Misfits Read online

  “Why would you think that?” Jake held out his hand. “I’m Jake.”

  “I know.” Tom met his grasp. Felt a spark, like Jake’s excess energy had travelled into him. “It said so on your name tag.”

  Jake twitched and a series of clicking noises escaped him so fast Tom wondered if he’d imagined them. “Yeah, sorry your dinner was pants. The food is always crap in there.”

  “It’s not your fault. You tried to warn me.”

  “Not on purpose. TS makes me brutally honest.”

  “TS?” Tom floundered a moment and released Jake’s electric hand. The loss of contact defogged his brain. “Oh, you mean your Tourette’s.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Jake shot Tom a glance that had “idiot” written all over it. Tom let him have that one. “I don’t think it’s your Toure . . . sorry, TS, that makes you a terrible waiter.”

  Jake leaned forwards. “Oh yeah? What did I do that was so bad?”

  Up close, he was even more beautiful than Tom had first imagined. Dark, soulful eyes. Wavy hair that hung a little too long. And he smelled good, like cigarettes and youth.

  Tom covered his fascination with a pull on his beer. “It’s not what you do; it’s how you do it. As a guest, I shouldn’t know that standing in front of me is the last place on earth you want to be.”

  “Fly him to the moon.”

  “Exactly.”

  Jake rolled his eyes. “Don’t indulge me. That’s one of my favourite tics. If you play along, I’ll forget I’m doing it and they’ll all come out.”

  “Okay . . .” Jake was clearly comfortable talking about his TS. “Is that so bad? The tics, I mean.” Tom gestured around. “No one seems to notice them.”

  “That’s because I’ve found my volume switch. I don’t shout anymore, at least not often. A few years ago, I hardly left my bedsit.”

  “Volume switch?”

  “Yep. I didn’t want to be a weirdo shouting in the corner all the time, so I learned to mute myself. I had to. It was either that, or walk around with my mouth taped shut, though I did do that for a few months.”

  The image made Tom smile, but the sadness in Jake’s dark gaze tempered it. “So what do you hate so much about where you work? What put that frown on your face before you even got to me?”

  “What do you care?”

  Tom shrugged. It was a fair question. “Call it research. I’m in the industry.”

  “The . . . wankers . . . restaurant industry?” Tom nodded and Jake considered his question. “I hate being told to be the same as everyone else,” he said eventually.

  “A chain restaurant probably isn’t the best place for you, then. They make every high street look the same.”

  Jake huffed his agreement. “The company I work for has five pubs in the city, and they’re all identical. The food, the decor. They even have a script to make us all sound like robots. Winds me up.”

  This time, Tom didn’t bite back his smile. Jake’s gripe reinforced the puzzle Tom had been pondering all day. “So if you could redevelop the restaurant you worked in, how would you do it?”

  “I wouldn’t. I don’t care enough. I’m only working there because it was the only job I could get.”

  “Maybe you would care if it was a concept you liked,” Tom countered. “Food you liked, or an ethos you believed in.”

  Jake snorted, but it was hard to tell if it was a tic or a reaction to Tom’s words. He waited a moment, but Jake said no more, so Tom drained his drink and went to the bar for another round.

  Jake eyed him when he got back. “You know, you look way too young to care about all this business bollocks.”

  “I’m thirty.” Tom pondered Jake’s age. His slender frame and smooth skin made him look eighteen, but his eyes gave him away. He’d seen more of the world than he should’ve done. “What about you?”

  “Twenty-four,” Jake said. “Too young for you?”

  “Depends what I was going to do with you.”

  The words slipped out before Tom could stop them, aided by three pints of strong lager. In his head, he heard Cass laugh. Smooth.

  Tom waited for Jake to rebuke him. Call him a pervy twat. Perhaps even get up and leave.

  But Jake just grinned and put his elbows on the table. “I reckon you should start at the top and work your way down.”

  Jake was joking, at least Tom thought he was, but the loaded exchange changed the tone of their conversation, and as the beer flowed, the air between them got hotter. It was nearly midnight before Tom realised he’d forgotten to go home.

  He leaned away from Jake with a rueful smile. Somehow, they’d ended up almost nose to nose. “I should get going.”

