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This story is set in contemporary Britain during the pandemic. As such, references are made to UK government regulations and guidelines, although some of the timelines may vary for artistic purposes. This story is my usual flavour of gay MM romance and is not a political statement in any way, simply an observation of a budding romance during extraordinary times.

Famous Last - 20. Chapter 20

With Marshall away, Spencer goes for a drink with Bev and Prince.

Wednesday afternoon, Bev perched her bottom on the side of Spencer's desk, an enigmatic Mona Lisa smile on her face. As usual, she dressed to perfection in a warm burgundy and beige pants suit. She had good reason to be happy, and Spencer could never resist her good vibrations. Still riding the virtual Blackmore client event's success, nothing could shake her upbeat mood, one that seemed as infectious as the virus ravaging the country.

Friday's edited forty-five-minute online interview, which focused mainly on more entertaining aspects of the couple, with a clear emphasis on the magazine's achievements, had been a resounding success. An extended version—something agreed with the Moresby's as a part of the arrangement—was being put together under the title "Celebrity Say What You Mean", a hybrid of Marshall's usual show, and would air between Christmas and New Year. The magazine interview had been written weeks before and would be published during the week. All in all, Muriel had been so delighted with the results and the positive responses, that she had promoted Beverley to Senior Events Manager on the spot, especially in the light of yet another member of her staff, Evelyn, having resigned. Muriel had said nothing about Spencer getting a bonus for suggesting the arrangement and, quite frankly, Spencer had given up caring. Everything else in his life had begun to shine, a new optimism filling him every waking morning.

By stark contrast, the rest of the country appeared to be in perpetual confusion about how seriously they should be taking the threat of the virus, with a government torn between keeping the economy from flat-lining and protecting its citizens' health.

"Have you spoken to Muriel yet?" asked Bev, playing with his crystal paperweight. "About the new job?"

The formal offer had been waiting for him on his doormat as he had arrived home from work the night before. That very morning he had phoned precisely two people. Six hours ahead of UTC—one thirty in the afternoon in his time zone—Marshall had been having lunch with his crew in their hotel. He had answered after only two rings, and they had chatted for the whole of Spencer's fifteen minute's walk to the station. Once settled at work, and as promised, he'd phoned Madeleine to tell her the good news. Almost immediately afterwards, he had tossed up calling his parents but wanted to speak to Muriel first, wanted to make sure he had tied down every end before making the big announcement. Simultaneously, to save his mother's poor heart, he would also tell them about bringing someone home for Christmas lunch.

"You must be clairvoyant. I only received the offer last night and the old bat isn't in today. Alice says she's likely to be in tomorrow or Friday, so I've asked her to book me a meeting both days."

"And what's the offer like? Good package?"

"From what I can tell."

"What did Marshall say?"

"I haven't really had a chance to talk him through the detail. Just the basics. But we're both sure it's fine."

"Do you want me to take a look, Squirrel? Make sure there are no glaring omissions? You know contracts are my thing, don't you?"

"Would you do that for me?"

"Of course I would. You're my bestie. And I need something to do right now. So talking of Marshall, how is lover boy?"

"Could ask you the same question about Prince," said Spencer grinning. "And just for your information, Marshall is most definitely not a boy. Not in any sense of the meaning."

"I'll take your word for that. Have you heard from him?"

"Every day. He kept me company over the phone on my way to the station this morning. But he'll be busy for the rest of today attending a private function. And Friday's the day of the ceremony. But he's back Saturday."

"Bet you can't wait."

He really couldn't. Since the client party, they had spent every night together—either in Marshall's bed or in Spencer's—until Marshall's flight out of Gatwick early Monday morning. The official event was taking place at midday on Friday, followed straight afterwards by a grand state dinner to which Marshall had been honoured with an invitation. He vowed to fly back Saturday morning, or late Friday night if he could snag a late standby flight. Strings of voice messages—Marshall had defaulted to quick and sexy voice snippets from his text app—had kept Spencer smiling and optimistic, as well as confirming their plans for Marshall to stay at Spencer's flat over the weekend. They had said goodbye to each other properly in Marshall's apartment as a van waited downstairs to whisk him and his crew off to the airport, and Spencer had almost spoken the words he had been aching to say to him all weekend. Once again, though, he relented, deciding he needed Marshall's full attention if things didn't go as expected.

