“I am. I will. To be honest,” said Spencer, looking down at their joined hands, “I’m just enjoying this right now. You and me. I really like you, Marshall.”
Marshall smiled fondly while stroking his thumb across the back of Spencer’s hand.
“I really like you, too. And I’m looking forward to having you in my bed tonight.”
“Yeah, Ithoughtyou might be up here,” came a loud, harsh voice from the doorway. Marshall instantly pulled his hand away, leaving Spencer surprised at the absence of warmth.
Across the room, the young man in the newspaper photographed with Marshall, Joey Hollingbroke, glared with disgust at them. He appeared thin and drawn, dishevelled in dirty jeans and a parka jacket that had seen better days. His dark eyes glowered at Spencer for a second before returning to Marshall. “Didn’t waste any time replacing me, did you?”
“I am very sorry, Mr Highlander,” said Arnab, who had appeared behind Joey, looking mortified. “He asked if you are here and I remember he is your friend.”
Spencer noticed the blood had drained from Marshall’s face.
“It’s fine, Arnab. He’ll only be a minute,” said Marshall, and Arnab took that as his cue to leave. Marshall’s eyes came to rest on Spencer. “I’m sorry about this, Spence.”
“Yeah, he’ssorryabout this,Spence. Sorry about his fucked-up ex-boyfriend showing up, embarrassing him in public again.”
“What do you want, Joe?” asked Marshall patiently.
“Respect. Loyalty. A little attention would be nice. The usual things. I saw you on the box, by the way. Heard what you said.”
Spencer noticed Joey’s unsteady stance in the doorway, his left hand shaking noticeably. What with that and the ashen complexion and bloodshot eyes, Spencer wondered if Joey might be drunk or might have taken something.
“I was simply defending myself, Joe.”
“Yeah, you’re good at that, aren’t you? Not good at defending other people, though, are you? You should bear that in mind,Spence, for when your time comes.”
“Are you using again, Joe?” asked Marshall.
“None of your fucking business. Why haven’t you called?”
“I’ve called you countless times. But you either don’t answer, or you hang up.”
Joe stared hard at Marshall then, as though trying to process the words.
“Were you trying to ruin me, Joe? Trying to destroy my career, my reputation? Was that your intention? Because that’s what all this felt like.”
Joe’s face crumpled then, and he began to sob uncontrollably. A seat scraping out from the table caught Spencer’s attention as Marshall strode across the room and took Joe in his arms. Joe tried to push him away, but Spencer had been in that embrace before, and—with a tinge of jealousy—knew its strength and comfort. After a few moments, Spencer began to feel awkward, sitting and observing the spectacle. Marshall must have sensed the same thing because, still holding Joe, he turned to Spencer.
“Spence, I can’t leave him like this. I need to get him home. I’m really sorry. Can we take a rain check?”
Joe was hurting. He could see that clearly. And Marshall had a big heart. Even if he wanted to, what else could he say?
“Of course.”
“Should I ask Arnab to pack the food for you?”
Spencer had forgotten entirely about the food but felt accepting the offer might make Marshall feel better.
“That would be great.”
In truth, Spencer’s appetite had all but evaporated. With a sinking feeling, he realised the evening he had been anticipating, had been looking forward to with excitement all day—allweek—had just been pulled out from under him.
“I’m going to get an Uber,” said Marshall, waving his phone at Spencer. “Want me to order you one?”
“It’s okay. I can find my own way home.”
“Come on, Spence. I insist. At least let me send you home safely.”
