The Best Man: Part Two by Lola Carson Read Free Book Online Page A

out of bed.”
    “I was already up.”
    Patrick sits up with him for a few minutes, and then they both go to bed, and when Noah next wakes up it’s Christmas Eve morning and the chill in the air has him putting on thick socks and his biggest hoodie.
    He’s in the bathroom and he hasn’t locked the door so Patrick comes in, and they end up standing there brushing their teeth together, Patrick looking at him in the mirror with that same concern.
    “I’m okay,” Noah says around his toothbrush, “really,” and the tension eases from Patrick’s brow and he flicks water at Noah and then Connor’s stumbling in after his run, grumpy and sweaty, asking what’s going on, and this room isn’t big enough for three so Noah leaves.
    He spends the day preparing and cooking food and when his eyes water from the onions, Patrick’s there suddenly, tipping his face up in his hands, looking at him darkly.
    “Just the onions,” Noah says, holding a piece up in demonstration, and Patrick brushes his thumbs under Noah’s eyes to gather the moisture there before calling him a baby and leaving.
    Patrick and Connor get tipsy on whiskey in the afternoon and they get louder and louder as they exchange stories and memories and talk about the good old days, and Noah watches them with fondness and a little exasperation as he brings them Christmas cake and mince pies and cheese on crackers in an attempt to soak up some of the alcohol. As evening falls Connor goes for a nap which turns into a full sleep and Noah ends up the sober one in a room full of half-drunk Patrick, who’s loose on alcohol and smooth talking and overly handsy as he tries to help Noah lay the table for Christmas dinner the next day, brushing over Noah’s hips and his back as they pass each other around the table, fingers catching as they exchange cutlery and napkin holders.
    By the end of it Noah’s blood is thrumming with heat and Patrick’s eyes are dark and there’s a moment when Noah tries to enter the kitchen while Patrick’s exiting and they come to a standstill, staring at each other, inches apart. Noah licks his lips and he swallows and Patrick tracks the movement, before he clears his throat and his mouth parts on an intake of breath and they edge around each other, thighs and shoulders brushing.
    Julie comes over the next morning and they all sit around and open their presents like children, lots of fake enthusiasm and gratitude over the naff gifts. Alcohol makes a reappearance straight after breakfast and Noah and Julie head to the kitchen after, because she’s a better assistant than both the men combined, and by the time Christmas lunch is served, everyone’s more than a little tipsy already.
    They while the afternoon away watching crap Christmas TV specials and eating all their weight in food and by the time Julie leaves, Connor’s passed out drunk, and Noah’s practically leaning back on Patrick’s lap as the room spins around him.
    “For all his talk,” Patrick drawls, his vaguely slurring voice rumbling through Noah from where his back is pressed against Patrick’s thigh, “he’s never really been able to handle his liquor.”
    Noah peers over at Connor slumped across the armchair, his mouth hanging open, head fallen to one side. “Can you help me get him to bed? He’s basically in a coma.”
    Noah and Patrick peel themselves off the couch and stumble a bit, laughing and grabbing each other to steady themselves, then they each grab a hold of an end of Connor and lift him away from the armchair, groaning under the weight of him.
    “Jesus, how much did he eat today?” Patrick grunts as they shuffle towards the bedroom, missing the angle by an inch or so as they try to negotiate the doorway, Connor’s head thwacking against the frame. Patrick laughs, mutters, “Shit,” and once they’ve dumped Connor on the bed and thrown the quilt over him, he looks at Noah with his eyebrows raised. “More alcohol?”
    Noah nods at the obviously