Ignoring objections, he had accompanied Marshall, carrying his bag downstairs and outside into the cold, dark morning, to the waiting van. He had made a point of greeting Kerry-Anne and Colm by name, as well as saying hello to two others. Everyone seemed in good spirits, and treated Marshall as just another one of the team, something he guessed was part of the attraction for Marshall. Their evident camaraderie made Spencer smile, and an odd mix of emptiness and envy filled him as he watched the van pull away, with Marshall waving from the back seat.

"Join us for drinks today, Spence," said Bev, bringing him out of his reverie.

"Where? Everywhere's closed."

"Prince drove his Saab to work today. Nile phoned him at lunchtime and said he'd found a gay pub in St Albans called The Smugglers. They're doing this midweek special on house cocktails until ten. St Albans is still in tier one for now and on medium alert. Nobody's around today, so we're going to leave at three and meet him there around four for an hour or three. Prince will only have non-alcoholic mocktails, and he's already agreed to drop you back at Tooting Broadway Tube Station on our way home, if you want to come."

"Our way home?"

Bev beamed, pleased with herself.

"You don't miss a trick, do you? I'm staying at Prince's place tonight. You're not the only one loved up at the moment. So are you in or not?"

Spencer stared at his desk. He had completed most of the work, and any outstanding pieces awaited colleagues' attention before he could finalise them. With Marshall away for the week, what else did he have to do? Head home and feed the cat? Big whoop. Moreover, if Prince had already offered to drop him off, he had no real excuse.

"What the hell. Yes, count me in."


Nile met them deep in The Smugglers' interior, a long room at the back of the main pub. Unlike the few gay clubs that Spencer had visited at college and since being in South London, the pub in St Albans came across as oak-beamed and traditional, and Spencer rightly guessed that on most days, when the government allowed, the establishment served anyone who happened to pass through the doors. Only the back hall, with a bouncer on the door collecting a nominal fee and stamping the back of each entrant's hand with a red ink skull and crossbones, separated the main bar from the well-ordered gay gathering.

Nile had found a round table for six near the bar. Togged out in his combination of stylish silk shirt in black and gold, tight-fitting skinny jeans which stopped short showing off his bare ankles, and expensive-looking brown leather loafers, he looked entirely at ease, despite being ogled at by a couple of men nearby propping up the bar.

"A friend put me onto this place," he said, his grin wide when he saw and greeted each of them, as each removed his or her mask and took a seat. "Good to get out of the house."

"Don't hold your breath," said Prince. "They're already talking about bringing in tighter restrictions nearer Christmas."

Spencer moved to the seat beside Nile and tried to get the attention of a waiter. As he had been included in the little adventure, he felt it only right that he should buy them all a couple of rounds. Prince needed the restroom, so Bev gave Spencer their orders and then volunteered to accompany Prince, most likely to make sure some random guy didn't try and accost him.

"Have you spoken to Tommy?" asked Spencer as yet another waiter blanked him.

Nile began to grin, and he lowered his head. When he turned back, his whole face had lit up.

"Saturday. We talked for two hours. He's missing me so badly, and truth is, I'm missing him, too. Even sent me dick pics. I tell you, once all this shit is over and he comes back home, we're going to give things another try."

"Finally, Nile comes to his senses."

"Shut up and get me a drink."

"I'm trying, but I'm feeling a little invisible right now." Spencer noticed Nile flash a smile at one of the servers and nod towards Spencer, which appeared to do the trick. "What are you doing out at a gay bar, anyway, Nile? Shouldn't you be at home sitting by the phone?"

"First of all, my phone is in my back pocket. Secondly, I'm going bat-shit crazy stuck indoors all day. And there's no harm in window shopping. Don't worry, none of these barflies are getting a look-in. Hey, don't panic, but I think your scumbag ex is here."

"What?" said Spencer.

"Blake. I think I saw him getting messy drunk down the end of the bar."

"Oh," said Spencer with a shrug. "Whatever."

"Okay," said Nile, leaning back. "So not the reaction I'd have expected. What's going on with you?"



