Akash

––––––––

“THE FUCKING SOLDIER twat broke my nose.”

Akash found it almost impossible to smother the inappropriate urge to laugh loudly at the cursing man sitting on the kerb outside of the Sin Bin. “Serves you right.”

“What the fuck did I do?” Scottie surged to his feet, only to be shoved back down on his arse by one of his friends, who had been hovering nearby since the evening out at the nightclub had ended in a fistfight between the manager and a patron. “Fuck.”

Their evening had begun positively. Akash had, at the invitation of Rupert, BC, and Freddie, agreed to visit the new club in Cardiff. The Sin Bin had been the brainchild of retired rugby superstar Boyce “BC” Brooks and several of his former teammates: Caddock Stanford, Remi Chardin, Scott “Scottie” Monk, and Taine “Tens” Afoa. They’d pooled their money and resources to open the Sin Bin in an old warehouse on a wharf in the city.

Freddie had only just returned from his trip overseas with a non-profit organisation. The nurse had brought a friend—Hamish Ross—with him, a Royal Marine, who among other things, worked security for several non-profits. Akash had found his eyes straying to the tall blond several times through the evening.

And that, he supposed, might’ve been where the night took a turn for the worse.

It became painfully and awkwardly clear his friends hadn’t coordinated in their efforts to find him a date. Freddie and Aled, a botanist who’d become a good friend, had brought Hamish as a potential partner for him. BC and Rupert tried to set him up with Scottie. Tempers had flared—one temper in particular.

When Scott Monk tried rather aggressively to hit on him, Akash had merely raised an eyebrow at the “call me Scottie.” He found nothing about the loud, brash, and smug man attractive; a handsome face didn’t make up for his appalling personality. He’d finally had to say as much to get the former rugby player turned nightclub manager to leave him alone.

His assumption that that would be the end of it had turned out to be wrong.

Wrong, wrong, so damn wrong.

When Freddie and Aled brought the thirty-nine-year-old Hamish over, the evening had perked up. He didn’t mind their ten-year age gap. They’d met a few times before, but never talked in depth. They’d immediately fallen into a conversation about where in India his mother came from and how his father, then a British military officer, had met her. It seemed the blond man had travelled to some of the same places.

Things didn’t kick off until after the club had closed for the evening; Scottie, predictably, hadn’t taken being discounted in favour of the blond Adonis well. He made a few insulting comments Akash would rather forget about both his heritage and his job as a baker. Before anyone else could intervene, Hamish had landed a solid fist to the ranting man’s jaw.

The fight started with the Royal Marine—and ended with him as well. They all waited outside for tempers to cool. Aside from the bleeding and sulking Scottie, the other former rugby players who owned the Sin Bin had immediately apologised to Akash.

“Say you’re sorry.” Taine grabbed Scottie by the collar to yank him up to his feet and drag him in front of Akash. “Well? Go on. If you want to stay a partner and the manager of our club, you will learn to get a sodding grip on your temper. Got it?”

Scottie elbowed the massive Scottish-Maori man in the side. “Get the fuck off me.”

Akash couldn’t help lifting his eyebrow at the man for the second time that evening. He’d known blustering bullies like Scottie his entire life—and never allowed himself to be intimidated by them. “Something you’d like to say? Or can I get on with my evening?”

Snorts of amusement echoed all around them, which only served to anger Scottie further. He clenched his fist and took another menacing step forward. Akash merely ran his fingers through his slightly shaggy black hair. His indifference apparently threw the larger man.

“Right. So, I’m fucking sorry for whatever, but you’re still attractive.” Scottie paused midstep, still clutching at his nose. “Wanna grab a pint with me?”

“Have you been concussed one too many times?” Akash leant in closer to make a show of peering carefully at Scottie. “The only way I’d share a pint with you would be if I bashed you upside the head with it.”

“Tetchy, tetchy, tetchy.” BC reached his long arm between them and pressed Scottie backwards. “Think maybe we should call it a night, yeah?”

Akash glanced over his shoulder to see Hamish in a whispered conversation with Wyatt, his American friend and Aled’s husband. He turned back to where BC had slipped an arm around Scottie to hold him up. “Might want to get some coffee in him,” he suggested.

“Might take more than a coffee.” BC winked at him before dragging Scottie toward the parking area. “Ginger Spice’ll call you in the morning.”

Akash grinned at BC’s nickname for Graham. He envied the two men, who seemed to have such fun with their life together. His thoughts drifted, and it took a moment to realise everyone had gone, leaving him alone with Hamish. “Right.”

