Sequins and Shots - Book Three of the Café Latte Trilogy

Part One: Chapter 3

If you had to pick a favourite of the Café Latte gang, who would it be? Tom is my favourite character (I know, I'm like a terrible parent that has a fave child) but Harper runs a very close second. But then like everyone else runs a close third equally IT'S TOO HARD

Love, Cam

♡

Chapter Three

Edward

I got a job, working as a waiter. It suited me fairly well; I was good at smiling when people were being dickheads, and I had a decent memory. The pay was chronic and the hours unstable; there was no way I'd be able to live in the town by myself without a more secure pay check, but I was doing what I could and I could at least pay Jenny and Lucie a monthly fee for my board.

"It's not necessary," Lucie eyed her phone at the bank transfer I'd made.

"I'm a nineteen year old guy," I reminded her. "I'll eat all your food. Like, all of it."

She laughed lightly and patted me on the head. "Okay, sweetheart, but only if you let me actually spend it on the food."

They kept me exceptionally well-fed; I could see why Ross and Harper missed the cooking. Not that they had to miss it often, given how often they went for lunch at Café Latte. I went there, too; they invited me most days. Bess and Lucie got used to my usual orders. I got used to Ross and Harper's habits, especially their tendency to roast each other mercilessly.

I got used to it all. And I started, gradually, to unfold myself a bit. I started to take up more space. I started letting myself relax. I would let myself laugh louder. I would let myself get annoyed when Ross was late to things. I would let myself be a bit more 'obviously' queer.

"If this sandwich was a man," Ross said to me, after taking a bite of his sandwich. "I would let it top me."

Harper choked on his own sandwich. I grinned. "What a review."

"I'm regretting my order," Harper laughed while coughing, and I smacked him on the back.

I plucked Ross' sandwich from his hands and took a bite before he could make a loud complaint. It was, all things considered, a sandwich sent from god himself.

"I would let this sandwich top me," I confirmed.

Ross snorted as he took it back from me. "Like that'd be difficult."

I cocked an eyebrow at him and said, "I'm sorry, is someone making some assumptions on my bedroom habits?"

"Is it an assumption if I know I'm right?" he asked in return.

I have no idea what possessed me at that moment, but I reached over, pulled his hair like a child having an argument with their sibling, and said, "Contrary to your beliefs, you arrogant tit, I prefer topping. Not that I'm averse to bottoming, but I don't do it nearly as often."

Ross looked legitimately stunned by this, sandwich forgotten. "Really?" he asked, and squinted at me as though I had clues to my choice of fucking written in really tiny letters on my forehead. "Are you sure?"

"Given that it's my penis, yes," I replied, rolling my eyes. "Do you always narrowly box people into roles?"

"Yes," he replied simply, completely shameless. "I now see why you're uninterested in me."

"I'm uninterested in you because you're the worst," I said emphatically.

"Well, sure, that too," he nodded, and returned to his sandwich. "Who'd have thought, Edward, a top? Consider my mind blown." He then eyed me. "Percentage?"