Finally, the waiter came over to Spencer, who fired off an order of drinks and hot snacks.

"Did Prince say anything?" asked Spencer once the man had left.

"About you? No. Like what?"

Spencer considered the improbability of Bev saying nothing to Prince about Marshall, so maybe Prince had been sworn to secrecy. He knew very well that when you made Bev a promise, you broke it on pain of death. But actually, he realised he didn't mind people knowing about them. Hell, even Muriel and Ambika had caught the pair of them kissing.

"Remember asking me if I'd ever kissed someone who had made my insides turn to jelly? Like what happened with you and Tommy?"

"You said yes, but that it was complicated."

"Yes, well. Not so much, anymore. We're seeing each other now."

"Fuck, Spence. Where is he then? Why didn't you bring him with you?"

"He's out of the country right now, on location in Kryszytonia in Eastern Europe," said Spencer, as a couple of drinks appeared in front of them. "Not sure you'd know him, he works as a news reporter. Marshall High—"

"Fuck off!" said Nile, his mouth dropping open. "Marshall Highlander is your bloke?"

"Oh," said Spencer, pushing a bright blue coloured drink towards Nile. "You know who he is, then?"

"Marshall fucking Highlander? Hottest daddy in the northern hemisphere? Do I know who he is?" said Nile, before slapping a palm on the tabletop. "Whoah, Spence, man, you are one dark horse. So what's he like? I bet he's really sexy, isn't he? Have you two done the deed—? Wait, what am I saying? Of course you have. It's written all over your face."

"Yes, we're intimate and, yes, he's bloody amazing," said Spencer, who couldn't do anything about the grin that had steadfastly fixed itself onto his face. "If that's what you're asking."

Spencer paid for the drinks and then took a swig from his bottle of Pilsner. Openly talking about Marshall with Nile had left him feeling light and giddy.

"You know what?" said Nile, smirking curiously. "I'm beyond impressed, but strangely not surprised. Hmm, good on you, mate. Bet your ex, that brother-sucker Blake, is beside himself knowing you've moved on."

"I'm not sure he knows. And honestly, I don't really care."

Nile lifted his glass in the air in a toast with Spencer, who clinked his bottle against the cocktail glass.

"Here's to us both, Spence," said Nile. "Next year is already looking promising."

Spencer couldn't agree more. Not only would he see in the new year looking forward to starting a new job, but he would have Marshall in his life. When Prince and Bev returned from the toilet, Bev had a downright pissy look on her face. Spencer handed over her pint of cider, and while she downed a good half, a smirking Prince explained what had happened.

"While she waited outside the loo for me—they're really modern and clean, by the way—some bloke came up and asked her if she was my fag hag."

"I almost slapped the man," said Bev, glaring at Prince. "If I was going to offer to be anyone's fag hag—which I am not—then Squirrel would have first refusal."

After laughing together, they sat around chatting and drinking, and Spencer only regretted not having Marshall with him. He wondered if his friends would be relaxed around Marshall, but then remembered Bev meeting him and being completely fine. At some point, he wanted them all to meet up.

Eventually, as they decided on their last couple of rounds, Spencer excused himself to use the restroom. Prince had been right. Unlike other gay bars he had been to in the past, the toilets were mercifully plush, clean and well-tended. He noted that one upside to the virus was that many public places had increased the thoroughness and regularity of cleaning and disinfecting communal areas.

Washing up and pushing his way out of the toilet, he found Blake leaning against a wall outside, the remains of a pint of something amber cradled against his chest. Unusual for him, he appeared a little dishevelled, his gaze as dark as ever but very slightly unhinged.

"There you are," he said, as Spencer approached.

"Here I am. Have you been waiting for me?"

"Maybe." Blake's shoulder slipped slightly on the smooth wall surface.

"Are you drunk?"

"On the contrary. I'm perfectly fine. Better than ever."

If he had been drinking, Blake's speech betrayed no hint of slurring. However, at odds with his words, his usually immaculate hair appeared ruffled, and somehow he had left a collar tip of his blue cotton shirt turned up.

"You look a mess, Blake. I hope someone's taking you home."

"You offering?"

