Blake glanced at him. “Something wrong?”
“I . . . guess it didn’t really strike me before, but . . . I, um, don’t usually bring my work home with me.” He paused. “I’ve never actually brought a john back to my flat.”
Blake halted. “Is this . . . not something we should be doing?”
Shrugging, Jason faced him. “We’re just off to pick up a few things. I guess I don’t see much harm in that.”
Blake didn’t move. “If you’re not comfortable, though, I can wait.” He pointed over his shoulder toward the Underground station. “You could meet me back at the station.”
“No. It’s silly. I mean, I’m flying to America with you, so I shouldn’t be so—”
“Jason.” Blake struggled not to put a reassuring hand on his arm. “If you’re not comfortable, say so. It won’t change anything. I promise.”
Jason studied him for a moment. Blake was pretty sure he’d be waiting at the Tube station, which was fine—just give me the word.
To his surprise, though, Jason nodded sharply in the direction they’d been heading, and without a word, started walking once more. Blake fell into step beside him, and Jason didn’t hesitate again, not even as they followed the path that led from the street to a narrow, three-story stone building. The place had one of those blue plaques outside indicating someone famous had grown up or died here, or that something significant happened here, but Blake was a little too focused on the someone in front of him to read it.
Jason keyed them into his flat. The place was small, but not cramped: Just the right size for a bachelor with no roommates. Jason was tidy, particularly considering he hadn’t had a chance to do a once-over before Blake showed up. The kitchen was clean apart from a couple of coffee cups in the drying rack, and the pile of opened and unopened mail on the table was certainly thinner than the one on Blake’s desk back home. A plain plastic magnet held a dentist reminder to the refrigerator door, and a calendar had various dates circled, crossed off, or filled in with tight, angular handwriting beneath a postcard-picturesque image of beach and palm trees.
After seeing Jason only in hotels and Market Garden, it was odd to see his natural habitat.
“Something wrong?”
“What?” Blake shook his head. “No. I guess it’s always interesting to see someone’s place for the first time.”
Jason smiled. “Guess I’ll get to do the same tomorrow, won’t I?”
Smiling back, Blake nodded. “I guess you will.”
Jason led him through the kitchen and a living area to the bedroom. Like the rest of the flat, it was a tight fit, but seemed perfect for Jason.
It wasn’t the same bed and wall that had been in the background while Jason had fooled around with Tristan and Jared. That may have been a hotel room. Maybe even their flat. Not this place, though.
Jason pulled open the wardrobe door, and pursed his lips. “I suppose now would be a good time to ask how many days I should pack for?”
“Oh. Yeah. Um.” Blake paused. “How long do you want to stay?”
“Blake.” Jason eyed him. “I am far too British to answer that question. You’re the host. You tell me.”
“Pack for, say, a week. I’ll book your return ticket a week out, and if we agree to stay longer, I’ll reschedule it and we can do laundry if need be.”
“All right.”
While Jason packed, Blake scanned his surroundings, intrigued by these little tidbits that added up to Jason’s life away from Market Garden. An old-school Godzilla poster on the wall. Some framed photos that must’ve been family and friends. Beside the door, the lower shelves of a bookcase held two rows of neatly arranged books and DVDs.
On the upper shelves, a pair of cuff links caught his eye.
Goose bumps prickled Blake’s neck. Oh, what a memorable night that was.
His gaze drifted to the other seemingly random objects, all laid out like a raven’s hoard of shiny things. A raven with expensive taste, too. There was another set of cuff links inlaid with what appeared to be diamonds. A gold bracelet. A money clip with the initial J engraved in it.
What had those nights been like? What did Jason think of when he saw his souvenirs? Each bauble must’ve had a story behind it, but was there sentimental value attached? For Jason or for the man he’d bartered with?
“Blake?”
He turned, and Jason looked past him. A small smile appeared on his lips, somehow managing to be both sly and sheepish at the same time. “You found my collection, I see.”
“I did. Well, I mean, the cuff links caught my eye, so . . .”
“I suppose they would be familiar.” Jason came closer and gazed at his cache of trophies. Among them was a plain white key card, like the one Blake used for his hotel room, but without any logo or identifying remarks.
He gestured at it. “What’s that for?”
“Oh, that?” Jason picked up the key and turned it between his fingers. “Doesn’t look like much, but it opens a penthouse in Dubai.”