One More Night Read online

  One More Night

  Charlie Novak

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Follow Charlie

  Also By Charlie

  About Charlie

  Copyright © Charlie Novak 2020

  Cover by Natasha Snow

  Editorial by Susie Selva

  All rights reserved. Charlie Novak asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Jack

  It was a hot Saturday afternoon in June, and there was an England football match on TV, so naturally the pub was packed.

  The White Horse was in too nice a part of London to be filled with your typical football crowd. Instead, it was full of men in designer polo shirts and boat shoes and plummy accents, and gaggles of women with matching blonde hair and huge sunglasses, who were all drinking fruit cider and rosé wine as if it was going out of fashion.

  “Can you get another case of the Old Mout kiwi and lime?” I yelled into the cellar where my colleague Dom was changing the kegs on a couple of the local beers.

  “Already? I just grabbed one an hour ago.”

  “That was then, and this is now. Case please. Oh, and you might as well grab another of the pineapple and raspberry too. There’s only a couple left in the fridge.”

  I heard him grumbling, but I knew he’d bring them up. Dom might look like one of those typical East End bruisers, but in reality, he was about as fearsome as a bunny rabbit. Still, his tattooed knuckles and shaved head tended to come in handy when we had customers who didn’t like being told no. Being five seven and on the twinky end of things, people didn’t always take me seriously. Which was unfortunate because I’d always wanted to put my ten years of Tae Kwon Do training to good use, but sadly Dom usually intervened before we got to that point.

  “It’s chaos in here,” said Keira, as she used the spare two minutes she’d been gifted to start chopping fruit to make more jugs of Pimms. “I didn’t think football would be this popular.”

  I shrugged and smiled. Keira was only nineteen, working weekends while she was back from uni, so she hadn’t quite seen the full effect that British summer and popular sport had on our numbers. As soon as the sun came out, people automatically sought alcohol, and if England were playing, no matter what sport it was, then they’d definitely be in the pub. I could see what she meant, though. Most of our clientele seemed more like the rugby and rowing lot then die-hard England football fans.

  “It’s hot, there’s cute boys in shorts, and there’s cold beer. We were always going to be popular.”

  “Cute boys, eh?” Keira grinned. “Who’s your favourite? I think King is gorgeous. He’s all blond and toned. I mean, have you seen his butt?”

  I laughed. “He does have a cute butt. I’ll give you that.” A group of guys appeared at the end of the bar, and I slid down to take their orders. None of them spoke to me, except to tell me what they wanted. Sometimes, a little common courtesy would be nice—even just a “hello” or a “thank you” would do. I shoved the money in the till, pivoting on the spot, ready to serve the next person, and froze.

  “Hey, Jack. Long time no see.”

  Harry fucking Spencer. The simultaneous best and worst decision of my life.

  I’d met him at The White Horse, three years ago, when I’d been picking up extra shifts while in my final year of university. He’d been at the bar with a group of his mates to watch the rugby. I’d flirted, he’d flirted, and after my shift had ended, he’d come home with me and ended up fucking me into the mattress. Four times.

  I wish I could say that had been it. But that would be a fucking lie. We’d continued to hook up off and on until he’d gone to New York for a secondment with his posh banking job last year. I’d decided once he left that was the last I was going to see of Harry fucking Spencer. Because sure, he was cute and funny and thoughtful and smart and downright amazing in bed… but he was also an utter coward and a pain in my ass.

  This was mostly no fault of his own. His mother, Angela, was a first-class bitch and his dad was just as bad. Harry had always said they’d blanched a bit when he’d first come out, but his mother soon switched her ambitions from finding him a nice wife to finding him a nice husband. His dad maintained that as long as he kept supporting England at rugby, went into banking, and made a lot of money, then he didn’t care who he shagged. The one caveat they had was that whoever Harry chose, they had to be someone who’d make the family look good, someone from the same social sphere… someone not like me.

  I’d known all of this from quite early on because Harry had told me. He’d said it was why we couldn’t date. And at the time, I hadn’t cared because I’d just wanted to get laid. But as time wore on, and I realised I was never going to be anything more to him than a convenient fuck, I’d started to lose my patience.

  The only problem was that Harry fucking Spencer was like an addiction I didn’t know how to quit. I’d always needed one more night.

  “What do you want?” I asked, giving him my best fixed smile. The one I saved for the asshole customers I really wanted to swear at.

  “I wanted to say hi.”

  “You’ve said it. Now either order a drink or get out of my pub.”

  “Is a drink the price I have to pay to talk to you?” He gave me a wry smile that sent butterflies careening through my chest. Fuck.

  “Depends if I want to listen.”

  “I’ll have a pint of cider then please, whatever you want to drink, and five minutes of your time?”

  I sighed, grabbing a glass from under the counter. Part of me wanted to tell him to fuck off. Part of me wanted to hear him out. After all, we’d never had a proper relationship and we’d both agreed on what we were doing. It was my own fucking fault for falling in love with him and then realising I’d never get to have him.

