Free Men of London 05 - Cross to Bare by Susan Mac Nicol Page B

Leslie’s hands fluttered like flags in a gale. “How did it go? What did he say? Is he mad? He didn’t look that mad; he even had a teensy weensy smile. Is everything okay?”
    “Leslie, my love.” Lenny’s head hurt. “Please shut the fuck up. I need a damn drink.” He plonked down into his chair, removed the brandy bottle from his drawer and took a swig from it.
    Leslie regarded him with flashing eyes as he sat down in the visitor chair. “Tell me, damn it,” he snapped. “You don’t get to put me through that awful experience with that dreadful camp voice—I think I threw up in my mouth a bit, it was that bad—and then tell me to shut the fuck up.”
    “I do actually,” Lenny said drily. “I’m your boss.” He took another swig from the brandy bottle and then passed it to his protégé. He gave a silent snigger, expecting him to knock it back and choke, but instead, he was left gaping at the sight of Leslie swallowing it down like a champion. When the bottle was passed back to him with a smirk, it was far emptier than it had been.
    “I’m good at drinking and swallowing,” Leslie remarked slyly, no doubt seeing his look of disbelief. “And I happen to love brandy.”
    Lenny raised the bottle towards him. “Touché, little one. Touché.” He drank deeply, and then put the bottle on the desk.
    Leslie raised perfectly manicured eyebrows quizzically. “So?”
    “We’re still having dinner on Saturday night, at his place.” Lenny murmured.
    Leslie shrieked in glee.
    Lenny winced. “It’s early days yet.”
    Leslie shook his head vehemently. “He’s seen you as both people and still wants to have dinner. That’s a good sign.”
    Lenny sighed. “I hope so. I don’t want to fuck this up any more than I have.”
    “You didn’t fuck anything up.” Leslie’s tone was adamant. “To quote you, today was a major thundershit of a day which turned out better than expected.” He grinned as a cheeky smile lit his face. “He is damn hot though. I can see why you fancy him.”
    “Yeah, he is.” Lenny agreed. “Now, chicken, perhaps you should leave my office and let me finish this day in some semblance of peace. I’m sure you have some shelves to pack, or some orders to process.”
    Leslie stood up. “One word of advice. Please don’t ever use that horrible voice again. You sounded like a chipmunk on crack.” He gave a wicked smile and flounced out of the room, leaving Lenny wondering in bemusement what a chipmunk on crack might even sound like.
    He contemplated the brandy bottle and then gave a sigh and tucked away the now half-empty bottle in his drawer. He had no desire to be pissed getting home on the tube tonight. The last time he’d done that, instead of getting home to his beautifully converted ground floor apartment in an old warehouse in Shoreditch, he’d ended up in Tower Hamlets, and that experience had been as scary as hell. He still didn’t have any idea how he’d ended up in the slummier part of the city. Luckily he’d not encountered any trouble and gotten out of there fast. No, he’d be a good lad and finish the day off in style. Then he’d go home and probably jack off thinking of Brook and bask in the thought that in a couple of days’ time, he’d be with him. Hopefully things would work out for the best. Or not. Lenny gave a mental shrug. One way or another he’d know whether he needed to move on.

Chapter 7
    That special Saturday couldn’t come around soon enough. Dressed in a pair of tight black chinos, a Ralph Lauren white button-down shirt with a black-and-white-striped tie, and his favourite rust-red, military-style jacket, open at the front, Lenny thought he’d power dressed well enough to get through the evening. He knocked on the door of Brook’s flat in Camden, having been announced and let up to the third floor by the building concierge.
    He heard footsteps and then the door opened. Brook stood there, all six foot plus of him, looking as handsome as