Page 72 of In Too Deep

Jake smirked faintly into his pint, though his attention kept wandering elsewhere. To his phone sat beside his pint, stubbornly silent. The ancient replacement handset he’d dug out of his glovebox before getting to the site was held together by scratches and sheer fucking determination, battery dying by the minute, but at least it took his SIM.

Though there were no calls. Or messages.

Which shouldn’t have bothered him half as much as it did.

Another burst of crude laughter dragged him back as one lad launched into a story involving a girl in Barnsley, fake tan and a traffic cone. Jake barely caught half of it.

Roman nudged his arm. “Hear you’re a drummer.”

“Aye. Static Youth. Play here sometimes.”

Roman whistled. “Bet that gets you laid enough.”

Jake took another drink instead of answering.

“You got a missus then, Whitton?” Scottie called across the table.

Jake took a drink, pausing the way he’d learned to over the years when asked those questions. Not because of shame. Never that. It was instinct. He’d worked around men like this most of his life. Building sites. Roofing crews. Prison cells. He knew how quickly the atmosphere changed depending on who sat around the table and how much they’d had to drink. Part of why he preferred working alone these days. Easier not having to measure reactions before answering something simple.

No, he didn’t have a girl.

And he’d just opened his mouth to say exactly that when someone stepped between him and Roman.

“He’s gay, lads.” Brodie leaned across him, grabbing the empty glasses scattered across the table between tattooed fingers.

Then he drew back, resting his other hand on his hip. And Jake glanced up at him. Tight black tank top. Jeans hanging low on narrow hips. Smirk forming. Jesus. He was a prick. And he winked. Fucking winked.

Bastard.

A brief silence hovered around the table as Brodie disappeared back behind the bar.

Then Scottie snorted into his drink. “Sometimes wish I were gay.”

Roman barked out a laugh. “Why’d you wanna be gay?”

“Reckon it’s easier.” Scottie shrugged. “Women are fucking trouble, mate.”

Jake huffed a laugh into his pint.

As if men weren’t trouble too.

Case in point: the smug prick behind the bar and the detective currently crawling around inside Jake’s head while refusing to bloody call him.

Roman shoved Scottie. “Not if you treat ‘em right.”

“Says three exes in twelve months.”

Roman laughed. “Two of those overlapped. And exactly my point. I treat ‘em right and they keep coming.”

The lads all barked a laugh.

“So you got a boyfriend, Jakey-boy?”

Jake took another swallow of lager and shook his head.

And fucking hated doing it.

But what else could he say? Harrison wasn’t his boyfriend. Harrison was… Christ, Jake didn’t even know what Harrison was. And saying yes would only invite questions he had absolutely no intention of answering.