"No, I am not. We've been there and done that, remember? Why don't you call Ambika?"

Blake's face screwed up into a scowl.

"Bitch dumped me."

Spencer nodded and turned his gaze away, not particularly surprised. But he did wonder if anything he had said to Ambika had been the reason, or if she had come to a decision on her own. With hindsight, he wanted to believe the latter.

"Have you ever wondered why I stopped seeing you, Spencer?"

Spencer looked back, surprised by the question.

"Not really."

"Sure you have. Come on, let me have it. I'm a big boy."

Spencer didn't want to have this conversation with Blake. When he had talked about water under the bridge, he had meant the words. And of the two of them, Spencer had truly moved on.

"I suppose because you got bored."

"You see? Wrong. You have things entirely the wrong way around. The real reason is because I knew you would eventually get bored with me. Even in our short time together, you kept dropping small hints about going out for meals or meeting up with your friends or family. Eventually you would have started suggesting we move in together, to build a home together. Maybe even start a family. In that way, you're not unlike Ambika."

"And what's so wrong with that?"

"Nothing!" said Blake, angry and miserable. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with that, not if that's what you want, and something you're confident and unashamed about. And you, Spencer, seem sure about everything. You hide nothing. But I can't live like that. I don't want to be known as some other half of a gay couple—or any couple, come to that. In three years' time, my mother's going to retire and I will become the face of the Blackmore group. I'll be the one in demand, getting interviewed on television and having people kowtow to me. I won't just be Muriel Moresby's son anymore, as I am right now. And when that happens, Spencer, I'll be able to have anything or anyone I want. So if I do decide to choose someone to stand beside me, it will be a real somebody—well-known, a good-looking face, an equal. Everything that happens up until that moment is just time passing."

"You can't be serious?"

"Why not? That's when I'll finally get to call the shots."

Spencer lowered his head in disbelief. In all the time they had spent together, those had been the most insightful words Blake had ever spoken. But then, in their time together, Blake had rarely opened up. To hear that he only cared about himself and the power trip he would inherit from his mother, fitted perfectly with the image Spencer had built up of the man. But the truth made Spencer feel sad for him, sorry that even with somebody by his side, Blake would probably live his life with nobody he cared about, and nobody who cared about him.

"Not that you need to worry. Now that you're finally moving on from Blackmore," said Blake, grabbing Spencer's attention.

"Who told you?" asked Spencer, wondering who had betrayed his trust. The last thing he needed was to have Blake bleating to his mother before he'd had a chance to speak to her.

"I have my sources. And don't worry, I've not breathed a word to my mother, or Ms Salvatore over there. Or anyone else, come to that. Your secret's safe. Killian's husband, who is a good friend of mine, told me. I'm the one who got Killian onboard to write the column for Collective. Not sure how much you know about him, but although he's a naturally gifted, eloquent vlogger, he is not only mildly dyslexic, but his eyesight's failing. So Cameron, his better half, who works as an editor for Tandem House publishers, helps ghost write his column. Cameron is the one who reads aloud your comments and suggested edits to Killian. They both adore you, by the way, and, without my approval, Cameron went behind my back and recommended you to Ed Coleman at The Herald, told me after the deed that you were wasted at Blackmore."

Spencer nodded slowly. Killian's partner, someone Spencer had never met, had seen enough in his work to recommend him to Ed. The thought left him feeling grateful for good people.

"In the meantime," continued Blake, pursing away from the wall. "I need a refill. I won't offer you one, because I imagine you need to get back to your troop of nut jobs."

"Are we going to see you in the office tomorrow?"

"Mother asked the same thing. She'll be in. Offered me a lift. "

"And you?"

"Maybe," said Blake, his back to Spencer. "Maybe not."

Perhaps he should detest Blake, but all he could feel at that moment, watching him stumble unsteadily away, was pity. Spencer returned to his group with a sigh, where he noted Nile several feet away ordering drinks and chatting to a bartender at the bar. Prince sat almost sullenly by Bev's side, while she spoke to someone standing over them, a stranger who had his back to Spencer. Only as he got closer, did he recognise the profile of Joey Hollingbroke. Prince's eyes landed on Spencer and widened, and he shook his head slightly. Joey, who had clearly noticed, turned around at that moment, a smirk on his face.

