Love on the Rocks (Bar Tenders) (8 page)

Justin paused in his singing of
Super Trouper
and stared at her blankly. “Oh, yeah. Knew there was something else.”

Tara went to the fridge. “You’re hopeless, Justin.” She brought out the tray of precut chicken pieces and set to work rescuing Justin’s curry.

With Tara in charge, everything went like clockwork. Justin fussed with the kitchen table, laying out a tablecloth and arranging plates and cutlery. He was just bringing out the candles and deciding which ones to use when he noticed the time. “Argh!” He glanced down at himself, so not ready. “I’ve barely got an hour till he’s here!”

“Go get ready,” Tara told him. “The curry’s done. All you have to do is reheat it when you’re ready to dish up. I’ll put the rest on the table.”

Justin grabbed her for a hug. “Thank you, Tara bear!”

“It’s all right,” she said with a smirk. “You can owe me a shift swap for this.”

“Anything!” Justin legged it from the kitchen. He had to make himself look beautiful.

Justin finally left his room in his chosen outfit for the evening: casual but form-fitting jeans and a turquoise t-shirt, one of his favorites because it was so soft, completed with his slightly tousled “I just got out of bed and I’d love to get back into it, if you know what I mean” hair.

The conundrum of footwear had delayed him somewhat. He wasn’t about to wear his slippers on a date. He didn’t want to wear shoes indoors either, nor bare feet; the vinyl flooring was clean, but not
that
clean. In the end, Justin went for a pair of summer flip-flops. His
man-flops
, as Tara called them.

These were also blue, with little plastic fishes and sea turtles stuck on the straps. Obviously the flip-flops were intended for girls, but Justin didn’t see why he couldn’t join in the fun. Who could resist little plastic fishes and sea turtles?

It’d be a talking point to break the ice, at the very least.

“Ta daa!” Justin burst into the kitchen, intending to wow Tara with his look, but his jaw dropped as he took in what she’d done. The table had been transformed from their dull kitchen one into what could’ve passed as a table in a fancy restaurant. Plates and cutlery were set out, the blinds on the windows were drawn, and more than a few candles were lit. “Oh, wow.” Justin approached the table, marveling at the spread. A plate of pani puri had been set in the center—Justin had cheated and bought those fresh from the Indian deli in town. The platter of small, deep-fried parcels was surrounded by little bowls of condiments: chickpeas, chopped potato, onions, sprouted lentils, and sauces for dipping.

“Your naans are cooling off in the oven,” Tara said, pointing there as if Justin wasn’t sure where the oven was.

Well, he’d give her that.

“Your curry’s on the hob, just reheat it when you want it.” She gave him a steady look. “Think you can manage that, Justin?”

He laughed. “Yeah, I’m a master at reheating. This is amazing. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Just look at my wish list online if you feel the urge to thank me.” Tara gave him a hug.

Justin hugged back hard. “Oh, I see. This was all a ploy to get me to buy you
another
pair of shoes.”

“Seriously.” She looked at him with a smile. “Have fun tonight. I think it’s really sweet you’re cooking dinner for someone. Well,” she added. “Got me to cook. Next time, we’ll start earlier and I’ll give you some tips.”

“Uh.” Justin fought a blush. “If there’s a next time.”

“Why wouldn’t there be?” Tara went to the fridge and took out a bottle of water. “You clearly like each other.”

“Umm, well. I have a tendency to screw things up.”

“Nonsense.” Tara glanced down at Justin’s footwear, raised an eyebrow, then shook her head. “Just mind the candles, all right? Blow them out if you leave the kitchen. Don’t traipse off and leave them burning.”

“Hey,” Justin called after her as she walked out. “I do not
traipse
. I strut.” He practiced sauntering through the kitchen, then up and down the hall. “Why, hello, Yena,” Justin murmured to himself. “Please, do come in.” He sauntered back to the kitchen. Each time he saw the table spread and the candles, his heart did a little jump. “Why, yes, I made everything myself. No”—Justin waved a hand at his imaginary companion—“it wasn’t too much trouble. Not for
you
, darling.”

Hm, less of the darlings
. He was starting to sound like Tam.

The hot water rumbled through the pipes, which meant Tara was in the bathroom, getting ready for work. She’d be gone soon enough. Then Justin would be on his own. Alone until Yena got here.

Why did that make him so nervous?

