Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 8

walking out of the gents. Or…
    "I need another drink." I stand abruptly. "Same again?"
    Paul and Curtis exchange looks, glancing at their own carefully nursed pints. Fuck them both, I'm not normally like this. Not anymore. This place holds too many memories, not enough of them good.
    I push my way through to the bar, cringing inside as guys try to make eye contact left and right. This place is small enough that I'm still considered new, even after six months. Christ, has it really been that long? I glance back at the table where my best friend is laughing with the love of his life and something twists in my gut. I sneer as Curt catches my eye and pulls Paulie into a hot, wet kiss. I fantasise about smashing a bottle over his head while I wait to be served. Like he doesn't know exactly what he's doing.
    Why did I ever come back here? What was I hoping to achieve? I'd had friends in Manchester, a good job, a life. Did I really give it all up to spend my days playing the spectre at my best friend's feast?
    Maybe I should find a boyfriend. A nice, steady guy who adores me. Maybe, if he looks enough like Paul, I'll grow to adore him too.
    "What do you want?" The barman juts his chin at me, punctuating the question. What do I want? I can think of a dozen flip answers to that, but he's probably heard them all before. I order my drink and gratefully snatch the warm glass when he offers it. Sobriety's overrated.
    Paul eyes me inquisitively as I slide back into my seat, little lines marring his perfect complexion. "You okay?" He asks softly.
    "Never better." I grimace as I swallow the too-sweet liquor.
    "You drink too much." Long lashes kiss his cheekbones. "I worry about you."
    "Where's Curt?" I ask to change the subject. I know he's taking a leak.
    "Toilets."
    "Maybe you should have gone with him." I wink and leer, fighting down the bile that rises at the thought of Paul and Curt together. Why do I do this to myself?
    "That was always more your scene," Paul responds, thin lipped.
    I love that talking about sex still makes him all uptight. If I try really hard, I can almost pretend that he's still a virgin; that he's still waiting for me. The thought of having turned down the opportunity to be this man's first– and only– lover hits me like a freight train and I wince.
    "I'm not judging," Paul tells me quickly, misinterpreting the cause of my misery.
    "Why not?" I answer thickly. "You've every right."
    Curt comes back before he can respond, squeezing himself into the booth beside the man who should have been mine.
    What does Paul see in him? I dispassionately examine the man now sitting opposite me. He's good looking, I suppose, if muscles are your thing. A bit too meaty for my taste, something far too Aryan in his buzz-cut blond hair and piercing eyes. He's not dumb, our Curt, he's got my number alright. I wonder what we have in common that Paulie was attracted to us both.
    Curt's older than we are, early thirties, and holds a decent civilian post at the military base just out of town. It's a mystery to me what they do there, but whatever it is pays well. He owns the home that he shares with my best friend.
    "We going after this?" Curt turns and asks Paul, not quite quietly enough. He tips his almost empty glass. Hint hint .
    Paul looks up at me, worry etched across his handsome features. He really is breathtakingly beautiful. There's nothing feminine about his short, neat hair or his chiselled cheekbones or his rugged jaw, but still the urge to protect him is overwhelming. He's my little boy lost.
    "Don't worry about me," I say blithely, "if you two want to go, then go. I'm sure I'll find something to do." Like order a pizza and watch Shaun of the Dead for the hundredth time. I wink softly so they get the wrong idea.
    "I'll stay," Paul resolves, instantly looking down and chewing his full lower lip. My breath catches, wondering what that lip would feel like pressed between mine. Then I remember that I already know the answer to that. It feels like coming home.
    Curt glares at us both sharply. "I don't mind staying for another," he backtracks. "I just thought you looked tired, babe." The endearment and the soft kiss he plants on Paul's temple are for my benefit, I'm sure. It's like watching a dog piss up a tree.
    I give him my best thousand-watt grin. "No, no, you go if you're tired ." I stress the word so Curt knows I'm implying 'old'. "I'll make sure I bring Paulie back safe and sound."
    The look of pure hatred he