"Here he is," said Joey, looking Spencer up and down. "The man of the moment. Your ears must be burning."

"Joey," said Spencer, deciding he would not be intimidated. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Saw you over here earlier. Thought you'd like me to come over and say hello."

"Hollingbroke's been telling us about himself," said Prince, the disdain in his voice not lost on Spencer. "Even though we didn't ask. He seems to have a very high opinion of himself."

Of course, thought Spencer. Bev would have told Prince all about Joey's stunt at the Bangladeshi restaurant and shown him the freebie newspaper's news article about him. Prince was firmly in Spencer's corner.

"Prince," said Bev, nudging him. "Sorry. My boyfriend never watched your show."

Joey appeared happy to dismiss Bev and Prince and turned his full attention to Spencer.

"So how are things going with my Marshall?"

Spencer wanted to tell him it was none of his business and that Marshall was not his. Prince would have probably told him to do precisely that. Bev even rolled her eyes.

"Things are going extremely well."

"In which case why is he not here?"

"He has an overseas assignment. Gets back Saturday morning."

Joey gaze hardened on Spencer. Something in his last statement had ruffled his feathers, maybe because he was no longer in the know about Marshall's life and whereabouts.

"I'd watch your back if I were you, mate. Associating with someone like him."

A little voice in Spencer wanted to tell Joey not to call him his mate.

"This should be good," said Prince, folding his arms. "Why does he need to watch his back?"

"I bet Marshall never told you," said Joey, his attention still on Spencer. "That he has a price on his head?"

"What?" laughed Prince sarcastically.

"Of course he told me, Joe," said Spencer, straight-faced and severe, deciding not to let Joey get to him. "Along with the traumatising story about his alien abduction, and the time he was almost run over by the ghost of John Wayne on a Harley-Davidson."

Prince tilted his head back and guffawed raucously, making Bev and those sitting at nearby tables laugh too, and irritating Joey.

"Yeah, I didn't think so. Why don't you ask that bitch Darcy if you don't believe me? Marshall has interviewed a number of dubious personalities during his career, including businessman, Roberto Fiorelli, back in 2018, who was alleged to be associated with the Mafia and supplying drugs to various European nations. Marshall did his usual hardline job of putting the man on the spot, and stupidly backed him into a corner on live television. Afterwards, Fiorelli went berserk and, if rumours are true, threatened to put a hit out on Marshall. You should be careful getting into any cars with him, or being seen out anywhere in public. Otherwise you might end up being caught in the crossfire."

"Fine by me."

"Really? You don't come across as a toughie. The bow tie and specs don't exactly scream street smarts."

"Like you, you mean?" said Prince. "Someone who's spent his whole life pretending to be other people. You wouldn't know true street smarts if they bit you on the arse."

Bev had the decency to pull the glass to her mouth, trying to suppress a laugh, which irritated Joey even more. Once again, Joey attempted to ignore them and kept his attention on Spencer.

"Don't say you haven't been warned—"

Joey had been about to step into Spencer's space, but Prince sprang up from the table in between them and almost snarled.

"Why don't you fuck off and play with the traffic, has-been."

"Prince!" said Bev, grabbing Prince's arm, shocked but grinning. The words had been enough, though. Joey stepped back, his gaze measuring Prince and probably realising he would come off worse, before turning on his heel and heading off into the crowd.

Spencer had noticed Nile remaining a few feet away from them, eyes glued on them, eavesdropping the conversation. As soon as Joey left, he moved back, handed out drinks and took his seat.

"That guy is such an asshole. Just ruined a perfectly good drinking session," said Prince. "Sorry, team, this has to be the last one. Enough excitement for one afternoon. I'm ready to drive back to civilisation."

"So that was Joey Hollingbroke? Aka Donkey?" said Nile, still watching him go. "False advertising, by all accounts. Rumour has it he's hung like a squirrel. No offence, Spence."

Bev burst into fits of giggles. No doubt the alcohol helped, but she was genuinely enjoying the show.

"None taken," said Spencer. "How did that nickname come about, anyway? I never watched the series."

