Wrenching open my bedroom door, the red cloud of rage still blinding, I was in and out of my room in the blink of an eye.

 

Grabbing my jacket from its hook and my wallet and keys from my bedside table, before hurling them inside my rucksack and taking the stairs out of the flats two at a time, I knew I had to get out of there.

 

Out and far away from Harry. The absolute dickhead.

 

The boy who called himself my boyfriend. The hypocrite who had tried to make me feel bad for doing what I'd done to him every day. Who had wanted me to make him feel special after begging me to treat him like shit on my shoe more times than I'd had hot dinners.

 

What's his fucking problem? I'm not psychic. I didn't know that this time he actually meant no. It's not my fault. It's his.

 

I was furious.

 

Fortunately, as the chill of a crisp, late Sunday spring morning hit my burning cheeks and soothed my racing head, the gentle embrace of calm began to creep around my body like unknown hands wrapping around my chest in a dark room.

 

Out of sight out of mind, I told myself, and Harry and his double standards were already three floors and fifty-seven steps away.

 

Pulling on my jacket over my thin, white t-shirt I put my bag on the ground and sat on a nearby bench. By myself: no one around. No crows cawing from trees or squirrels dashing between hedgerows. No pigeons with missing feet fighting over scraps.

 

Alone again.

 

Taking a deep breath to quell the final flickers of fury in the pit of my stomach, I pulled out my phone, opened my inbox and found my conversation with Richard. Thumbing a quick "hey, what are you up to?" I hit send.

 

Then I waited.

 

Waited on the cold, dry wood that was already uncomfortably cold through the thin, black denim of my cheap jeans even though the sky was cloudless and bright blue. Waited, calming down in the brisk breeze, until my phone locked itself and my face reflected in the shiny black mirror of my screen: my cheeks red and blotchy.

 

Fuck. I haven't showered. Or douched. I can't meet Richard like this.

 

I looked at my phone. Still nothing.

 

If he's even free to meet.

 

But, as I was about to sulk back upstairs, wash my body and wait silently in my room for a reply, or trawl through Grindr for a temporary replacement, like magic, a bus pulled up to the stop ten or so metres from my sitting place. Too busy worrying about Richard, I hadn't even noticed it pull into the parking lot, nor swing round to park.

 

Not that I should have been surprised: even on Sundays they ran like clockwork. A large brown and cream double decker, owned and operated by the city council but used solely by the university, its doors hissed open and a stream of students ambled out.

 

One-by-one or in groups of two, but no more: hardcore weekend studiers back from an early morning library session.

 

Fuck that noise.

 

The digital timetable above the metal shell bus stop showed that this particular bus was heading to the city centre, via the university, and was due to leave in two minutes. But, by the look on the miserable driver's face, he wasn't going to hang around long.

 

Decision time.

 

Fuck it. Why not? If Richard's free, then I'm already in the city. I'm sure he'll let me freshen up. If not, then at least I'm far away from Harry.

 

Picking up my bag and jogging to the bus I paid my fair and took a seat three rows from the back of the lower deck. The end of the line, the bus was empty, and by the lack of passengers outside it was going to stay that way.

 

Hiss went the doors as they closed. Clunk went the clutch as the driver got into gear. But, as the huge metal box around me began to rumble, its acceleration revving, a muffled male voice from outside called:

 

`Wait!'

 

I could see him through the driver's window. A young, attractive black guy, my age if not one or two years older, was running at full pace from the block of flats next to mine toward the bus. Right down the centre of the road so the driver couldn't ignore him even if he'd wanted to.

 

Smart.

 

But it wasn't until the doors had hissed for a third time and the new passenger had paid his fare with a handful of change and a mouthful of apologies, did I realise I knew his face.

 

It was the guy from behind the counter at Selfridges. The one who had known Richard by his full name. The one who had made a dig at me but had ultimately ended up alone, watching me walk away triumphant.

 

Great. I'm just surrounded by arseholes today.

 

Unsurprisingly, I wasn't the only one to think it. When our eyes met, him still standing in the aisle surveying the ample seating, me already kicking myself for not looking out the window quick enough, his face turned.

 

Smile to scowl as the bus rumbled away from the stop. Wide, apologetic eyes to narrowed and cautious as we lurched over speed bumps. Open and friendly body language, to closed and cold.

 

But, to a surprise that caught me completely off guard, he didn't turn away or go upstairs. He walked straight over and said:

 

`This seat taken?'

 

`Urm.'

 

What the fuck is this guy on?

 

`I'll take that as a no, then,' he said suddenly smiling wide and sitting down.

 

For a second I was frozen. Only able to register senses.

 

He smelt amazing. Fresh from a shower with a hint of cocoa butter, most likely smeared over his blemish-free, dark chocolate skin as moisturiser. And he was at least twice as attractive out of his boring work uniform, now sporting skinny blue denim jeans, a cream turtle neck sweater and a matching denim jacket lined with faux-fleece.

 

But, the second over, his stirring appearance was still far from enough to prevent the returning fires of anger from reigniting, fuelled and sparked by his uninvited presence.

 

`Are you blind or just stupid?' I said, a gentler fury than before but a fury nonetheless simmering.

 

`I'm sorry?' he said, a confused smile pulling at his thick pink lips, made even pinker by his sublime colour contrast.

 

`So, you're deaf too?'

 

`What? No.'

 

`Then you're just stupid. Can't you see that literally every other seat is free?'

 

He laughed. Friendly, like we'd known each other for months. Said, `Of course, but I recognised you from the store yesterday. Thought I'd come say hello.'