He’d promised no wine, but Justin needed some alcohol to take the edge off his nerves. Either that or he’d have to call for Tara to bring smelling salts. Rooting through their fridge, he dug out a bottle that Tara must’ve brought back from the bar—orange-flavored beer.

Whatever next.

He cracked off the top and took a swig. The citrusy taste was refreshing, but Justin already considered whether he should have a shot of something stronger instead.

No, best wait
.

Glancing up at the clock, he noted it was quarter past seven. Where was Yena? Hurrying back to his room, Justin found his phone and brought it to the kitchen. No messages. He might be traveling on the Underground.

To distract himself, Justin played DJ and changed the music on the stereo. He had to say good-bye to disco for now, and went for chilled instead. Time for Bowie; he put on his collector’s edition of
Ziggy Stardust
.

At seven-thirty, Justin was fretting. He’d finished his beer and was craving another drink, but he tried to hold off. Tara called good-bye from the hall, and Justin bit his lip against asking her to stay longer. She had to go cover his shift.
Relax
, he told himself.

About two minutes later, his phone buzzed. Justin lunged for it and read the message.

Outside your flat. I hope
.

Justin’s heart hammered as he sped down the hall and threw open the front door. Out in the hallway, Yena stood holding his phone and a large shopping bag. He was facing the other way, obviously having only just exited the lift.

“Hey.” Justin waved. Then he felt silly and dropped his hand, but Yena had already looked up. God, he looked good. Good enough to eat. A light, khaki-colored short-sleeve shirt made Yena’s skin look even more tan, and the rainbow badge over the right breast pocket was too cute. He wore fitted black trousers, and Justin worried upon seeing him that his own look was too casual. He should’ve dressed up more, dammit. Then he noticed the battered Converse on Yena’s feet and felt mildly relieved.

Relax, Justin. Chill the fuck out
. He forced himself to smile. “How’d you make it in? I didn’t hear the buzzer.”

“I saw your roommate downstairs.” Yena smiled as he approached. “She let me in and told me what floor to get. Sorry I’m late, by the way. The tube was being slow.”

“Ah, it’s cool.” Justin stood aside, sweeping his arm out grandly to welcome Yena inside. “Come in. Please. Want me to take your bag?”

“If you want.” Yena handed it over, and Justin hadn’t been prepared for the weight. “It’s got all the cocktail stuff.”

“Ooh.” Justin peered inside, as Yena removed his shoes. “Exciting.”

Yena laughed, straightening up. “Well, just basic ones. But you can practice the shaking and pouring if you want.”

“Good plan.” Justin snickered. “I am
so
terrible at shaking. Last night I showered a couple of ladies with margarita, and then I couldn’t get the shaker off the glass. I whacked it too hard and sent the whole lot flying across the bar.”

“Oh dear.” Yena smiled warmly. “Did you have to remake the drink?”

“Well….” Justin cleared his throat and shut the front door. “Seeing as I’d spilt the lot, my boss banished me to the glass washer while he took over. It was a bit embarrassing.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

Justin led the way down the hall, then entered the kitchen, rushing to stow the heavy bag of drinks on the counter. “Did you want to have a drink first, or…?” He turned back to see Yena gaping at the table.

“Oh, wow, that looks amazing.”

Heat flooded Justin’s face; he was so pleased. “Yeah, I, umm…. Tara helped.”
Dammit
. His carefully rehearsed words escaped him. “Er… so did you want a drink first? It won’t take long to heat up the curry. Or I’ve got beer?”

Yena dragged his eyes away from the table. He looked somewhat shocked as he met Justin’s gaze and blinked several times. “Umm… sure, a beer’s good. I’ll, er, set up the drinks later and show you.”

Justin grinned at the word
later
. “Coolio.” He delved into the fridge, bringing out a selection of bottles. “We’ve got pale ale, more pale ale, or some weak and watery Mexican beer.”

Laughing, Yena replied, “I’ll take the weak and watery Mexican, thanks.”

“Right.” Justin used a bottle opener to click the top off. “Lime?” he offered, and then remembered he didn’t have any to hand. “Er, actually, limes are out. Unless there’s some on the table.”

Yena smiled at him. “Justin, don’t you know what you set on the table?”

Busted
. Justin feared his expression gave away the answer, as Yena laughed again.

“Sans lime is fine.”

It took a moment for Justin to process that, his brain scatty from nerves. He handed over the bottle of beer and opened a new bottle for himself. “Have a seat,” he said, turning to the stove for something to do. “I’ll, erm, just get it ready.”