"Waterloo Lane?" said Bev, getting herself under control. "They had him kitted out in a donkey jacket no matter the weather. In the beginning, they wrote him as a simpleminded lad, shouted at by his dad, pushed around by his brothers. Audiences really sympathised and grew to love him—well, the character. And eventually he got to shine with his own monologues. I almost hate to say it, but he wasn't half bad back in the day."

"Now let me get this right, honey," said Nile, his hand on Spencer's shoulder. "Because this is just too delicious not to pass comment on. In one afternoon, you've faced off with the entitled prick, Blake—yes, I saw you outside the loo. And now, you've been confronted by Donkey, who is your new man's ex?"

"Spot on."

"And, technically speaking, they're both dickheads?"

"An accurate enough assessment, I would say."

"Honey, you do know some interesting people, don't you?"

"Strictly speaking, I don't really know Joey," said Spencer, grinning at the gentle ribbing. "But, I know what you mean. In my defence, though, I think I'm doing a lot better lately, don't you? In my choice of friends?"

"If you mean us, then hell yes," said Prince.

"Fuck, yeah," said Nile, at the same time.

"Come on," said Prince, finishing his cola. "If you want the designated driver to give you a lift home, you'll have to drink up while I head to the john."

"In which case, we'll both meet you all out front," said Nile. "I also need to use the designer washroom one last time before we go."

Outside in the car park, Bev and Spencer stood huddled together, waiting for the boys. Initially, the chill evening air provided a refreshing contrast to the bar's muggy warmth, the wind whipping around their legs and promising a night of frost. But in very little time, coldness began to seep into the bones.

Even after meeting Blake then Joey, Spencer felt in an upbeat mood, the drinks and aimless chatter having relaxed and warmed him through. Before entering the bar, he had texted Marshall to let him know what he was doing. When he checked, he had received a simple soundbite in response, requesting he enjoy himself and behave. Somewhat cryptically, Marshall had also quipped about them needing to sit down once he got back, and have a chat about a brilliant idea he'd had. His tone sounded fun and endearing, nothing to worry him. Spencer thought about calling him when Prince dropped him off at the station, but realised with the timezone difference, that Marshall would be fast asleep by then.

"Thanks for the invite," said Spencer, nudging Bev's shoulder. "I was going to head home for a night in with the cat. Even with the unscheduled entertainment, I'm so pleased I came out with you guys."

"That Joey Hollingbroke truly is a piece of work, isn't he? Thinks he's god's gift. I honestly thought Prince was going to deck him at one point. What on earth did Marshall see in him?"

"It's a long story best told by Marshall. But let's just say he's a friend of the family."

"Okay, I'll take your word for that. At least Marshall's come to his senses now."

"I think we both lucked out there, Bev. Like you and Prince."

"Yes, he's amazing, you know. We're both going to miss having you around at work."

Spencer suddenly thought about something that had been said.

"Blake said that Muriel's coming into the office tomorrow. Looks like Thursday might be D-Day."

"Well, if you need a coffee afterwards, you know where to find me," said Bev, before staring past Spencer and looking relieved. "Oh, here they are."

Spencer turned to see Nile and Prince shuffling towards them together, a conspiratorial grin on each of their faces. Funnily enough, the way they moved and grinned, Spencer could see the family resemblance as clear as day.

"Where on earth have you two been?" said Bev, stamping her feet in the tarmac of the car park. "We were about to send out a search party."

"Sorry, boys and girls," said Nile. "My fault. Your Auntie Nile has just been doing a little bit of troublemaking, otherwise known as matchmaking. Don't know about you, but I noticed Blake looked a little lonely, and thought that he and Joey would make the perfect match. So I went over and hooked them up."

"You did not!" said Spencer, his mouth falling open.

"He bloody did," said Prince, impressed and chuckling. "As we left, I peered down the bar and saw the two of them chatting together."

"A match made in hell," said Nile.

"Nile, darling," said Bev, kissing him on the cheek. "You are officially a legend."

"And don't you forget it. Today's lesson, people, is that you do not ever mess with my friends. Let's go."

Thank you for reading.

Please post any comments, suggestions or remarks, or simply leave a reaction.