  Jake stood and passed Tom the jumper he’d taken off during their conversation. “Yeah, me too.”

  They left the pub and stepped out onto the street. Tom shivered. The temperature had dropped while they’d been holed up inside. Jake put a cigarette in his mouth. Lit it. “Don’t mind, do you?”

  “Have at it.” Tom didn’t know what else to say. It was late, but he wasn’t ready for the night to end. “Um, Tube station?”

  “Sure.”

  They walked to Camden Town Station. Jake twitched a lot as they ambled along. Tom wondered why. In the pub, Jake’s tics had all but disappeared—or maybe Tom had just grown used to them—but outside on the street, it was clear Jake struggled. After a while, Tom took Jake’s arm. Whether it helped or not, he couldn’t tell.

  Jake calmed somewhat when they got underground. He turned to Tom and smiled. “Thanks. It helps when someone touches me. Give me something to focus on.”

  Tom scanned his Oyster card and slipped through the barriers. He waited for Jake to do the same before he shrugged. “No worries, providing you don’t mind a stranger touching you.”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

  Tom stared at Jake. He didn’t believe that for a second. Jake was gorgeous, and even with the TS wreaking havoc through his nervous system, he oozed sex appeal. Who in their right mind wouldn’t want to touch him?

  “I’m surprised, actually, that you walked this far with me. Most people lose their nerve when we get outside.”

  Tom frowned, leading the way to the platform. “Is it worse outside?”

  “Sometimes. Depends on the situation. My tics are coming out now because I’m tired, but earlier, when I found you in the bar, I was nervous . . .”

  “And when you were working, you were pissed off, right?”

  “Right.” Jake leaned against the grubby platform wall. “That was extreme, though. It’s been a while since I’ve lost my shit that much.”

  Tom mirrored Jake’s position. He closed his eyes briefly, sure he could feel the warmth of Jake’s body. “What happened? I mean, I know you hate your job, and I saw the plates on the floor, but what made it worse today than any other day?”

  “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “You make me want to.”

  Jake smirked. “Fair enough. If you must know, I was pissed off because the barman stole my tip from my biggest table. The bloke’s a prick, and when I called him out on it, I ended up ticking like a fucking lunatic instead. I tried to calm down, but then some old bird tripped me up. My boss called me an idiot, and the TS got away from me after that.”

  “It must be hard to find a happy medium when so much stimulates your tics.”

  “There are a few things even TS can’t spoil.” Jake chuckled, deep and low. The gravelly sound reminded Tom of Cass again, but a train pulled in before he could let the thought fully manifest.

  They found seats on the train. Jake muttered to himself as he sat down. A woman across the aisle stared, but Jake didn’t seem to notice, and Tom was surprised to find that her attention didn’t bother him either.

  The train rattled through Chalk Farm. They sat in companionable silence for a while, save Jake’s sporadic mutterings, until Jake nudged Tom with his elbow.

  “Why did you come into the restaurant today? I
could tell you were pissed off as soon as you walked in. Thought you were going to be one of those tables that moaned my ear off.”

  Tom chuckled. “I did moan, at the girl on the bar, but I don’t think she noticed.”

  Jake laughed too. “Yeah, there’s not much to Courtney. She knows a lot about hair extensions, though, in case you’re ever interested.”

  “Can’t see that happening.”

  “So . . .” Jake whistled and made a strange popping sound. “Why did you come in if you knew you were going to hate it so much?”

  “You’re a shrewd one,” Tom said. “I always figured I had a pretty good poker face, but if you must know, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. The Tube station was shut and I couldn’t be arsed to walk to the next one.”

  “Oh.” Jake seemed disappointed. “I thought you were spying for head office, or some undercover exposé or something.”

  “Sorry, mate. I’m not that interesting.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  The train stopped in Belsize Park. Jake tore his stare from Tom and frowned. “Shit, I’m going the wrong way. I live in Kentish Town.”

  He dropped his head and groaned. Alarmed, Tom put his hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay? Do you want to get off?”

  A barrage of tics swept through Jake before he straightened up and grinned. “Too late now.”

