|Driven by Nicholas Kinsley|
Trevor Lewis is an ordinary architect who loves drawing, drumming, and the owner of Advanced Auto Repairs. However, Mitchell Morgan is more than a pretty face and sculpted torso; he’s a quiet man with dark, powerful secrets.
Mitchell ran a hand through his hair and put on the usual display of bravado and confidence as he walked leisurely through the pub, searching the sea of faces again. After a few minutes, he decided that Trevor definitely wasn’t there, and found an empty table with two chairs in the back by the toilets. He texted Trevor to let him know he was there and where he was sitting.
Mitchell took off his coat and looked around the place again in the meantime. When he first started working for Alfred Kane, he used to worry that the man had eyes everywhere, had men following him. It’d taken a few months for him to realise that wasn’t the case, that Kane didn’t waste resources on surveying all his little worker bees twenty-four seven. As long as Mitchell supplied the cars on time, came running when called, and didn’t do something stupid like try to snitch to the police that weren’t on the payroll, Kane didn’t give a damn what he did in his free time.
It was a normal Saturday night and everyone seemed to be having a good time. Though there was the usual exception, of course, like the lairy drunk brooding in the corner and the couple arguing in a booth across the way.
Then he spotted Trevor walking toward him, just in the middle of taking his hat off and half-heartedly fixing his hair. Mitchell let himself smile and shifted in his seat to put his arms up on the table.
“Hey,” Trevor said, smiling back as he sat and took off his coat. “Alright?”
“Not bad. You?”
Trevor sighed, making Mitchell’s stomach lurch. He couldn’t have done something wrong already, surely?
Trevor leaned forward with an apologetic expression. “Look, I’m sorry, but you’re gonna have to speak up. I can’t hear a word you’re saying, not in here.”
Mitchell exhaled in relief. He could be louder. He could be much louder, though almost exclusively when he was angry. It felt odd and a little uncomfortable to raise his voice otherwise, but he didn’t mind making the effort for Trevor.
“I said I’m not bad. How are you?” he repeated.
“Ah, I’m fine. You look good.”
Trevor nodded at his clothes and Mitchell stopped himself from looking down. He knew what he was wearing—dark denim jeans and a black polo neck made of some material that stretched to fit him. He’d even brushed his hair before leaving, but nervously running fingers through it had probably undone that job.
“Thanks,” Mitchell said, eyeing both Trevor’s brown jumper and his usual just-above-the-ear curls. He leaned back but left one hand on table, letting an arm extend naturally. “You, too. But then, you always look good,” he finished with a crooked grin. He even remembered to keep his voice louder than normal.
Trevor chuckled. “Thanks. I’d tell you the same but I think it’s a bit obvious.”
“You’re absolutely shameless when it comes to flirting, aren’t you? At my place of work and everything.”
Trevor shrugged and beamed at him. “What can I say? I’m a guy that goes after what he wants.”
Mitchell got up, laughing but inwardly delighted. “I’ll get the first round. What’re you having?”
Trevor sat back in his chair, extending his legs. “I’ll start with a cider and see how I feel. Don’t wanna get so pissed I make a fool of myself.”
“Ah, but if I like you drunk then you know for sure I’ll like you sober,” Mitchell joked. He was pleased when Trevor laughed. “Cider it is. I’ll be right back.”
He went to order, getting a lager for himself. He wanted a little more of his confidence to be less feigned, wanted to loosen up a bit, and he wasn’t a fast drinker anyway. He’d nurse his pint and maybe Trevor would down his cider, switch to a real drink afterwards.
“Cider for the teenage girl in the Fiesta,” Mitchell said as he set Trevor’s glass down.
“Stick to cars and leave the jokes for those who do comedy for a living,” Trevor quipped, rolling his eyes but smiling. He picked up the cider and brought it to his lips as Mitchell took his seat. “Ta.”
Mitchell took two large swallows of his lager and put it down, resolving to repeat the action once more before slowing. “Did you want a bit to eat?” he asked. “I ate earlier so I’m alright if you are.”
Trevor shook his head. “Had something before I left. What I really want is to ask you some questions.”
Mitchell’s heart skipped. “Questions?”