“Wait, so only one guy came into Market Garden wearing a red tie or a Rolex?”
“Well, no. I think there’s three or four regulars these days called Wingtip. Doesn’t really separate them from the population at large, but if Raoul tells me that Pocket Square is waiting for me at a booth, it’s fairly easy to pick him out. You were a little more difficult because you can’t always readily see someone’s watch, and you’re hardly the only one to wear something like that into the Garden. But then you approached me, and you had an American accent. So I asked you the time, and sure enough . . .” He pointed toward the watch.
Blake’s mind went back to the night he’d met Jason. “That does explain it.”
“They did give me an idea of what you looked like, too, but the watch was the giveaway.” Jason glanced at it. “So what made you go for that particular one, anyway? I mean, there are Rolexes, and there are . . . Rolexes.”
“Yeah, I thought about going for one of the more understated ones, but once I started getting serious about buying one, I decided, go big or go home. I’d promised myself in college I’d get one once I was in a position to afford one, but when that happened, it hadn’t been that long since I’d had to move back into my mom’s house to get back on my feet. And since I was on my feet again, I guess it was . . . kind of a period of figuring out that not only had I made it, but that even after I’d fallen flat on my face, I’d recovered and was well on my way to the top. I’d really made it.”
“Never looked back?”
“I . . . wouldn’t say that.” His gaze shifted toward the watch. He never had forgotten the feeling of putting it on for the first time, and realizing it could be his, free and clear, without putting so much as a dent in his finances. What had begun as a moment of indulgent tire-kicking had become a milestone—a point at which his rocky financial past was truly behind him. He’d bought the watch that night. A week later, he’d paid off his mother’s house.
He shook himself. “I look back all the time, actually. I might buy a lot of fancy toys and spend loads of money, but a day doesn’t go by that I don’t remember what it was like before.”
Jason studied him. Then he reached over and picked up the watch. He gazed at it almost reverently as he traced the bezel and the bracelet with his thumb. “Guess I never thought of something like this as being sentimental.”
“I didn’t either. Not until about three seconds before I decided to buy it.”
Jason nodded. “And here I thought most people got tattoos to commemorate things.”
Blake laughed. “I think I’ll stick with the watch.”
“Can’t blame you.” Jason laid the watch beside the bedside lamp, again setting it down so carefully it barely rattled as it came to rest on the hard surface.
He turned on his side, facing Blake. “So when do you fly out?”
“You mean, when do we fly out?”
Jason swept his tongue across his lips. “Yeah.”
“Tomorrow afternoon.” Blake smiled. “Though I should call tonight and make sure your seat is properly upgraded.”
Grinning, Jason slid his arm over Blake’s chest. “And if there aren’t any first-class seats available?”
“We’ll change flights.” Blake ran his hand up Jason’s arm. “After this evening, there’s no way in hell you’re flying anything less than first class.”
Jason chuckled. “Well, I suppose I should go by my flat and pack a few things.” He paused. “You’re welcome to come along, if you’d like.”
“You don’t mind me coming to your place?”
Jason shrugged. “You’re taking me to yours.”
“That’s true. I suppose we should get dressed, then.”
As they stepped off the train onto the Underground platform at the South Kensington station, Blake fought a grin. He couldn’t help being mildly amused at the situation—less than an hour ago, they’d been naked in bed with two other men, having some of the most unbelievable sex of his entire life, and now they were here, in public, surrounded by people who had no reason to give them a second look. His Puritan roots ran deep enough to make him aware of how many sins they’d just committed, but not deep enough to make him ashamed of them.
He was especially unashamed—maybe even proud—when, on the way out of the station, he caught a pretty boy in leather and Armani giving Jason’s ass a look.
Sorry, dude. He’s with me tonight.
Oh to hell with it—Blake stopped fighting that grin.
Jason furrowed his brow. “What?”
“Hmm?”
“You’re smirking.”
“What? No I’m not.”
The arched eyebrow called bullshit.
Blake laughed, waving a hand. “Nothing. Nothing.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Ever have one of those thoughts that makes perfect sense to you, and makes you laugh, but if you tried to explain it, you’d sound like an idiot?”
“From time to time, yes.”
“That.”
Jason nodded. “Fair enough.” He gestured up ahead. “We’re not far. Another couple of blocks.” But then his gait slowed a bit.