Operation Fake Relationship - Jay Northcote Page 0,16

him. Maria and Adrian were drinking a little, but not excessively, and Jackson was only on his second glass. His gaze settled on Jackson for a moment, and his stomach fluttered as he remembered the kiss under the mistletoe earlier. Nick had felt off-balance ever since, as though something had changed even though it hadn’t. The kiss hadn’t meant anything, it had only been to show off in front of his parents.

So why did it feel so intense? And why can’t I stop thinking about it?

The oven timer went. “That’s the crumble ready,” his mother said. “Let me go and get it out.”

“It’s okay, darling. I’ll go.” Nick’s father was already on his feet.

That was new too. In the past Nick remembered his father letting her do the brunt of the cooking, serving, and clearing up. Now he was much more involved, and quick to help without her asking.

“Okay, thank you.” She leant back in her chair and took another sip of wine. She sounded a bit tipsy, but she wasn’t much of a drinker normally so a sniff of the barmaid’s apron was usually enough to get her giggly and flushed.

Nick picked up his glass and took another swig. He’d already drunk more than he should. He could feel it in the fog that filled his brain and the pounding at his temples. Sitting in this room with his family, Nick felt as if he’d been transported back in time. They might all be ten or more years older, and there were a few extra bodies in the room, but the past loomed over him every time he caught his father’s eye. Thank fuck Jackson was between them as a buffer. With Pete sitting opposite him droning on to their father about his promotion opportunities, and pay rises, and the house he was hoping to buy, pressure was building inside Nick like steam with no escape valve. The fuzziness gifted to him by the alcohol coursing through his veins and Jackson’s calm presence beside him were the only things keeping him at the table.

So far he’d managed to avoid any conversation with his father, talking mainly to Maria who was on his other side. That suited him just fine.

But once the pudding had been served, Pete had his mouth full of crumble and he finally shut up for a moment.

Their father turned to Nick. “So, how’s your business going, Nick?”

Nick’s heart started beating double speed at being the focus of his father’s attention. “Good, thanks.”

“You’re still doing the same thing?”

“Graphic design. Yes.”

“There’s money to be made in that then?” The hint of surprise in his voice sent a hot rush of blood surging through Nick, heating his ears and making his collar feel too tight. His father had never supported his educational choices, sneering at his decision to study art and design rather than more academic subjects. He gritted his teeth, willing himself not to snap. “You’re managing to earn a decent living with it?”

Nick lost the battle. “No, I have to sell my arse on the street corner to pay the rent every month,” he snapped. “Yes, of course I earn a decent living. I wouldn’t keep doing it if I didn’t!”

Jackson choked on his crumble, and Pete’s jaw dropped, eyes wide.

During the silence that followed, Nick’s father’s face turned an interesting shade of purple, and his eyes flashed as he glared. Nick felt savage satisfaction at seeing his relaxed demeanour finally slip. This angry version was more familiar, and Nick was strangely glad he’d managed to provoke him. When his father finally spoke, his voice was icy. “I was just making conversation, Nick. There’s no need to be so sensitive, and there was no call for rudeness.”

Nick wasn’t going to defend himself, and he certainly wasn’t going to apologise. “Well you should ask better questions. And I was only making a joke, so perhaps you’re the one who’s being over-sensitive.”

There was an awkward pause, and then Nick’s mother launched in with, “Jackson, what do you do?”

“I teach P.E. in a secondary school,” Jackson replied.

“Oh, that’s nice,” she said brightly. “Do you enjoy it?”

“Mostly. Some of my classes are pretty challenging, but overall it’s okay.”

“No wonder you look so fit.”

“He’s a gym rat as well,” Nick said, putting a hand on Jackson’s bicep and giving it a squeeze. “Which explains the guns. Teaching alone wouldn’t be enough to keep him looking this hot.” He grinned at Jackson, who gave him a slightly strained smile in return.

There was another