“Small detour to Denmark Street,” says Ben. “I need strings.”
We pause on the corner by Soho Square Gardens, a small green patch in the heart of Soho overlooked by buildings. People move around us like water around a boulder in a stream. We keep moving, just enough to stand next to a black wrought-iron fence marking the entry to the square. A broad area marked with pavers and dotted with snow-covered benches is inside the park gate. Beyond that is an expanse of trim lawn. In the summer, people bask and hang out here. Now, in the snow, no one lingers but us. The sensible aren’t sticking around.
Ben kisses me then and I groan softly, all too eager to respond in kind. My body reacts quicker than my mind, left at least three minutes behind.
And my cock’s already stirring, though this really is no place to carry on and get arrested for public indecency. We’re both greedy for kisses though, and I catch his wrists in their leather cuffs. Usually, I’m not one for public displays, especially out on the street, because who knows who’s watching, and even though two men kissing shouldn’t be an issue, unfortunately to some people it still is. But it’s the middle of the afternoon on a busy street and no one is paying us any attention when we straighten.
“Strings?” I ask.
“Strings,” Ben confirms. “For my guitar. I used my last set after the gig last night. Broke the E.”
“It happens to the best of us,” I say. “Nothing else broken, I hope. From last night or…earlier.”
Ben laughs, shaking his head. “No, mate. My arse is just fine. More than fine.”
My face warms and I grin—grin!—foolishly at him. “Excellent news.”
How appalling. I’m practically giddy. Most unbecoming.
He steals another quick kiss and then tugs my hand. “C’mon.”
We make our way up Denmark Street, a haven of guitar shops and music and kit that fills any musician’s heart with joy. Denmark Street is a true holiday year-round as far as I’m concerned, an escape from the rest of chaotic London. It’s early, but already the afternoon light has begun to fade.
“I’ve got to admit I’m a bit nervous being here with you,” I say. Maybe it’s a funny thing to admit to someone whom I’d been screwing relentlessly a few hours ago, but still.
The reality of this is starting to sink in:Ben fucking Campbell.
All right, so he’s not like David Bowie or Alex Turner or anybody like that. But for the indie rock scene, Ben Campbell and Halfpenny Rise are a big deal. As for me, I have mates and we jam weekly in a rehearsal space using stolen time carved from my schedule, because it’s the only thing I’ve got going these days. I dream of touring one day, but Halfpenny Rise has an album out and have toured the UK. Meanwhile, we’re trying to save up for a proper demo.
“People come to Denmark Street all the time.” He grins. “Nothing unusual about that.”
“I think it’s theyoupart that’s the new element.”
He pauses, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “Is that a problem?”
“Oh no. No. It’s great, believe me. I just can’t get over it that I’m here with you. And earlier. And all of it,” I say, shaking my head. “This sort of thing happens to other people and not me. You…you’re like some sort of high.”
Ben laughs, obviously thrilled. He squeezes my hand again. “You’re not so bad yourself, Charlie.”
“God, how embarrassing. That was far too earnest. I have a surly reputation to maintain. People will talk.”
“Aye? Why the surly reputation?” he asks curiously in his soft lilt, reaching out to adjust my scarf. It’s a genuine question, and he’s gazing at me in a way that I know I have his full attention. When was the last time someone looked at me—really looked at me—like that?
“Part of my sunny disposition?” I ask.
“Go on. I won’t judge, believe me. I’m far from perfect, too.”
I shrug. My natural prickliness is a survival skill, I’ve been told. For reasons, of course. But I’m not going to get into them with someone I’m just seeing once. Listening to my life is terribly dull and uninspiring. It’s time better spent doing other things that actually matter—like Ben.
“Oh, I don’t know. Just a lot on. Uni and work and my band. And…other things. Probably not things for a…a drink, or whatever we’re doing.”
“Mmm, a date after the first hookup. I love it.”
“We’re probably going about this all wrong. I mean, sex is one thing, and a date is quite another.” I shudder with alarm at the thought of a date, even with Ben. Dates are guaranteed disasters. I definitely don’t have time, even if he actually wanted to go on a date with me. There’s my family and the band and uni, never mind work. I mean, I have Carys to care for as my top priority. There’s no time for me or what I might want. Maybe one day there’ll be time for want.
And yet he’s so very tempting.
“I’d love to go on a date together,” Ben says with a drawl, eyes dancing. “And learn about you.”