  And indeed it was. The train had closed its doors and already left Belsize Park behind. Tom relaxed and took his hand off Jake as his tics faded. He seemed unconcerned with being on the wrong train, like it happened all the time. Perhaps it did. “Where do you live?”

  “Hampstead, during the week, at least.”

  “Where do you live at the weekend?”

  “Berkhamsted. I have a house there.”

  “You sound rich,” Jake stretched his legs out in front of him. “I didn’t think that was possible from working in restaurants.”

  Tom shrugged. He wasn’t rich, but for his age, he’d done all right. “I don’t work in restaurants. Not anymore, at least. I own them. Come on. Let’s get off here.”

  The train rumbled into Hampstead. Tom took Jake’s arm as he twitched getting off the train and held on to him until they got to the end of the platform.

  “You don’t need to babysit me.”

  “Hmm? Oh, sorry.” Tom released the death grip he had on Jake’s arm. Jake grabbed his hand and put it back. “You can touch me, Tom, but do it because you want to, not because you feel sorry for me.”

  Something about the way Jake said his name made Tom’s chest feel warm. He stared at Jake, feeling the charge where he held Jake’s slender wrist. “I don’t feel sorry for you. I just didn’t want you to fall.”

  “Same thing.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  Tom let go of Jake’s wrist again, suddenly aware of how close they were standing. It was late—no early—the early hours of Monday morning, but the Tube station was still busy, like it always was. London wasn’t New York, but it was still a city that never slept.

  Jake didn’t move, not even to tic. The only sign of life in him was his dark addictive gaze and the tiny flicker of his tongue as he licked his lips. His brief stillness was mesmerising. Tom stared at him, lost, until Jake clumsily touched his cheek. “Why do you touch me, then?”

  Tom didn’t answer with words. What could he say? They’d just met, spent only a few hours in each other’s company, and yet, Tom couldn’t say good-bye. He took Jake’s arm for a third time and led him above ground. Outside on the pavement, he pointed to a row of converted Edwardian houses in the distance. “My flat’s over there. Fancy another drink?”

  The Hampstead flat was old and beautiful—high ceilings, hardwood floors, original fireplaces—but it was also small and expensive; a combination that always wound Tom up.

  Not tonight, though. He unlocked the door and waved Jake in, absorbing the forbidden scent of the cigarette Jake had smoked on their short walk home. “Do you want a drink?”

  Jake squinted up at the ornate coving in the tiny hallway. “No, thanks. I think I’ve had enough.”

  Tom hung his coat on the hook. He didn’t want a drink either. He wanted to kiss Jake . . . kiss him hard, but the moment seemed elusive.

  “Wankers. I like your bum. Shit.” Jake slapped his hand over his mouth.

  Tom laughed. “Kind of you to say.”

  Jake stood stock-still for a few seconds, then let his hand drop. “Sorry. You do have a nice arse, though.”

  “Thanks. Yours is pretty nice too. Can I take your coat?”

  Jake shrugged out of his coat, but instead of handing it over, he leaned in front of Tom to hang it behind the door himself. The movement brought his neck within inches of Tom’s mouth. For the first time, Tom noticed an intricate tattoo hidden by Jake’s shaggy hair. The design was black and moody, with distressed typography. The words gave Tom pause. Don’t ask me why.

  “What does your tattoo mean?”

  “Which one?”

  Tom touched his finger to Jake’s neck. “This one.”

  “It means I was a pissed-off teenager. I got all my ink when I was angry.”

  “Are you still angry now?”

  Jake shook his head. “No. I found the cure.”

  Tom traced the script, following it until it disappeared into the complex shading around Jake’s spine. Jake shivered, but not like the abrupt shot of a tic that Tom was fast beginning to recognise. “And what was it? The cure, I mean.”

  “Learn something. Read a book. Explore someone. Anger is just a hole where your life could be.”

  Something changed. Tom’s pulse quickened. He stilled his finger, but left it on Jake’s skin, absorbing the rising heat between them. Jake glanced over his shoulder, his gaze a wicked mix of rueful desire, and in that moment, Tom knew Jake wanted him too.

