Boys in Season (Boys In... Book 2) (6 page)

Secret Santa
couldn’t have presented them with a more inappropriate gift if he’d searched for the last three hundred and sixty four days.

“A mistake in the wrapping, do you think?” Seb mused. “Wrong book, wrong guy?”

Jamie shook his head. “No, they’ve been personally marked.”

“So what shall we do with them? Matt and Amy said we should just swap, and have done with it.”

Jamie was startled by the ripple of shock through his body. “But the message is very personal.” He opened the cover and read the fly sheet. “Mine says ‘
For Jamie, his Christmas surprise. Find the
—” He coughed and flipped it shut again. “Well, just that.”

“Mine says ‘
For Seb, his Christmas surprise
’, too. But so what?”

Jamie flushed. “I couldn’t give that to anyone else. Not even someone who’d get some proper use out of it.”

“Even when you don’t know who it’s from?” Seb frowned. “Though they obviously know…”

“Know what? What else did your message say?”

“Nothing.” Seb’s face was set in a mulish expression.

Jamie glanced at his own book, recalling the elegant script inside the cover and the more detailed, personal message he hadn’t shown anyone else. Had Seb received a similar thing? “It’s still a gift,” he said grudgingly. “So what
shall
we do with them?”

They stood silently for a moment, both equally reluctant to seek compromise.

Jamie finally spoke. “I haven’t heard any noise from the other room for a while. Do you think the others are still there?”

Seb shrugged. “Just before we started with the accusations, Amy said she had to go and collect some bottles of mulled wine from her flat upstairs. I think Harry was looking around for restaurant menus, so we could choose where to eat tonight.”

Jamie nodded. “And Matt said he’d seen a couple of new ones that looked interesting, also in Amy’s flat.” He glanced at Seb. “I expect you’re thinking the same thing. They’re probably all up there now, drinking the wine, keeping their heads well down under the parapet.” Jamie had seen the look on Harry’s face when Seb and Jamie opened their present. Harry had looked like he’d just seen the blue touch paper lighted on a whole box of fireworks.

Seb frowned again. “Like we’re school kids. Sending us to our room.”

“Or in this case, the kitchen to cool down.” Jamie bit back a sigh. “But I guess we’ve been arguing… well, since you arrived. Didn’t you see Matt wincing every time you raised your voice?”

“And the way Harry turned up the music just before we came in here?” Seb grinned at that. “I knew he wasn’t really a rabid fan of that Christmas Hits album.”

“We drive them mad,” Jamie said. “They don’t know what the hell’s wrong with us. I seriously doubt anyone’s going to be in the mood for eating out tonight.”

“Unless they’ve gone without us?” Seb obviously understood Jamie’s expression. “Yeah, I agree, they wouldn’t do that. We don’t deserve them, eh?”

Jamie smiled. Their friends tolerated a lot from him and Seb. So maybe it was time they got something back from it. “Tonight’s going to be a real disaster if we don’t get to eat
something
. What about…”

“What?”

“We could put the cookbooks to use.” He hurried on, pretending he hadn’t seen Seb’s eyebrows rise right up towards his hairline. “Between the two books, we can manage a meal that suits everyone.”

“You mean cook? The two of us? Together? Find something in my book for the hippy vegetarian fringe—”

“And use yours for the blood-sucking carnivores? Yes, that’s what I mean.”

Seb blinked hard. “Tonight?”

Jamie rolled his eyes. “What else have you got to do?” He paused, waiting for Seb to announce he had a party, had someone waiting for a date, had anything else to do but stand in a kitchen, working with a man whose social life Seb professed made watching paint seem like a rollercoaster.

But Seb didn’t say anything like that. “Sounds like a plan,” he said. “Harry always has plenty in his fridge, what with all those brothers of his who drop in at a moment’s notice. And his Mum’s something in catering, isn’t she? He’ll have all the latest gear…” Seb glanced randomly around the kitchen. “Somewhere.”

Jamie’s breath caught in his throat. “You mean it?”

“Well, I assume you’ll lay off your usual, freeze-the-balls-off-a-brass-monkey disapproval of me.”

