Only You by Jerry Cole (the top 100 crime novels of all time TXT) 📕

“Vodka lime and soda?” Jackson asked as he indicated across the bar to the waiter. “Still rocking those abs, Bradles?”

“Ha, yeah...” Bradley shrugged. “You know how Sydney is.”

“I’ve heard. But tell me truthfully, the men in Melbourne are hotter. Aren’t they?”

The implication of the question was clear. It was just lucky that Bradley was saved having to answer as the waiter popped up a moment later and took their drink orders. As he walked away too, Bradley caught Jackson checking out the waiter’s ass; it was a tight butt, squeezed into a pair of tighter jeans.

Jackson saw Bradley watching him and shrugged. “Single life,” he laughed. “It has a few advantages... and a few more.” He then winked.

“So, you’re single?” Bradley asked quickly. He was feeling nervous, almost guilty like he was doing something wrong.

“Very.” The way that word dripped from Jackson’s thick lips was extremely suggestive. “Clearly, you are too?”

“Huh?” Bradley blinked.

“Oh, come on.” Jackson laughed. “Enough games, Bradles. We’re past that.”

“Games? I’m not playing —”

“You’re in Melbourne, alone. You’re out drinking with me, alone. If you want to pretend that you’re seeing someone back in Sydney, make me work for it a little, so be it. Just know that I’m on to you.”

It was just then that their drinks arrived. The moment that his was in front of him, Bradley scooped his up and threw back half in one go. He’d needed it. Not because of how thirsty he was though, but because of how disorientated he was feeling. How could he have been so stupid?

He had known what Jackson had wanted. Even before right now, he’d always known. There was only ever one thing that Jackson wanted, and worse too that he nearly always got it. By coming down here and having a drink with him too, Bradley had just about admitted consent.

Indeed, the way that Jackson eyed him now, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what was running through his head; the scenarios he was most likely playing over and over again. Each one would have been more sexual and filthy, than the last. If Bradley stayed, if he finished his drink and then had another, he was basically telling Jackson that he was into it. He was confirming that those images would soon become a reality.

“How’s that waiter, though,” Jackson crooned as he picked his drink up, had a sip and then glanced across the bar toward the waiter. “What do you think? Should we see what time he gets off?”

And just like that, a switch went off inside Bradley’s head. What was he doing here? Well, he knew what he was doing. He was living a fantasy that he’d harbored long before he ever met Sherman. It was a fantasy from a life that he hardly even recognized now... one he didn’t want to recognize. And seeing Jackson flirt with him, watching as he eye-fucked a random waiter like he was a prime rib, actually made him feel a little sad. Is this what he used to be like? Was this who he used to idolize?

That wasn’t Bradley anymore. Now, Bradley had a job. Now, Bradley knew how to cook, clean, shop, look after himself in general. Now, Bradley was older than Jackson in some ways, certainly more mature. And now, and most importantly, Bradley had a boyfriend.

Yes, he still had a boyfriend. Sherman Haas, the love of his life, was still dating him as far as he knew. And no, he hadn’t called since their fight, but that was just because he was as stubborn as a mule... which was one of the many things he loved about Sherman. Yes, loved. He loved Sherman and he knew that if he turned up tomorrow to apologize, to do what he should have done a week ago, that Sherman would take him back with open arms.

Actually, fuck tomorrow. Why not do it right now?

“I have to go.” Bradley didn’t wait for Jackson’s response. He certainly didn’t wait to give an explanation either. “Nice seeing you again Jackson.” With half his drink finished, Bradley stood up from his chair and powered from the bar like his life depended on it.

From there he headed straight to the airport. He sent his mother a quick text, telling her where he was going, that he loved her, and that he’d call when he landed. He knew she wouldn’t mind. If anything, she’d probably be happy for him.

He managed to get on the last plane out of Melbourne, a late-night flight that landed in Sydney at exactly midnight. With no bags, Bradley was able to jump to the head of the taxi rank and order that he be taken straight to Sherman’s apartment. He knew Sherman like the back of his hand and knew that his boyfriend would be there right now, probably watching TV, or wallowing in self-pity... he almost hoped it was the second one.

He had no spare key, but that didn’t matter. Instead, Bradley just buzzed every apartment number in the building until one of them opened the door without checking.

His heart rate was up as he powered down the hallway to Sherman’s front door. What was he going to say? What was he going to do? He still had no idea. Apologize, yes. But there was so much more needed than a simple apology. He was going to write something down on the plane, but wanted it to come from the heart in a sort of moment of spontaneity. It had seemed romantic at the time, now he wished he’d at least jotted a few things down.

But there was no time for that. At Sherman’s closed front door, he took a few deep breaths, tried to calm his pounding heart and then knocked on the door as loud as he could.

Nothing.

He knocked again. And