Page 11 of Survival Game

Kyle shuffled the deck, tidied them up and put them back in the box. He slipped his deck into his jacket pocket.

“It’s not you. I just…have…some issues. I’m trying to leave them behind where they belong, but sometimes, it’s not so easy, you know?”

Eric sighed heavily. “Looks like we both have our demons.” He glanced at his watch, which was a big, masculine timepiece that suited his thick wrist. “It’s late anyway. I should be going.” He stood up and collected his sheepswool jacket from the back of the chair.

“Sorry,” Kyle said wearily. “Way to end an evening.” He stayed seated, looking down at the table, wondering whether he should have another drink before going home to his empty flat.

He was surprised when warm hands cupped his chin and forced his eyes upward. Eric regarded him with warmth and compassion. “Don’t be sorry. I had fun.” White teeth flashed then vanished. “I’m off again tomorrow then back to the grindstone. Shift work is a bit of a bitch to make social arrangements around, but I hope we can make some time to do this again. I know the nightclub life isn’t conducive to the normal social thing either.”

Kyle stood, having decided against a drink. “I get Sunday and Mondays off, and start work at three in the afternoon generally until close, which is around two am. Ryan’s pretty chilled about working hours though. He’s a great believer in the flexi-time approach.” He pulled a small, tattered card out of his jeans pocket. “Here’s a Club Delish card—it has my direct work number on it.”

Kyle didn’t give out his mobile number to anyone he hadn’t known forever. He liked Eric but it was too early still to trust the man with something that personal.

“Excellent.” Eric shrugged into his coat. “Here’s my mobile number. Feel free to text me if you get some spare time.” Obviously, Eric didn’t suffer from the same reservations.

Kyle nodded. “Sure, will do. Thanks again for the company.”

“Anytime.” There was an awkward silence then Eric gestured toward the door. “I guess I should say cheerio and get off then.”

“What, here? You have a kink for doing it in public?” Kyle was feeling better at the idea he hadn’t been written off as being a loser.

“Well, that’s for me to know and you to find out.” Eric winked.

Kyle watched with a smile as Eric walked out of the pub.

Chapter Five

Walking down to the tube station, Eric felt what he’d said had somehow upset the balance of the relationship between him and Kyle. Well, not quite a relationship—he supposed he couldn’t call it that after a couple of chance meetings and one night of drinks together. He certainly wanted to get to know Kyle better. The man was entertaining, sexy as hell with his lithe body, piercings and that eye-catching purple-black hair.

After Eric had brought up the tongue-piercing thing, Kyle had switched off and disappeared into himself. Some old memory had really rattled him.

Eric’s mobile rung, and when he saw who it was, his mood lifted.

Deacon.

“Dekes, my man. What’s happening? Chrissy kick you out and you need a place to stay for the night?”

His best friend’s laugh echoed down the line. “Naw. You know my wife loves me too much to do that. She couldn’t live without my hot, sexy bod in her bed for one night, could you, sweetheart?” There was the sound of a scuffle then Chrissy’s laughter sounded in Eric’s ear.

“Hey, Eric, don’t listen to a word my husband says. And when he tells you why he’s calling, please tell him no, like you usually do. The survival of our future child depends on it.”

Deacon came back on the line sounding put out. “She has no faith in me, that woman. None at all.”

Eric chuckled as he leaned against the wall of the tube station. “That’s because she knows you. What hare-brained scheme have you found for us to invest in now?”

Deacon was an inveterate believer in weird and wonderful business ventures they could get involved in. The man was a dreamer and an idealist, the thing most people who knew him loved about him. One thing he was not, however, was able to realise when something novel or faddy was a bad idea. He was a successful garden designer in Torquay with green fingers and a top-notch clientele, so his business acumen was impressive.

Deacon ploughed on, enthusiasm growing as he spoke. “I was talking to a lady who has this magnificent greenhouse growing cucumbers. We got around to talking about how much waste there was when you slice the end of a cucumber and then it goes all soggy and you have to throw the whole thing away.”

Standing there watching the stream of commuters on the London streets, Eric began to laugh, quietly so as not to offend his friend. He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

“So, I thought about making a cucumber topper, like a clip you could put on the end over the sliced part, to keep it fresh. You could even make them into all sorts of shapes, like cartoon characters, flowers, Christmas themed, that sort of thing. Chrissy thinks I’m crazy but I think it could be a really good idea.”

Eric tried to muffle his amusement when he replied. “Well, sounds interesting. Except I’m sure someone tried pitching that on Dragon’s Den and got laughed out of town. Something about, ‘Why would someone buy that when all they need is a bit of tin foil or cling film to wrap around it? Or a plastic salad crisper.’ Sorry, mate. I’m not sure there’s a huge market for cucumber toppers.”

That phrase had his imagination going and for a split second all he saw was Kyle, face down, arse in the air, with Eric behind him with a cucumber.

Now that sounds like something I could invest in.