“Sure you don’t want a hand?”

Justin shook his head and waved at Yena to sit down. “I’m cool, babe. Just relax.”
Fuck, what am I doing?
Justin peered into each saucepan. Rice in one. Curry in the other. Okay, fine, reheat the curry. What about the rice? Was it cooked yet?
Fuck
. He sneaked a glance; Yena had seated himself at the table and was busy looking up at the pictures on the wall. While he was distracted, Justin stuck his fingers in the rice to snag a couple of grains, popping them into his mouth.

They were fluffy and still warm.
Oh, thank God
. Already cooked, he could just add some hot water to reheat.
Phew
.

“Nice kitchen,” Yena said.

Justin was usually good at multitasking, but tonight, not so much. He was distracted. He did manage to fill the kettle with water from the sink. “Thanks. It’s a nice flat, actually.”

“Just you and Tara?”

“Yeah.”

“Who’s the Elvis fan?”

Glancing around, Justin saw Yena looking at one of the larger posters on the wall. “Oh.” He grinned. “That’s my dad.” He carried the kettle back to the counter and turned it on to boil.

“I’m sorry?”

“That’s one of my dad’s gig posters,” Justin explained. He turned on a hob—the wrong one—then eventually found the right one for the curry, to reheat it.

“Your dad does Elvis?” Yena guessed.

“Yep. He’s an impersonator. One of the best.” Justin always felt proud when he told people that. “Except, it’s only recently he’s been the right age to fit the part. At least, so he says. Hah.”

Yena was quiet, and Justin turned to see him studying the poster. Yena looked at Justin, then back at the poster. The picture was a good one, from an old show; Justin’s dad was in his all-black leather suit for the ’
68 Comeback Special
.

“You look like him,” Yena said quietly. “He looks amazing.”

“Aw.” Justin grinned wide. His cheeks were flaming up again. “You say the sweetest things.”

Yena laughed. “So, is he naturally dark, or…?”

“Nah. We’re all blond.” Justin waved a wooden spoon, curry drops splatting on the counter. “He’s dyed his hair black since before I was born. He’s always been into his fifties stuff; rockabilly and that. Never without a stiff quiff, that’s my dad.”

“You’ve seen him perform?”

“Oh, sure. All the time. Mum’s often the driver to his shows. When I was little he used to dress me up as mini Elvis and get me onstage with him.”

“No way!”

“Yeah, loads. I think he knew the women in the audience would love it. He’s always had good ideas. At Halloween, he does a zombie Elvis show. It’s pretty rad.”

“That sounds amazing.”

“You’ll have to come see him.” Justin hoped his offer would be taken up. No one could resist his Elvis dad.

“Does he do cabaret shows?”

“Not so much these days. Just the big corporate do’s. More money for him. And weddings. He likes weddings ’cause there’s always lots of booze.”

Yena chuckled. “He sounds like a lot of fun.”

“He’s a fun dad. Although, I’ll tell you one thing, the fifties is
not
my spiritual era. I don’t mind Elvis, but I can’t
stand
rockabilly.” Justin shuddered at the thought. If he never heard the thonking, dull sound of a double bass again, it’d be too soon.

“What does your mum think?”

“Oh, she loves the fifties.” Justin snorted lightly. “Properly into her jive and swing. Pinup girls and classic cars. They made the lounge into a tiki shack; the bathroom is always greasy from dad’s pomade. They only wear vintage clothes too.”

“
Really
?”

“Yes, really.”

“That… sounds a little intense.”

“I know, right? I mean, in Brighton it’s not so hard to find that stuff, but as soon as I hit teenage years I was like,
no
, Mum and Dad! I’m into electro, so there!”

“Rebelling?”

“It’s gotta be done, right?” Justin spun around, looking for plates. As Tara had been so organized, she’d left them warming in the oven, along with the naan breads. Justin dished up the curries. He tore off strips of naan and set them on the side of each plate and brought the plates over. “Here we go. Hope you like it.”

“It smells fantastic.”

Stomach rumbling, Justin had to agree.

“These look good.” Yena pointed at the plate of pani puri. “I’ve had them before. They’re pretty spicy, right?”

“Not these.” Justin reached over to pick up a crisp, hollow shell. He poked his thumb into it, making a hole. “Depends what you put in. There’s potatoes or chickpeas, and the sauces are only a sweet mix, or the other one is coriander and mint.”