  Jake leaned back, and Tom kissed him, but the kiss wasn’t as explosive as Tom had played out in his head. He didn’t grab Jake’s chin or bite his lips. He didn’t pull his hair, or press him against the wall. Instead, he fell pliant under the gentle brush of Jake’s mouth on his, wound his arms around Jake’s waist, and pulled him close. Held him tight like they’d kissed a thousand times over.

  Tom felt Jake connect with every part of his body. His scalp tingled, his cheeks, his chest. His dick hardened in his jeans. He cupped Jake’s face with his hand and drew a thumb over his cheekbone.

  Jake pulled away. “Show me your bedroom?”

  Tom didn’t need telling twice. He spun Jake in his arms, kissed him again, and backed him through the open bedroom door. They hit the bed. Tom was taller than Jake, wider, stronger, and he steadied their stumbling.

  Jake tugged at Tom’s clothes. Tom toed off his shoes and unbuttoned his shirt while Jake unbuckled his belt. His jeans fell to his knees. Tom shrugged out of his shirt and considered Jake. He was wearing biker boots, skinny jeans, and a T-shirt as thin as he was. The look was grungy and cool, but Tom had seen enough. He wanted Jake’s clothes on the floor, scattered on the polished wood.

  He undressed Jake—T-shirt first, clingy jeans next—and shed the last of his own clothes. For a moment, they stared, naked and still, and took in each other. Tom was fair haired and solid. Broad shoulders, chest, and thighs. In contrast, Jake was pale, fragile looking, and covered in sinister ink.

  Tom closed his hand around Jake’s cock, feeling the weight of it. “What do you like to do?”

  “I like to suck dick and get fucked.”

  The bluntness took Tom by surprise, though he couldn’t say why. Not that he was disappointed. The girth of Jake’s cock was alluring, but Tom didn’t bottom. And he loved getting head. Who didn’t?

  Still, he wanted something more first. Wanted to feel Jake everywhere, so if they never touched again, he’d know he’d made the most of this beautiful, enigmatic young man.

  He lay back on the bed and pulled Jake over him, kissed him, and ran his hands all over his body.

  Jake responded in kind an
d ghosted his palms over Tom’s chest. “You didn’t look this muscly with your clothes on.”

  “That a bad thing?”

  Jake hummed around another kiss. “No. It suits your eyes.”

  Tom shoved his hands into Jake’s silky hair and tugged so he could see Jake’s face. “What does that mean?”

  “What I said.”

  Fair enough. Tom kept his hands in Jake’s hair. It was soft and clean, and Jake seemed to like Tom’s nails digging into his scalp.

  Tom rolled them over and covered Jake’s slim frame with his broader body. He found Jake’s cock and captured it in his hand without breaking their kiss. Jake jerked beneath him. A tic? To be sure, Tom opened his eyes and squeezed Jake’s cock again.

  Jake arched his back and groaned. “Fuck yeah.”

  Encouraged, Tom drove his tongue into Jake’s mouth. He’d been intrigued by Jake the moment he’d laid eyes on him, and now he was sure of his path. He was going to fuck Jake, fuck him until he screamed his name.

  Jake broke their kiss and tugged on Tom’s shoulders. “Bring me your dick.”

  Tom followed his direction and straddled Jake’s chest, which, unlike his back, was untouched by ink. He held his cock a hairsbreadth away from Jake’s full lips. “Not going to bite me, are you?”

  “No. Touch calms me down. I hardly tic at all if I’m in bed with someone.”

  That was good enough for Tom. He slid his dick into Jake’s mouth and sucked in a breath. The hot, wet heat of Jake’s tongue felt amazing, and Jake digging his nails in his thighs made it feel even better. He closed his eyes and let sensation sweep over him. He grabbed a handful of Jake’s hair. “Yeah, like that.”

  Jake teased Tom’s balls, then he pulled back with a soft, heated puff of air. “Tell me what you want.”

  Tom opened his eyes. “You like dirty talk?”

  “I’m curious. I told you what I like.”

  Tom grinned and brought his cock back to Jake’s mouth. “Maybe I’d like you to figure it out.”

  Jake took the hint. He drew Tom into his mouth again, lightly at first, with only the gentlest pressure, then he ramped up the volume and grazed Tom’s cock with his teeth.