Free The Chase: Brit Boys: On Boys by Lily Harlem

Chapter One
     
    Steve tilted a pint glass under the Stella Artois tap and looked at the stage. It took twenty seconds to pour and for that time he could enjoy the show.
    The small comedy club in Cardiff was buzzing and the lights dim except for where Carrick stood holding his microphone. The scent of booze, aftershave and perfume hung heavy in the air and the place was warm—no, make that hot.
    Carrick was doing his thing brilliantly, which was, of course, making people laugh. It was what he was paid to do, and damn the bloke was talented. One of the best acts they had at Jugglers and always a sell out.
    Carrick made Steve chuckle too when he performed his monthly stand-up slot. But there was also something about him that sent a tingle down Steve’s spine whenever he looked at him. He was an attractive guy in a bit-rough-around-the-edges kind of a way, and his broad Northern accent gave prominence to the gravelly quality of his voice.
    If the comedian stopped for a drink, after his show and when the place was clearing, Steve knew he would sport a semi as they chatted over a nightcap—on the house, naturally. Carrick was so quick and he had a fast smile and an even faster wit. He poked fun and saw humour in everything and Steve had discovered he found that wonderful and sexy combined with a very fuckable body and a handsomely rugged face.
    “Two eggs boiling in a pan,” Carrick said, his voice booming through the microphone. “One says, I’ve got a huge crack. The other replies, stop teasing me, I’m not fucking hard yet.”
    Laughter erupted in the audience. Steve smiled. He’d heard that one before.
    “A psychiatrist was conducting a group therapy session with three young mothers and their small children,” Carrick said, walking to the left of the stage and hooking his thumb in the pocket of his tight, dark jeans. “You all have obsessions, the psychiatrist observed. To the first mother, he said, ‘You are obsessed with eating. You’ve even named your daughter Candy.’” He paused, looked around the audience and gave a sexy smile. “The psychiatrist turned to the second mother. ‘Your obsession is money. Again, it manifests itself in your child’s name, Penny.’ At this point, the third mother got up, took her little boy by the hand and whispered, ‘Come on, Dick, let’s go.’”
    The audience roared.
    “Haha, very good,” Robert said, sniggering and taking the pint Steve placed on the bar.
    “Hey, you have to pay for that,” Steve said, tapping the beer mat with his index finger.
    “Yeah, yeah, here you go.”
    “You’ll get me fired,” Steve huffed, reaching for another pint glass.
    “Nah, Tammy fancies the arse off you, she’d never get rid of her best puff.”
    Steve tutted and took the fiver Robert passed him. “Maybe it’s because I’m the only one who’ll work on a moment’s notice and can be trusted to lock up.”
    “You always were a workaholic.” Robert frowned. “You seem tired.”
    “I’m fine.” Steve turned to the next customer. “Don’t fuss.”
    Robert had always worried about him and still did, which was sweet even though they weren’t a couple anymore. They’d had a good innings, though, and Robert had discovered a side to Steve that he hadn’t even known existed. A quiet, submissive side that loved to be taken in hand, put under control, take whatever was coming and be cared for and looked after.
    Steve started to pour the next drink and glanced once more at Carrick.
    “Sex is like math,” he said. “Add the bed. Subtract the clothes. Divide the legs and pray you don’t multiply.”
    Applause travelled round the room.
    Steve grinned. He didn’t think multiplying would be a problem for Carrick—he was as bent as they came. Not that he advertised it, or anyone without a strong gaydar would guess. He was beefy, oozed testosterone, he would give a lady a wink, a kiss on the cheek, flirt with everyone, whatever gender. He had the gift of the gab that was