 06 - Flying Solo (9 page)

“Who
fucking knocked your teeth out?” Gibson said, tiger-cub fierce. Maxwell thought he looked adorable.

“Bullies, other street kids, gang members, take your pick. You were easy pickings if you were a street kid. Fair game for anyone. Including perverts and guys looking for a fuck or a blowjob.” Maxwell shrugged. “You learnt to run, and you learnt to fight back. You pick up some tricks on how to stay safe and protect yourself.”

His chest tightened. Those days had been dark, lonely and scary. Trying to stay out of the gangs who promised what looked like paradise—somewhere warm to sleep and food—yet wanted your life and soul in return, being asked to do unspeakable things…it hadn’t been an easy life. But Maxwell had managed to rise above it. He’d done things he wasn’t proud of, but he’d survived. And he had soul scars hidden under the bluster and bonhomie of Maxwell Lewis.

Gibson walked over to him and wrapped slim arms around him in a hug. “You’re amazing,” he whispered against Maxwell’s ear. “I’m sorry you went through all that without any family around to help.”

Maxwell closed his eyes, savouring the scent of soap and man even as the memories came flooding back and twisted his soul. Gibson made him want to share things. “My mum died in childbirth with me. I only had my dad and my older brother Kent and we were close.” He hugged Gibson tighter. “They went on a trip to Switzerland in 2000 for the weekend. I was in school so couldn’t make it. There was this huge mudslide in the Alpines and they were both killed.”

Gibson made a small sound of distress. “Oh, God, that’s awful. You went into foster care?”

Maxwell sighed. “Yeah. It wasn’t that bad but Levi convinced me it was and we ran away. I was stupid. And by the time I realised the grass wasn’t greener…” his voice tailed away “It was too late to go back. I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t leave Levi. He was my best friend. He needed me.”

For a moment both men stood there in each other’s arms and then Maxwell stepped back. There’d been enough emotional baggage unpacked. He needed caffeine.

“You want more coffee? I can use some more.” He wandered to the kitchen and busied himself refreshing his cup. Gibson laid his mug down on the counter and watched Maxwell fill it up.

“What made you become a flight attendant?”

Maxwell stirred sugar into Gibson’s drink. “I left school, worked various jobs, got a job in a travel agency. I loved seeing the other parts of the world. It was so far removed from where I’d been so I decided I wanted to see it too.” He handed Gibson his mug. “I applied to the airline four years ago and got accepted. And here I am.”

He plonked himself down on the still unmade bed-couch. “Now you know about me. What about you? Who is Gibson Henry?”

Gibson sat cross-legged on the bed as he sipped his coffee. “I’m perfectly ordinary. I design games, own a company with my best friend Jack, travel around meeting sexy flight attendants and blowing them in the loo.” He grinned. “My parents are still alive and live near Edinburgh with my brother.”

“And you never see the same man twice.” Maxwell smiled at him but he didn’t feel smiley. “And there’s nothing ordinary about you.”

Gibson flushed. “I’m a little commitment-phobic,” he admitted. “I’m too young to settle down and I have a lot I want to do still. Jack and I want to finish designing
Camp Queen
so it can win the Croesus Gaming Award.” His eyes gleamed with avarice. “It’s a big award in the industry and if we get it, it could mean a lot of investment into the company so we can develop more games and grow. Perhaps even win a bigger award. We missed out on winning the Croesus with one of our previous games,
Blockshock
, when it was nominated. I want to win this time. It would be a real coup for an LGBT game to win it, and mean a lot to me personally too. It has to be the best it can be.”

His face shone with hope and thoughts of obviously getting something that meant a lot to him. Maxwell hoped his dream would come true for him and one day he might get to see Gibson’s expression if he actually won.

Maxwell’s phone rang again, and with a pang of guilt, he realised he hadn’t called Grant back yet. He answered and winced at the peeved voice of his boss.

“Thank you
so
much for answering your phone,” the syrupy voice echoed down the line.

Maxwell rolled his eyes. “Sarcasm is wasted on me, you know that. I deflect it to something I can use, like, ‘Oh do you remember you gave me time off and this happens to be my time-off day—one of three, if I’m not mistaken.” He winked at Gibson. “Whaddya want?”