“Can I give you a lift?” Hamish sounded as if he had no intention of taking no for an answer; he gave Akash hopeful smile. “I promise to get you home safely.”

“I’ve no doubt.” Akash shook his head, and laughed at the man. “Fine. I’d rather not try to find an Uber or something at this hour, and I have to be at the bakery early in the morning.”

On the whole, Akash usually handled silence relatively well. Working alone in his bakery, it never oppressed him as it did others, which made his inability to remain quiet while trapped in Hamish’s vehicle all the more surprising. Shut up. Shut up. SHUT. UP. God, I’m humiliating myself.

Blathering about the finer points of the spices he often used in his cooking didn’t exactly scream sexual seduction. The man driving brought out the chattering numpty in him—one he’d never known existed. He didn’t like it.

Hamish chuckled after several minutes, breaking Akash out of his thoughts. “Breathing would probably be a good thing.”

Akash covered his face with his hand and spoke with an embarrassed burble of laughter, “Yes, it just might.”

“You’re charming.” Hamish reached over to catch Akash by the wrist and drag his hand away from his face. “Completely charming.”

Akash directed Hamish toward the building that housed not only his bakery but his flat as well. “Thanks for the lift.” He glanced at the man out of the corner of his eye. “Fancy having supper with me some time?”

Did I just—I did. Bloody hell, I did.

Hamish’s midnight blue eyes searched his briefly before he reached out with calloused and scarred fingers to catch Akash’s jaw. “May I?”

“You could always try and find out.” Akash almost laughed in surprise when his own voice came out as steady as always. Those hard fingers rubbed against the scruff on his jaw, sending pleasurable waves along his skin. “Do you always need an invitation for a kiss?”

“Only the first one.” Hamish smiled wolfishly. His grin revealed identical dimples in his cheeks, though Akash lost sight when the man leant forward until their lips connected, awkwardly at first. Their kiss became heated quickly until they both pulled away, mouths open and breaths coming in quick gasps. He could hear Hamish swallowing a few times before he cleared his throat. “Sleep well.”

Smug. Attractive. Bastard.

They exchanged numbers before Akash clambered out of the black Mercedes SUV. To his surprise he did manage to sleep well, dreaming of a sexy blond military man. It took the persistent nudging of his cat to drag him into waking up.

Hangover? Check. Ganesh sitting on my head? Check. Bakery to open? Check. Incredibly attractive men fighting over me? Daft.

Sitting up slowly in bed, Akash shoved his long-haired golden kitten off his head. Ganesh had been a gift from his younger sister, Shanti, and his elder sister, Padma. His parents hadn’t liked the idea of their only son moving out on his own.

Akash covered his face with his pillow, breathing out deeply into the cool silk covering it. He didn’t even need to look at the alarm clock to know he’d slept in far too long. He should’ve been elbow deep in dough an hour ago; if he rushed, they might open on time.

Damn it.

Akash winced at the shrill ring of his mobile phone. Maybe I should hire a morning manager. He ignored the phone for the moment and tried to get his brain in gear.

In Cornwall, Akash hadn’t been trapped in the bakery. He found it ironic that he’d moved to Cardiff in part to improve his social life only to find almost no time for it with all the extra work. Eventually he’d bring in more help to allow him to actually take time off instead of being up before dawn and crawling into bed when the day was done.

Ganesh leapt from the pillow onto his stomach and finally onto the floor. Insane creature. His phone gave a cheerful beep, and he grabbed it off the nightstand to silence it. A quick glance showed a text from Graham.

Graham: How the hell did you wind up on two blind dates with equally attractive men? After a complete desert of dating since that last bloke, the one who brought your supplies, who you dumped after a month.

Akash: Good karma. Not exactly blind since I’d met them both before. And he dumped me.

Graham: Knobhead.

Graham: He was the knobhead, if you were wondering. We stayed in Cardiff last night with Tens. Your bakery open yet? We’re all half-starved.

Akash: Haven’t quite made it downstairs yet.

Graham: Lazy pillock. Get your arse up.

Akash: Bring coffee, and I’ll think about making some of those fruit and cheese pastries you like. I might even tell you about kissing Hamish.

Graham: You kissed? Be there in five.

Akash forced himself to get out of bed and into the shower. He got a whiff of his own breath. “Bloody hell. I smell like death warmed over and baked in a quiche.”

Attractive.

Right. Shower. Clothes. Baking.

No wanking in the shower.

Why am I still thinking about that kiss?

Maybe a bit of wanking in the shower.