  I’d thought that once he left, I’d be fine. A good, clean break to get him out of my system. Only it didn’t bloody work like that, and I’d been fucking miserable. And now here he was, sidling up to my bar looking more fucking gorgeous than ever. Broad shoulders, dirty blond hair, soft grey eyes and beautifully trimmed facial hair. That was new. And all I wanted was to feel it against my thighs.

  “Fine. Five minutes.” I turned to Kiera. “Can you take over for a minute? I’ll be back before half-time. And make sure Dom brings up some extra bottles of tonic water. We’re nearly out.” I put Harry’s pint on the bar and grabbed a bottle of Diet Coke out of the fridge for myself before taking the tenner he handed over with without a word and quickly cashing it in. Then I pointed at the end of the bar. “Outside.”

  Harry followed me through the throng and out the back door into the baking sunshine. The pub garden wasn’t quite as busy as inside, mostly because there weren’t any TV screens out here. I dragged him into a quiet corner by the kitchen door.

  “It’s good to see you too, Jack,” he said, giving me the warm smile I’d always loved. “You look great.”

  “Thanks. Now what do you want?”

  “Can’t I just want to say hi? I haven’t seen you in months.”

  “You can, but I know you. You want something. And that something is usually me.” I sighed. “I can’t keep doing this, Harry. I know we always said it was casual, but I can’t do the one night at a time thing anymore.”

  “Why?” he asked, a note of fear in his v
oice that I’d never heard before. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  I wanted to tell him that I did, but I couldn’t lie to him. “No. Not right now.” Harry exhaled and visibly relaxed.

  “That’s… good.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yeah,” he said, “it is.”

  “Why?” I was suspicious now. There was something more going on here, but I didn’t have all the pieces to put it together. My brain was trying to do a jigsaw without knowing what picture it was supposed to make.

  “I have a favour to ask you.”

  “I don’t like where this is heading.”

  “All I ask is that you hear me out first.”

  “You only have three minutes left,” I said, sipping my drink and glancing at my phone. “Then I have to get back to work. I can’t leave Keira and Dom to man the bar during half-time. That would be like throwing two sheep to a pack of drunken wolves who aren’t afraid to eat you if you’ve run out of rosé.”

  Harry chuckled. “That’s an odd metaphor, but it works.”

  “Lord help us if we do. I don’t think my life is worth suffering through that.”

  Harry snorted and shook his head. “Look, since I’ve got less than two minutes, let me ask you something else?”

  “Is this the favour?”

  “No, not really. Well, it’s sort of a favour, but not the one I wanted to ask,” he rambled. It was something he’d always done when he was nervous, and I’d never ceased to find it utterly endearing. I was fucked. I knew he could ask me to bungee jump off the top of the Eiffel Tower and I’d say yes. After all this time, I was still completely and utterly in love with him. And he didn’t even know it.

  “Just ask,” I said gently.

  “Will you have dinner with me?”

  “What?” I stared at him. This wasn’t what I’d imagined him asking, despite the fact it was probably the most normal thing for him to suggest.

  “Have dinner with me. Are you free tonight? We could go get Thai food?”

  “Sure… sounds great. I get off at six, but I’ll need to go home and shower.”

  “Can I pick you up at seven? Same address as last year?” I nodded, and Harry beamed, his face lighting up with an impossibly beautiful smile that made everything in my body melt. It was like being hit with a pure ray of sunshine, and I couldn’t resist him.

  Curse Harry fucking Spencer. One smile and the offer of Thai food and I was putty in his perfect hands.

  This was quite possibly the worst idea I’d had in a while. No, strike that, in my entire life. Here I was, sitting in a beautiful Thai restaurant that was overflowing with delicious smells, opposite the man I’d tried and failed to exorcise from my life.

  As promised, Harry had arrived in a taxi at seven, looking even more gorgeous than he had during the day. He’d swapped his earlier t-shirt for a crisply pressed pastel blue shirt and dark jeans that made him look both impeccably stylish and deliciously fuckable.

  I’d done my best with the hour I’d been given, but I didn’t exactly have the money to throw at my wardrobe like he did. Still, the black skinny jeans and tight white t-shirt I’d grabbed didn’t look too bad. Even if they were more Primarni than Armani.

  “How was the rest of your shift?” Harry asked, fixing me with his gaze over the top of his menu. “I assume you didn’t get eaten by wolves since you’re here?”

  “It was a close-run thing,” I said, giving him a little smile while I debated between curries. “I think poor Dom was scarred for life after he got cornered by a group of women who demanded to know why we only had two varieties of white wine. Poor bloke, I don’t think he even knows what they were on about.”

  Harry let out a hollow laugh. “They sound like my sister and her friends. At least he’s still alive.”

  “Barely. I had to give him a pint to steady his nerves.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t Francesca?”