“Fiona has food poisoning. She can’t make the late flight to Spain tonight unless we want her upchucking all over the passengers. I wondered if you wanted the shift and I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh yeah? How?” Maxwell stood up, held the phone to his ear with his shoulder and stretched. He was gratified to see Gibson’s eyes follow the movement of his tee shirt and fix on the treasure trail on his belly.

Yep. I’ve still got it. He wants me.

“You can still have your three days off, and you’ll get a full day for the one shift tonight. That’s a bargain.”

In Grant terms, it was indeed a bargain. He was tight fisted with his ‘in lieu’ arrangements on holiday. “Okay. I’ll be there later for the shift. Eight pm, yes?”

“Thanks Max.” Grant sounded relieved. “I appreciate that. See you later then.” He rang off and Maxwell threw his phone on the bed.

“Working tonight then?” Gibson asked. “That sucks.”

Maxwell blew out his cheeks. “I could use the money, and I’ve nothing else planned so why not.” He looked down at Gibson. “What are your plans for the weekend?”

“I’ve got work to do on the game today and Jack and I are going to a friend’s house tonight for a get together. Tomorrow I’ll be back working on
Camp Queen
again.” He blew back a piece of hair that had fallen over his forehead. “More drawing. More coding. More fine tuning. It’s a never-ending process but God, I love it.”

The passion for his art clearly reflected on Gibson’s face and envy pinged in Maxwell’s chest. He loved his job, but not like this. Not with the overwhelming ‘kick it to the curb’ intensity showing in Gibson.

When he’d been a kid, all Maxwell had wanted to do when he grew up was be a doctor. He wanted to wear the white coat and heal people, make sure they didn’t die from some stupid thing like amniotic fluid embolisms—the thing that had killed his mother when he’d been born. He knew it hadn’t been his fault; his dad had told him over and over again he wasn’t to blame in any way, but still. It hurt knowing his birth had killed her.

That chance had disappeared with the death of the rest of his family and instead, his path had gone a different route.

“Sounds cool. And you get to go to a party in between. Is Jack gay too?”

Gibson snorted loudly. “God, no. He’s got a girlfriend, Beth. They’re mad about each other. Jack and I have been buddies since secondary school.” Gibson smiled fondly. “He’s a bit like you, a white knight, but the straight version. Always fighting my corner and rescuing me from scrapes.” His lips pursed adorably. “I seem to have a habit of getting them into them.”

“And why do I believe that?” Maxwell murmured in amusement.

Gibson giggled and Maxwell fell even harder down the slippery slope of wanting to keep him. “Oh, God, I remember once this kid at school was picking on me because of my size. I mean I’m not saying I’m a lightweight or anything but I’m a computer geek for God’s sake, not a fighter. Jack is a big guy. He’s not fat but he’s scary. We were always called Laurel and Hardy at school because of the size difference. Anyway, this guy punched me, a couple of times and Jack comes barrelling across the quadrant and punched his lights out. I swear the bullying dick flew a hundred feet through the air.”

Maxwell’s blood was boiling at the thought of anyone punching Gibson not once, but twice. “Jack sounds like a prince,” he growled. “I’m glad you have someone like him looking out for you.”

“Yeah, he’s the best. He had a hernia though when he saw me in this outfit. He worries about me.” Gibson smirked. “I’ll cute ’em to death if anyone tried to mess with me.” He leaned forward on his hands and knees and waggled his bum.

Maxwell’s groin took notice of the sexy gesture and his pulse rate increased to land speed record. “Oh yes. On the scale of one to ten of cuteness, you overshoot the mark.”

Gibson raised an eyebrow. “I have a tendency to do that. Overshoot.” His peal of laughter made Maxwell snigger.

“God, you are incorrigible.” Maxwell was getting more and more out of depth with this man. “Anyway, breakfast. Do you want some?”

Gibson shook his head in regret. “I can’t. I need to get home, get on the laptop. My fingers are itchy to get some work done. Plus these damn shorts are cutting my balls in half so I need to change.” He smiled up at Maxwell as he clambered off the bed. “Best I get off.”