“So long as you repress the deliberate, I’m-a-moody-bastard-just-to-provoke-Jamie act,” Jamie snapped back, though he knew he was still smiling.

Seb nodded. “So let’s get the hell on with it then, okay?”

Jamie watched Seb turn away to gather up some pans. He drew a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. He could have wished that hadn’t sounded more like
Let battle commence!

***
 

Seb sliced the thin turkey breasts into pockets, and chopped up the leaf spinach, the knife chittering across the kitchen board with confident strokes. He lifted a couple of pinches of seasoning and sifted them into the breadcrumbs for battering. The spinach was tucked inside the turkey, a layer of mozzarella added, then he covered the meat with a generous helping of batter. Each portion was laid carefully in the baking tin, and he slid that into the oven. The Christmas carols were still on in the background and he instinctively started to hum one as he turned to stir the cranberry chutney, warming in a small pan. The steam rose from the surface, misty and fragrant.

He realised Jamie was watching him from the other side of the kitchen. They’d been preparing their own contribution to the meal, working back to back on two opposite counter surfaces. But Jamie had turned around to face Seb. He was very still, his eyes large and bright, his gaze on Seb’s hands. As soon as Seb noticed him watching, Jamie’s gaze snapped away, as if he felt guilty of something.

“What’s up?” Seb suddenly felt flushed, though the kitchen was no hotter than before. Some strands of his hair were sticking to his forehead and he flicked them away. Jamie’s eyes followed that movement, too. “You said you didn’t need the oven, your dish was served chilled.”

“No, I’m fine. I was just watching you work.”

“For God’s sake.” Seb was unnerved, though he wasn’t sure why. “Just back off, right?”

Jamie opened his mouth as if to protest, then just as suddenly closed it. “So how long are you going to keep this up?”

“Huh?” Seb peered at him from under his wayward hair.

“The hostility. The ‘this kitchen ain’t big enough for the both of us’ act. You’ve kept your back to me except when you turn around to snatch a pan, and even then you glare at me. This room’s too small, Seb. If we don’t take some time out, something’s going to get burned, and it’s not necessarily going to be the dinner.”

Seb stared back. His friend had that wry expression on his face, the one that implied he knew exactly what Seb’s game was. “That’s how it’s coming across?”

“Exactly.”

Seb grinned. “Glad to see I haven’t lost my touch.”

Jamie inclined his head as if agreeing, but he looked unusually weary. “It’s just too much tonight, Seb. Just… I don’t have the heart for it. Always going head to head with you.”

Seb stared at his friend. He’d never have expected Jamie to admit weakness, to back down. If that’s what this was. “So what do you want? A truce, right?” He glanced down at the food he’d been in the middle of preparing. Who was he kidding? Jamie was right. This really wasn’t the time or the place to argue. “Okay. Just while we get dinner done.”

“And you’ll step away from the sharp knives when I get near?”

Seb laughed, turning back to wipe up. “Being the cute guy now, right.”

It was only a murmur behind his back; he may have misheard. “Just like you.”

Seb’s hand paused over the counter. Was that a joke? But Jamie had sounded genuinely upset. Seb felt a stab of concern, but he couldn’t admit to that, could he? And there was no way Jamie could know about Seb’s dreams; about the way Seb imagined their arguments turning to laughter, his hands unclenching and reaching for Jamie’s waist, stopping the sarcasm coming from Jamie’s mouth by leaning forward and sealing his mouth over Jamie’s…

“You cook well,” Jamie said into the sudden silence. Now he seemed unusually interested in the counter top to the left of Seb’s work space. “I just wanted to say that. About the cooking.”

Seb turned fully around. He was strangely flattered by Jamie’s praise. Proud, even.
How ridiculous was that
? “It’s nothing special. It was the first one in the book I thought would suit. Mum always said…” He paused, but Jamie didn’t speak. Sighing, he went on, “Mum taught me to cook. She said, if I wasn’t sure what was expected, stick with something I felt confident with. Something familiar.” He glanced down at the turkey and spinach. “She used to do a dish like this, with chicken.”

Jamie cleared his throat. He looked very flushed. “You don’t talk about her much.”

