“Lucky you.”
“I heard he’s pretty cool.”
Cool wasn’t a word Nero often associated with Tom Fearnes, though he couldn’t deny the man possessed a poise and presence Nero had often envied. And he shares Cass’s bed.
Lenny raised one of his perfect eyebrows. “You’re not a morning person, are you?”
Perspective returned to Nero as abruptly as it had left him. He pushed himself off the doorframe. “I like mornings just fine. Are you ready?”
“Erm, I think so?”
“Good. Get some clothes on and meet me downstairs.”
Nero fled the flat, changed into his whites in the staff room, then dashed to the kitchen to meet Fred, the perpetually cheerful fish man, who was waiting at the back door.
“Late today,” Fred said. “Been out on the town?”
Nero grunted. “Chance would be a fine thing.”
“You should be a fisherman, lad. Be done by lunchtime.”
“I’d stink, though, eh? Besides, I don’t like rain.”
“You young’uns. Don’t make ’em like they used to.”
Nero signed for his order and bid Fred a good day. As the fish van disappeared, the meat lorry took its place, and so it went on until Nero had accepted four separate deliveries that all needed putting away. First, though, he had to find Lenny some clothes, ’cause there was no way he was spending the day with him wearing those jeans.
He left the stacks of boxes and crates and went to the staff changing room. In the spare lockers were various odds and sods of kitchen-wear. A white jacket seemed around Lenny’s size, but the only trousers that weren’t huge were women’s—Debs’s, if the pink animal print was anything to go by.
“Oooh, I like those. Are they yours?”
Nero glanced over his shoulder. Lenny stood in the doorway, hair tamed, a faded Clockwork Orange T-shirt covering his chest, and a healthy dose of— Damn, is that eyeliner? Nero grunted and turned back to the trousers. “They ain’t mine. I can give you my spares if you want, but we’ll have to tie you in with a cling-film belt.”
“Sounds interesting.” Lenny ventured into the staff room, his hand brushing Nero’s arm as he passed. “And fun, but I’m happy enough in the pink.”
He plucked the trousers from Nero’s grasp and undid the button on his jeans. Nero backed away. “You’re putting them on now?”
“Er . . . yeah? You’re wearing yours?”
He had Nero there. “Right. Okay. Um. Here’s a jacket for you. Meet me at the kitchen door when you’re ready.”
For the second time that day, Nero made his escape and retreated to the temporary safety of the kitchen. He began unpacking the vegetable delivery, setting aside what he’d need that day, and storing the rest in the walk-in fridge and dry storeroom. On his return trip, he passed the prep area to find Lenny frowning at a box of globe artichokes.
“What are these?”
“Artichokes.”
“That some type of thistle?”
Nero reached carefully around Lenny and plucked an artichoke stem from the box. “What kind of thistles have you been eating?”
“I’ve never eaten anything that looks like that.”
Cass had a talent for lacing his words with an innuendo so subtle Nero was never sure it was really there. Lenny, it seemed, played that particular game even better. Either that or his sinful jeans had gone to Nero’s head.
Stop ogling him. What the fuck is wrong with you?
Nero dropped the artichoke and continued on his way. At the back door, he waited for Lenny to join him, sensing his presence behind him like a slow burning fire creeping up on him. “You gonna help me, or what?”
