I swallow. By the twitch in Lando’s cheek, I’m sure he heard. “Um . . . yeah, okay. Yes, please.”
He continues to stare into my soul with that smile still plastered across his face. I’m convinced I’m fucking this up entirely and that he can tell it’s my first time, but I’m already hard, my heart is slamming itself against my ribs, and I’m fighting the urge to close the two-inch gap between our mouths.
Fingers lock around mine, and I’m swept out of the pub. I spare one last look at Pi, who flashes me the wanker hand gesture, and then I’m outside in the chill evening air being pushed against the whitewashed stone wall. I don’t get any time to plan my next move, or even wonder what it’ll be before Lando brings his mouth down onto mine.
His lips are pillowy soft, and his tongue strokes my own. He’s well practiced at this, and it shows. I don’t know who initiates it, but we flip positions, so he’s against the wall and has to lean forward to kiss me again. My entire body is already aching for him. I grind my hips into his and groan at the blissful friction.
“You want me,” he says.
“So . . . so badly.”
Light spills onto the paving slabs as the pub door swings wide open and Mathias Jones storms out into the night, but he doesn’t spot us. Then he disappears off towards the back of the beer garden.
“Come on,” Lando whispers, locking his fingers around mine and guiding me through the car park and across the road.
We pass a tiny chocolate-box cottage, and then we’re walking down a countryside lane, each step plunging us deeper and deeper into complete darkness.
One time, when I was a kid, we went camping in Cornwall and stayed up until dawn to watch the skies. There are even more stars out tonight than back then. It’s so . . . vast. I want to take it all in, commit it to memory.
“Where do you live?” Lando asks, his voice rippling through the stillness of the night.
“Uh . . . I only recently moved into a little flat in the centre of Bath, but I’m originally from Wrigsham. It’s just on the outskirts.”
“I’ve heard of it,” he says. The fact that he says,“I’ve heard of it,”and not,“I know it,”says more than I care to admit. I bet this boy’s never even stepped foot on a council estate before. I bet the only time he’s ever seen houses like my parents’ is on ITV’s “gritty and hard-hitting” dramas.
I know people enjoy bitching about Wrigsham, but honestly, it’s not a terrible place to grow up. There’s greenery everywhere, trees to climb, cycle tracks to waste entire weekends bombing up and down. It’s nestled between Bath and Bristol, and the shopping is great, the nightlife too, and the girls are next level.
I’ve never been short on female attention, and Wrigsham’s progressive enough that all my gay friends live freely and openly. It’s just that I’ve found it difficult to be openly bi. And in all honesty, I’m still not one hundred per cent certain I am bi.
Am I pan? Something else? Maybe I’m straight but a little confused . . . or curious. Who knows?
What if I go home with Lando and we have sex and I realise dudes aren’t for me? Will it change the way I feel about Lionel? Or does that go deeper than physical attraction? I have zero clue.
Lando digs around in the pocket of his leather bomber jacket and retrieves a small cylindrical object. He clicks a button on the end and light floods the lane.
“Wow, that’s a powerful torch,” I say, because I have succumbed to the fact that I’m a certifiable loser and have no rizz.
“You’ve not spent a lot of time in the country,” he says.
I can’t work out if it’s a question, but I answer anyway. “No, not really. I’m kinda used to a few more street lamps.”
“Countryside lesson number one,” he says, and starts walking down the lane. I hop along after him to stay in the halo of the torchlight. “Always carry a torch. Lesson number two, watch out for horse shit.” Lando swings the beam in front of my feet, right in time for me to bring my left trainer down into a heaped pile of steaming manure.
Okay, it’s not steaming, but that’s just a technicality. It’s still gross, and squelches up around the rubber sole of my shoe, though it’s too dark to see whether any of it has touched the canvas.
“Fuck my life,” I mutter, but Lando is giggling, and it’s distracting, and kind of adorable. Actually, a lot adorable.
“You’re one of us now. Don’t worry, only about five more minutes this way.”
“So, you grew up here?” I say. I’m using the flashlight setting on my phone to make sure I don’t fall prey to any more mountains of dung.
“Yep,” he replies with a sigh.
“What was that like?” My imagination is flooded with meadows at sunset, picnics, riding horses. It must have been a dream.
He doesn’t answer me for a while, but when he does, it’s not what I expect him to say. “Lonely.” And then he adds more, as though he needs to defend his feelings. “I’m an only child. My dad was always abroad with work, and my mum died when I was thirteen.”
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said . . .” I let my awkwardness bleed out into the night.