I don’t want to
! Seb bit back the words. Because he did, really. Just never found the right time… or person. “She was a great cook. Like Harry’s Mum, but she wasn’t professional. Just cooked for us two. I mean, I know it wasn’t always a success, especially after she started drinking too much. She couldn’t concentrate so well. Her moods fucked things up a lot.” He didn’t know what had made his tongue so bloody loose tonight, but it was relief to talk. “She loved Christmas. I haven’t really bothered with it since she died, and I was on my own. Well, you know that.” Jamie didn’t reply but his expression had softened, and Seb felt an unfamiliar warmth. “I miss her,” he blurted out. The cooking had brought it all back, that’s what his problem was. And that strange look on Jamie’s face…

“I can see you’ve got the same flair.”

“Yeah, right,” Seb said. “And I’m a moody bastard like her as well.”

Annoyance flashed in Jamie’s eyes. “For God’s sake, that’s not what I said, or meant. Just take my words as they stand, will you?” He let his own paring knife fall to the work surface with a clatter, scattering some sliced beans. “Seb, I know you make no attempt to understand me at times, that you enjoy making me look an unimaginative fool. But you
do
cook well, and I wanted to say it, so I did. Even if I somehow said the wrong thing.”

Said the wrong thing?
Jamie
? Seb couldn’t believe he’d heard that. “But you think I’m crap at most other things, of course.”

Jamie shook his head, sharply. “There’s no ‘of course’ about it. You choose to take my comments that way, and so that’s all you hear.”

“Huh?”

Jamie bit at his lip and frowned. “Not everyone’s as free with their speech as you, Seb. Not everyone says exactly what they like, exactly what they’re thinking. Some of us are less articulate.” He grimaced. “Obviously.”

Seb was astonished. “You? Let me see. You think I drink too much, I pick up unsuitable men, I don’t listen to your advice. I’m careless and frivolous and a pain in the arse. All things you’ve told me in the past. That seems pretty articulate to me.” Seb kept his voice as calm as he could. “Right?”

“Wrong.” Jamie sounded so sharp in return that Seb’s eyes widened.

“That’s what you’ve told me,” Seb repeated. “You’re implying I’m deaf, too?  I mean, every time we argue—”

“That’s when it happens!” Jamie interrupted. “That’s when I lose my cool. You provoke me, time and again. I’m not particularly happy about that—about what I say in the heat of the moment—but there never seems to be the opportunity to set the record straight, because you’ve always moved on to something else. You make me feel…so
disturbed
, Seb, but I don’t see what I can do to change, it’s just how I am. I’ve never felt the need to open my feelings to the world, nor be the life and soul of the party like you, I just want…” He stopped abruptly, his face very flushed, now, his hand raised as if trying to grab the right word from the kitchen air.

“What?”

“Respect!” Jamie snapped. “Just once, Seb, for you to look at me as if I were just as good as you, as if my choices were just as important, even if you’d never make them yourself. And not just a butt for your jokes. Just to
see
me, Seb.
Me
, exactly as I am!”

***

Well, he’d well and truly messed up now, hadn’t he? Jamie sighed to himself. The wine Harry had served must have been stronger than he thought, or he’d never have spoken out like that to Seb. Yes, they shouted and snapped when they argued, but he’d never expressed anything more personal.

And he shouldn’t have done tonight. For a brief moment, he’d considered holding his tongue, just as he often did, but he felt an unfamiliar boldness tonight, as if something had suddenly snapped and released inside him. He’d spoken his mind, just like Seb did. To hell with the consequences.

“But I’ve always respected you, Jamie.” Seb looked stunned. “Hell, why shouldn’t I? You’re great at everything you choose to do. Dammit, you don’t lose your cool like
I
do, making a fool of myself and pissing someone off every time I open my mouth. You’re sensible and smart, you don’t drink to excess, you don’t smoke, and you have a damned good job while I’m still ‘resting between assignments’, as we unemployed actors like to say. You look good, too, you’re fit, people must have told you that before. You’d have plenty of cute guys hanging around your heels if you gave them even the slightest hint of encouragement, if you were even remotely interested—”