“Fuck it” seemed to be the mantra of the day. Rupert ordered a beer to go with the water he already had, and a bottle of dubious Moroccan lager turned up a few moments later. With the waiter gone, Rupert leaned forward and swiped some chicken from Jodi’s plate. “Is it good?”
“It’s lush,” Jodi said. “Can I have some of yours?”
In answer, Rupert filled his fork and held it out, trying not to drool as Jodi wrapped his lips and tongue around it, all the while wondering how the most boring day in the world had morphed into a day where he couldn’t stop smiling or thinking about sex.
He blamed Jodi for that.
Still, Rupert couldn’t help pinching himself. He’d come to accept Jodi would never be the same, but it seemed to matter less with each day that passed, and tonight? Watching Jodi inhale his food like he actually wanted to eat it while his kiss lingered on Rupert’s lips? Yup. Had to be a dream.
“Can I smell your beer?”
“What?”
Jodi picked up Rupert’s bottle of Casablanca. “I want to smell it. See if I miss it.”
Sadness threatened Rupert’s bubble of cumin-scented happiness. Jodi had been told he’d never be able to safely drink again, that his brain would forever be sensitive to anything he ingested—booze, over-the-counter drugs, heavy doses of caffeine. They hadn’t exactly partied the past four years away, but Rupert would miss the late nights sat on the kitchen floor, drinking whiskey, while Jodi ate Nutella from the jar with Indie’s dippy egg spoon. And the morning cuppas, snatched before Rupert left for work, or stretched out on the couch when he came home from a night shift. He’d miss it all. Missed it already.
But he craved Jodi more than he could ever miss him, especially when Jodi was right there, sniffing Rupert’s beer with a bemused frown that made Rupert want to climb across the table and kiss the shit out of him.
“I don’t get it.” Jodi put the bottle down. “It smells like piss.”
“You must remember drinking it before you met me.”
Jodi shrugged. “I do, but none of that seems real anymore. It used to feel like it had all just happened yesterday, but now it doesn’t even feel like me. I’m not that interested in what I used to do.”
“Yeah? Then why the sniff test?”
“To see if I’m really not that interested, or wallowing in denial.”
Rupert didn’t dare ask what Jodi had concluded by sticking a beer bottle up his nose. Sometimes, it was better for his sanity if he didn’t know every little thing that filtered through Jodi’s recovering brain. “Okay, so if we’re leaving the past alone and staying in the present, how am I going to answer all the questions you want to ask me about our sex life?”
“I have a loophole.”
“Which is?”
“Haven’t thought of it yet. Fuck it. Tell me everything.”
Jodi set his fork down. Rupert wanted to coax him into eating a bit more, but the truth was, now that the conversation had returned to sex, he didn’t feel much like eating either.
Rupert pushed his plate away and swigged his beer. “I don’t know where to start. You’ll have to help me out.”
“Who’s the lube for?”
“What?” Rupert choked on gassy lager. “What lube?”
“The lube in the bedside table. The arse lube.”
“Erm, it’s for both of us, I s’pose, but that’s not what you’re really asking, is it?”
“Not exactly.”
Rupert kind of wanted Jodi to spell it out so he knew for sure he wasn’t about to jam his foot in his mouth, but this wasn’t the time to be coy. If they wanted to move forward, those days were over. “The lube’s for you, boyo. Always.”
“We don’t switch?”
“Never.”
Jodi flushed. “That scares me.”
