Chapter 8

Peter sighed. “Once upon a time, three beers were an apéritiffor me. When did we get old?”

With another laugh, Jonathan told him, “Speak for yourself. I’m not the one moaning and groaning here. I’m the designated driver.”

They lapsed into an easy silence broken only by the faint sounds of the radio playing low between them and the tires rolling on the asphalt outside. Peter stayed hunched up in on himself, leaving Jonathan alone with his own thoughts. Obviously with Peter feeling so unwell, any thought of the evening continuing beyond the pub was a moot point—Jonathan couldn’t expect anything to happen between them now, could he?

Onions or not, he thought wryly, the last thing I want is for him to throw up after our first kiss. What would that say about me?