And every time a new message showed up, he totally wasn’t hoping that it was one of his clients or business partners telling him that his next trip to London needed to be moved up. Or one from Jason saying that his flight had been canceled.
The best part? The airline thoughtfully kept him up-to-date on Jason’s flight. When a message came through that the flight was boarding, Blake closed his laptop, and wondered why the hell it was so hard to let Jason go.
The next morning, while he waited for the train, he checked his email, and he had one from Jason.
Made it to London—thanks again for a lovely week.
Blake smiled. Once he was situated on the train, he replied, Glad you made it safely. Looking forward to seeing you next time I’m in town.
By the time he’d arrived in the office, there’d been no response. That wasn’t a huge shock. Jason had probably staggered through the Underground, collapsed in his flat, and was sleeping off the monstrous jet lag and whatever was left of his flu.
A few hours later, Jason sent him another message, and they chatted for a while about his flight, some bullshit he’d encountered going through customs, and how Blake had, thus far, avoided that evil bug.
And then . . . nothing.
No emails. No texts.
A day went by. Another. Still another. Even when Jason’s flu did finally kick in and knock Blake flat, he diligently checked his email and texts, but nothing came.
After a full week, Blake was still coughing, but he was mostly over it, and he still hadn’t heard from Jason. At least a million times, he started typing an email, but then deleted it. He wanted to be sure Jason was okay, but where were the boundaries in this not-at-all-defined relationship? Where was the line between clingy and concerned? And assuming Jason was all right—knock on wood—at what point could Blake be justifiably irritated by the sudden lack of contact?
Near the end of the second week, the message seemed clear, and it hit Blake right in the balls.
Maybe bringing Jason here had been a mistake. Blake had gotten more accustomed to his presence than he’d had any right to. The dry British wit. The way he could casually turn a long customs line, a homophobic asshole, or a traffic jam into a joke. His voice, his presence, the way he smiled—everything about him had Blake’s brain tangled up in knots.
Now that he was gone, Jason’s absence was conspicuous everywhere. The empty passenger seat. The sofa. The bed. Even the place where he’d left his toiletry bag on the bathroom counter, or where his toothbrush and razor had been laid neatly beside the sink.
The garage was empty and silent whenever Blake walked in, but each time his dress shoes clicked on the concrete, he often caught himself pausing now and then as if he really had heard a faint echo of Jason cursing and moaning while getting fucked on the Lamborghini.
Get over it, he ordered himself one morning as he walked out to the garage like he did every morning. He didn’t allow himself so much as a glance at the Lamborghini, which he’d recovered. He climbed into the Porsche, revved the engine to drown out voices that weren’t there, and headed to work like he always did.
He parked in the usual place near the train station, walked the usual route, and took his usual place on the platform. And as he always did while he waited, he checked his email.
And nearly dropped his phone.
Jason.
He opened the message.
Sorry for the radio silence—been a busy couple of weeks.
He typed back, It’s ok. Hope it’s been a good kind of busy?
A moment later: Def. good. LOL Lucrative.
Ah, that explained it.
First there was relief that Jason was all right and still in contact. Then came a weird panicky feeling. A sense of urgency that came out of nowhere.
I need to see him.
I need to see him. Now.
In the back of his mind, some sort of doomsday clock was suddenly ticking, as if he didn’t just need to see Jason, he needed to see him soon before . . .
Before what? Before Jason went to work and made money doing the job Blake had known about from the start? Why did the thought of that fill him with panic?
His phone vibrated, signaling that another message had come into his inbox, which was still open on the screen.
I’ll be on Skype tonight if you want to chat.
Then and there, Blake almost called in sick so he could go home and get on Skype, but that would’ve been stupid. He’d already taken too much time off as it was. Between Jason’s visit and the flu, he’d missed quite a few days, and he didn’t need to press his business partners’ good will. Especially not with several meetings coming up with potential new clients.
And yet, he was still considering it.
He was losing his damned mind, wasn’t he?
Maybe, but he wasn’t going to fuck up his job, so he wrote back, Yeah, I’ll be home at my usual time.
One thing was for damn sure—he was going to be useless for the entire day.