Gibson looked around the messy room, and spotted his coat. “I guess I should pop this on over the outfit so I don’t get had up for indecent exposure. Or get beaten up or mugged. That wouldn’t do. I’d have to call my crazy nut-kicking guy to help me out again.” He chortled and as he shrugged into his coat, Maxwell’s sense of loss grew stronger.

“Oh, okay. Well, thanks for last night and this morning. I enjoyed having you over.”

Gibson grinned at him. “It was a pleasure. Thanks again for the whole
Karate Kid
thing at the club.”

He picked up his bum bag and clipped around his waist. He reached out and framed Maxwell’s face in warm hands as he kissed him. Maxwell closed his eyes and pretended, for one split second, that Gibson was his. He infused all the longing in his heart into the kiss and when they finally split apart, Gibson looked dazed.

“Great kiss. Whoever gets you one day will be one lucky guy.” Those well-meaning yet careless words cut Maxwell to the quick.

He tried to smile. “Yep, one day he won’t know what hit him.”

Gibson flapped a hand. “Okay then. See ya around, Max. Thanks for having me.”

Gibson was gone in a flash of blond hair and white teeth, leaving Maxwell with a heart emptier than it had ever been before. Gibson hadn’t even bothered to give him his number. Maxwell scowled darkly. Even though he had it already, the implications rattled in his head like a loose marble. It was obvious Gibson had seen this as just a stray hook–up, and Maxwell was damned if he was going to beg for more from the man. He did have some pride left.

Gibson wheeled his suitcase into his flat at midday, and heaved a sigh of relief at being home. The flight to Dublin had been an eventful one. Slotting his case in the corner of the hallway, with a promise to himself to unpack later, he went straight to the fridge and got out a beer. He opened it and took a large, thirsty swig.

“Christ, that was the flight from hell,” he muttered grumpily as he slumped down at the kitchen breakfast nook on a stool. “I am never flying WeGo Air ever again.”

“I don’t know why you changed it in the first place, dumb arse.” Jack wandered into the room, clad in sweatpants, scratching his belly and yawning. “I told you to stick with Target. They’re far better.” Jack yawned again and opened the fridge. He took out a half-empty bottle of orange juice and drank it down.

Gibson knew why he’d changed airlines but he wasn’t going to tell Jack the real reason. Maxwell Lewis had been on his mind, creeping in like an insidious flame flicking at his heart, and he’d tried to ignore it. Cruz had noticed Gibson’s man crush too and given him hell too about it. His fiery little friend had told him in no uncertain terms he was being a ‘pathetic idiot’ trying to avoid something his heart wanted, all uttered in Cruz’ adorable Spanish accent. Gibson wasn’t comfortable thinking of Max as something permanent.

“Change is good,” Gibson said waspishly as he raised his beer to his lips and took another swallow. “Variety is the spice of life and all that crap.”

“Yeah?” Jack grinned slyly. “It didn’t have anything to do with you being hung up on that cute air steward guy you fucked then?” He sniggered as Gibson felt his face flush.

God, was he that transparent about his infatuation?

“I am so not
hung up
on him,” Gibson snapped. “And we didn’t fuck. He didn’t want to.” He heard the pique in his voice and too late he realised he’d played straight into Jack’s hands. His friend was like a Venus flytrap, inviting the unaware into its inviting depths only to be devoured to the bone.

Jack nodded sagely, blue eyes twinkling. “Oh, God. The great Gibson Henry being turned down for a fuck. What
is
the world coming to?” He cackled loudly at Gibson’s rude gesture. “Gib, you haven’t stopped talking about Max this, Max that. Then you went all quiet, and next I knew you’d changed airlines. I knew something was up.”

He walked past and ruffled and ruffled Gibson’s hair, which earned Jack a glare. “He got under your skin. Admit it. Changing your flight was your way of saying you don’t want to care about seeing him again when you do. You have a reputation to keep up, don’t you?” His tone grew admiring. “I have to say, I’ve never seen you like this over one guy. He must be something else. And I want to shake his hand when I see him.”