Twinkle, Twinkle (Naughty or Nice) by Josephine Myles Page B

Tom watched Vincent push himself up, wincing as he put the weight on his injured hand but managing to get to a sitting position with his legs dangling off the bed. Although he tried really bloody hard not to ogle him, Tom wasn’t convinced he’d succeeded.
    “Oh yeah, I was still fat when you last saw me, wasn’t I? You’re looking great, though. I could tell it was you straight away.” Vincent’s gaze swept down Tom’s body and up again.
    If that wasn’t a once over, Tom didn’t know what was. But he must be mistaken, must just be seriously in need of a good seeing to if he was starting to fantasize that this great hunk of a man would be interested in him. Scrubs, foam-rubber clogs, and a receding hairline just weren’t a sexy combination. He started the standard list of questions for electrical shock victims and asked Vincent to flex his fingers, noting the wedding band on his ring finger. Yeah, he was bound to be married. The best ones always were.
    “You’re a lucky man, Vincent. Apart from the burn, everything seems to be in perfect working order.”
    “Please, call me Vince.”
    Vincent—no, Vince—gave him another winning smile that Tom couldn’t help answering with one of his own. He should get out of there, really. The nurses could deal with the rest, but something kept him rooted to the spot.
    “So… it was good to see you again, Vince.”
    “Likewise.” Vince beamed. “Never dreamed I’d ever clap eyes on you again. Listen, what time do you get off work?”
    Tom gaped. For a moment he couldn’t remember what shift pattern he was currently on. “Uh, eight thirty.”
    “Perfect. I’ll be busy at ten, but how about a drink down the Bell first? We can catch up on the last couple of decades.”
    Tom found himself agreeing to meet Vince, then took his chance to escape when the nurse hustled in and began tutting at Vince for having dared to sit up so soon after his shock. The last he heard, Vince was roaring with laughter and telling her it would take more than a low voltage arc flash to keep him down.
    After his shift, while pulling his clothes from his locker, panic washed over Tom. This was a huge mistake, surely? Okay, Tom had never been the ringleader, but Vince must remember how Tom’s friends had teased him… and worse. Was this some kind of trap? Was he going to get to the pub, only to be set upon by a gang of muscle-bound thugs, desperate to avenge their friend? Not that Vince would need to call in any help; the man was clearly capable of trouncing Tom all by himself. Tom looked down at his long, skinny limbs and delicate fingers. He wouldn’t stand a chance.
    But his feet refused to listen to his brain, and carried him off into danger, his whole body thrilling with nerves.
     
     
    V INCE leaned back in the booth and studied Tom while he placed his order at the bar. It was amazing how little time seemed to have touched him; he still had that same rangy physique and those intense brown eyes and rich hair, now with a streak of gray at each temple. They made Tom look so bloody distinguished, far too good for the likes of him. He’d been a right fool to have arranged this drink; it wasn’t like they’d have anything much in common these days, a simple electrician and some hotshot doctor. Still, it was Tom Berriman, the golden boy who had spent his schooldays oblivious to the helpless way Vince lusted after him like a dog with its tongue hanging out.
    And then it had been such a startling coincidence, after that shock. It had been enough to make him believe in destiny for an awestruck moment and ask Tom out. Vince touched his wedding ring as his thoughts turned to Justin, wondering if he’d led him to this moment, if Justin’s spirit really was watching over him like a guardian angel, still clad in that shimmery white dress and feather boa he used to love. It was either that, or Vince really was starting to go a bit soft in the head.
    Actually, come to think of it, it was amazing how