  “Well, I didn’t smell any sulfur, and no cracks appeared in the floor, so I believe we managed to escape the wrath of the demon that is Francesca Spencer. How is the Queen of Hell?” I smiled sweetly at Harry and put my menu on the table, having made up my mind. Of all of Harry’s relatives, his sister was the worst. In fact, she was quite possibly the most terrible human being I’d ever met. I’d only had that “pleasure” once when Harry had dragged me to a family party as his friend. Ten minutes in her company had made me want to pack my bags and become a shepherd in the Outer Hebrides. She was the most narcissistic, self-centered, and condescending person I’d ever met, and I pitied poor Harry for being related to her.

  “She’s getting married,” Harry said.

  “Oh, and who is the poor sod? Did he sell his soul or something? He does know he only gets ten years for that, and I’m not sure being married to your sister is worth it.” I shuddered.

  “His name’s Eric Hemmington-Page. He’s a corporate lawyer for some investment bank in the city.”

  I grimaced. “He’s a twat then.”

  “Pretty much.” Harry smiled ruefully and shook his head. “I think they’re nearly as bad as each other. Still, at least they won’t be lonely when they’re ruling the ninth circle of Hell. They can just torment people by opening their mouths.”

  I grinned. I’d forgotten how much fun it was to hang out with him. Harry seemed to hate his family almost as much as I did. I just wished he’d actually stand up to them for once instead of letting them walk all over him. Harry’s family was the reason we’d never done more than hook up or pretend to be friends, and I’d always wished he’d get out from under their thumb a little. If not for me, then at least for himself. I couldn’t see Harry ever being happy being a dutiful investment banking son with a trophy husband who spent his days playing tennis and looking pretty on Harry’s arm at events. Harry would miserable, the sex would be terrible, and it would all end in divorce when the trophy husband got caught fucking his personal trainer.

  It would be an unmitigated disaster. At least, that’s what all the episodes of trashy American television told me.

  We ordered food, and the conversation turned to general life stuff as we slowly caught up on the superficial things we’d missed over the past year. Harry spent a lot of it talking about his life in New York. I had to admit I was a tiny bit jealous, because it sounded amazing. I’d always wanted to visit. I’d just never had the money.

  “How long have you been back?” I asked.

  “A couple of months. I came back last September for a few weeks, but I ended up going back out just to escape my mum. But then I got offered a promotion in London I couldn’t turn down, so I moved back at the end of April.”

  “You didn’t fancy staying in New York?”

  “I thought about it,” Harry said, swirling his wine around in his glass. He looked almost contemplative, like his mind was thinking things through and wondering what to tell me. “But in the end, I had to come back.”

  “Why? It sounds like you were happy there.”

  “I was, sort of. But there were some things missing.”

  “Like what?” I asked, stupidly, as the waitress put a plate of fragrant red curry in front of me. I was practically drooling and definitely wasn’t paying attention when Harry spoke.

  “You.”

  “I’m sorry?” I stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said, because I was pretty sure he hadn’t just said what I thought he’d said... had he?

  “You, Jack. New York didn’t have you.” He attempted to give me a smile, but I was suddenly in no mood for this shit.

  “What the fuck?” I hissed. “You can’t just waltz back in here and say things like that!”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, then sighed, wrinkling up his nose. Another one of his stupidly adorable nervous habits I should have in no way found endearing. “You’re right.”

  “Good. Say it again. All of it.” I picked up my spoon and glared at him.

  “I’m sorry, and
you’re right. I can’t just waltz back into your life and say things like that when I’ve been an utter dick to you.”

  “Continue,” I said, suddenly interested in where this was going. I knew I should have felt bad for punishing Harry when he’d technically done nothing wrong, since we’d never confirmed what we were doing either way, but I didn’t feel quite that generous at the moment.

  “Look, I know we always just said we were hooking up for fun, just staying friends, a one-more-night thing, but I shouldn’t have dragged it out for three years. That wasn’t fair to either of us. It was stupid. We were stupid, but it’s probably more my fault since I was the one who always dragged you back in. And I was the one who said we couldn’t ever be more because my family was… well, my family. And that makes me a coward.” He picked at his pad thai, swirling some noodles around. “And I’m sorry for the fight we had last year before New York when I said this meant nothing to me. I lied because… well, for a variety of reasons really, but it was still incredibly shitty of me.”

  “Yes, it was,” I said. “But for some reason, I forgive you.”

  “You do?”

  “I do.” I pushed a piece of chicken around my plate, trying to get my thoughts in order. I’d never expected Harry to turn up and say everything I’d ever wanted him to. It was like the time away had made him into different person. He was still the same warm, sweet, funny man I’d always known, but now he was more self-aware. I wondered if he’d come to this conclusion on his own or whether he’d talked to someone. Not that it mattered either way. To be honest, I was just glad he’d finally said what I’d needed him to. Maybe now I could let him go. “I’ve always wanted to hear you say those words. And I know it was my fault as well, but it’s not my fault you’re so cute and an amazing fuck.”

  Harry blushed, his face going the same colour as my curry, all the way to the roots of his hair. “You’re welcome?”

  I snorted. “Did you get laid in America?”