But the prospect of casual sex didn’t excite him like it usually did. It exhausted him. Reminded him that after years of happily exploring the pool of available men in New York and London, his list of desirable people had suddenly collapsed to one. One who’d all but told him to go fuck himself.
Blake sighed and sat up, eyes fixed on the wall, but unfocused. He wasn’t going out. Not for sex, not for a drink, not for a stroll through a museum. Right now, he needed to get away from London like Jason had needed to get away from him last night. For that matter, he needed to stay away. Jason was done with him. Blake was done with Market Garden. That place wasn’t good for his sanity anymore.
First things first—time to get out of the city. He picked up the phone off the bedside table and called the number on the back of his frequent flyer card. When he reached a customer service rep, he said, “I’d like to reschedule my flight from Heathrow to Newark, please.” He paused. “Departing as soon as possible.”
The airline was able to find him a seat on a plane leaving that afternoon, which was enough to light a fire under Blake’s lethargic ass. Showered, shaved, and dressed, he checked out of his room an hour after getting off the phone. The clerk called him a cab, and when it arrived, Blake dropped into the backseat, his overnight bag still slung over his shoulder.
“Heathrow, please. Terminal two.”
The cab nodded and inched his way into the congested streets of London.
For a long time, Blake gazed out the window, watching the familiar scenery go by. He’d grown to love this town over the last couple of years, and sooner or later, he’d be able to see it all again without everything adding up to Jason. He’d get over him the same way he’d gotten all the guys who’d come before him. Actual boyfriends who he’d been with for months or the better part of a year or two. Eventually, Jason would fade into the past.
The same way that adjustable rate mortgage would eventually go back down before the bank foreclosed.
Cursing under his breath, Blake massaged his stiff neck. Maybe what he needed was a damned therapist. Or a drink. Or a therapist who served booze. Something to get his mind off Jason and back in the real world where smart men didn’t fly halfway around the world to profess their love to someone who was in it for the money.
He couldn’t hold that against Jason. That had been the deal, after all. Those were the terms and conditions they’d agreed upon from the start, and he could hardly begrudge Jason for backing away when Blake tried to add a clause he wanted nothing to do with.
Well. Whatever.
It was over. In a few hours, he’d be on his way back to the States, and maybe he could put more effort into convincing his British clients to handle their meetings via Skype from now on.
The cab picked up speed, moving from one of London’s narrow side streets onto the British equivalent of a freeway. The city faded behind them, and the signs started pointing toward Heathrow.
Good. For once in his life, he was going the right way.
To kill time, he took out his phone to check his email.
And the instant his inbox opened, his eyes darted to the third message on the list.
Jason.
Blake’s heart jumped into his throat. It had been sent a few hours ago. Around three in the morning. He couldn’t imagine Jason being awake at that hour unless he’d been on his way home from seeing a client.
That thought made him flinch. Why the hell would Jason email him after he’d been with a client? To rub it in? Warn him against showing his face at Market Garden?
His thumb hovered over the message.
Read it? Delete it? Read it? Delete it?
Oh what the hell. He opened the email, and found a single line of text:
Are you still in London?
There was no guarantee Jason was on his email, so Blake texted him instead.
Still in town.
Within seconds, Jason started typing, sending Blake’s heart rate skyward.
Can we talk?
Blake pursed his lips. What was left to talk about?
He glanced up as a sign for Heathrow—Terminal 2 whipped past.
When? I’m on my way to Heathrow.
Typing. Typing. Typing.
The exit was coming up fast. Come on, Jason . . .
Then: Meet me at West Kensington Station? I can be there in 20.
Blake chewed his lip. He was due to arrive at the airport much earlier than he needed to, with time to check in, get through security, and have a leisurely lunch. If he went back into London now, he could still make his flight, depending on how long it took Jason to say his piece, but he’d be cutting it close. If they needed more than the few minutes they’d spent in the alley last night, he’d miss his plane for sure.
But flights could be rescheduled. This conversation with Jason might be a one-shot deal. And he did want to settle this now. They could make peace, maybe even be friends. At the very least, he’d sleep a lot better knowing they’d put this thing to bed once and for all.