 

`And why the hell do you think I want to talk to you?'

 

`Common courtesy?'

 

`Is that what you call it? From where I was standing yesterday there was nothing courteous about you. Only common.'

 

His eyes wide and his lips and forehead pulled into a face like he was a kid being scalded by an adult he wasn't afraid of, he said, `Woah. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.'

 

`How do you want me to behave?' I said, now turned in my seat and facing him. `After that lovely first impression you made.'

 

For a few seconds he said nothing, staring at me with his big brown eyes. Big, brown and flawless white eyes inside a handsome, chiselled, creaseless face.

 

But no matter how good looking he was I wasn't going to budge. He'd spilt first blood with his passive aggressive comments, and if it was war he was after, I was more than happy to keep the red rivers flowing.

 

However, it was all for nothing. In an instant his demeanour changed. His shoulders slumped a little and then he said, `Look, it must be fate, you and me the only two on this bus.'

 

`Fate?'

 

`Yeah. After you left yesterday I felt kind of ... bad. I don't really know why I shit talked you. I don't know you and there was no reason for me to be rude, so I'm sorry. And I'm grateful for this opportunity to apologise.'

 

`Did your boss put you up to this?' I said, countryside now blurring in segments framed by large rectangular windows behind his head; disbelieve no doubt spurting from my eyes like a broken faucet. `Because you're taking your job way too seriously mate.'

 

Laughing he said, `No. I am the boss, for that floor.'

 

`So, what? You don't want me to bitch about you to Richard?'

 

`No, no,' he said, awkwardly laughing. `I just, never mind, this was stupid. I'll leave you in peace, yeah?'

 

He stood to leave but I reached out and touched his arm. Something was telling me to hear him out. That maybe I could learn something about Richard, my mysterious and minted new daddy.

 

`Look. Honestly, I haven't given it a second thought until you stepped on the bus, so really, forget it,' I said.

 

`Oh. Good. That's great. Thanks.'

 

`You don't need to thank me. Seriously.'

 

He nodded. Then, for four seconds, neither of us spoke. Me staring at him, waiting to see if there was more. Him looking back smiling, opening his mouth and closing it again like a fish.

 

Oh, there's definitely more.

 

`For fuck's sake mate just spit it out, would you?' I said, relaxing into my seat, resigned to my unexpected companion.

 

It's a free world, after all.

 

`I just wanted to say, be careful with him,' he said.

 

`With Richard?'

 

`Yeah. He's not exactly the gentleman he makes himself out to be.'

 

`Is that so?'

 

`Yeah. Him and I used to date. Not for long but long enough, you know? He would take me out to dinners and shower me with gifts. Make me feel special. Then I found out he was married.'

 

I nodded, looking as unimpressed as I felt. Old news. Said, `Tell me something I don't know.'

 

`You know he's married?'

 

`You obviously don't know they divorced.'

 

`What?'

 

His faced dropped. Patronising to shocked.

 

`Yeah, I met the ex on Friday. He walked in on us, if you know what I mean,' I said.

 

He said nothing, still in shock. So, I took my chance to really rub it in.

 

`I was on my back on the dining table. You should have seen Josh's face. It was classic.'

 

`I had no idea,' he finally said, visibly upset.

 

`Look, whatever your name is,' I said.

 

`Toby.'

 

`Look, Toby. No offence, but I really don't need your advice. Especially when you're blatantly trying to scare me away from him,' I said, pulling my phone out of my pocket to check for messages: nothing.

 

`No, I'm trying to warn you.'

 

`Sure you are.'

 

Then, for thirty or so bumpy seconds, as the bus pulled off a dual carriageway and onto the winding streets of the outskirts of the city centre, neither of us spoke.

 

Toby broke the awkwardness.

 

`You're right,' he said standing up, but then grabbing onto the bar as the bus lurched to a stop at a red light. `You didn't ask for this. I'll leave you alone.'

 

`That's the best thing you've said all day.'

 

Shaking his head, his patience with me now blatantly over, he turned to leave. But just two steps later he stopped, turned and looked back.

 

`He hasn't text you back today, has he?' he said.

 

What?

 

`Of course he has,' I lied.

 

`Well, if you're on your way to see him, you won't find him at home. Not on a Sunday afternoon.'

 

`Oh yeah? Where is he then, oh wise one?'

 

Letting go of the handrail, the bus slowing down to a stop, he walked two paces toward me, leaned down and told me. Then, he turned on his heels, thanked the driver and left the bus without looking back.

 

As three new passengers got on and the doors hissed closed again, the bus rumbling off deeper into the city, I couldn't believe my ears.

 

Toby had obviously intended his words to hurt. To shock or make me jealous. But the fool had had no idea.

 

He'd inadvertently turned my Sunday from annoying and frustrating and disappointing, to thrilling and fantastic and ball-pulsingly scorching. For Richard, my thick-dicked daddy, could easily be found.

 

Three more stops and a ten-minute walk to The Cellar.

 

By far the best sauna in town.

 

To be continued ...

 

Want more?

 

The first in my Australian series of erotic tales, and finalist in this year's Rainbow Awards for Best Gay Book and Best Debut Fiction, Oscar Down Under: Part One, is out now. Find it on Amazon US here, Amazon UK here and Amazon Australia here. Or simply search for `Jack Ladd' on the Amazon homepage. Also available on iBooks, Barnes & Noble and more.

 

Want a FREE book? Download my prequel novel, Oscar, from Smashwords for absolutely nothing here.

 

Or head over to my website to learn more, including exclusive content on my series, Oscar Down Under.

 

Copyright Jack Ladd 2017

 

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