If you find any edits or typos or other errors, please PM me (using the envelope option at the top of the screen) on Lomax61, rather than posting a comment on the chapter.

Copyright © 2020 lomax61; All Rights Reserved.
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That you very much for reading.

Any reactions, comments or observations are very much appreciated.

Let me know what would you like to see happen? Or what you foresee happening next?


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Chapter Comments

28 minutes ago, Wesley8890 said:

Prince tonight darling you were a Kimg!!

I wanted to hug the man. Bev is definitely well off with him :P

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LOVE IT LOVE IT LOVE IT LOVE IT!!!!!  I love reading every new chapter it’s always like a new adventure 

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I felt this chapter was personally made for me.  The chatter and sarcasms in the bar made me feel Iike I was at home in New Orleans at my favorite bar.  LOVED IT!

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5 hours ago, Leo C said:

I hope this is not to be seen as an exploration into the field of the subtleness of cliffhangers. Don't you dare to get Marshall in trouble with the mafia during his stay in Kryc...... whatever! Just...don't!

Hear hear!!

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Great chapter! Blake and Joey are both tools. Certainly made for each other. Spence proved he can hold his own and Niles is a trip!  He’s a great friend to have! Thank you. 

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2 hours ago, mfa607 said:

Great chapter! Blake and Joey are both tools. Certainly made for each other. 

and who is going to be the screw ? and who the bolt ? 😜😂🤣

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Blake and Joey deserve each other. May they make each other sublimely miserable. In this chapter you have shown Spencer more than equal to the sum of their collective nastiness. Perhaps Marshall really does have a contract out on his head. He can’t stop living, or loving Spencer. I doubt Marshall would have things any other way. Awesome chapter!

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23 hours ago, Leo C said:

I hope this is not to be seen as an exploration into the field of the subtleness of cliffhangers. Don't you dare to get Marshall in trouble with the mafia during his stay in Kryc...... whatever! Just...don't!

Hear hear!!

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So yeah I get that Joey is kind of a turd but our boy Blake, I don’t know...I think  I’d rather deal with someone like him who’s rotten but upfront about it than with somebody who’s loving, nurturing and well intended but doesn’t know what they want; in the end both are bad options but while you can choose to have fun while it last whilst knowing it has no future whatsoever, the other one ends up just being a huge waste of time; I mean if you’re going to end up empty handed, alone and heartbroken I’d rather it’d be quick and sooner rather than later. 

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3 hours ago, Cachondeo said:

So yeah I get that Joey is kind of a turd but our boy Blake, I don’t know...I think  I’d rather deal with someone like him who’s rotten but upfront about it than with somebody who’s loving, nurturing and well intended but doesn’t know what they want; in the end both are bad options but while you can choose to have fun while it last whilst knowing it has no future whatsoever, the other one ends up just being a huge waste of time; I mean if you’re going to end up empty handed, alone and heartbroken I’d rather it’d be quick and sooner rather than later. 

Okay @Cachondeo, I’m going for an intervention here guessing my characters hit a nerve. At some point Joey’s self interest and narcissism is going to destroy him, especially with his declining career. Blake is counting out his days until his time in the spotlight comes along. If you’re nothing special or publicly in his eyes, then you’re not even in the running. Neither are considering anyone but themselves. That’s why I threw Joey and Blake together at the end. How would (not could) that relationship ever work out? Answers on a postcard!!

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10 hours ago, lomax61 said:

Okay @Cachondeo, I’m going for an intervention here guessing my characters hit a nerve. At some point Joey’s self interest and narcissism is going to destroy him, especially with his declining career. Blake is counting out his days until his time in the spotlight comes along. If you’re nothing special or publicly in his eyes, then you’re not even in the running. Neither are considering anyone but themselves. That’s why I threw Joey and Blake together at the end. How would (not could) that relationship ever work out? Answers on a postcard!!

Ay ay ay, please there’s no need for an intervention!🙏🏻😅; anyhow I was just running my mouth ‘couse if anyone could have been labelled as narcissist in any of my “romantic liaisons”, I bet it would’ve been me🤦🏻‍♀️


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Great chapter and a perfect coupling of Blake and Joey!!! They deserve each other for sure!!  Now onto the explosion with Muriel - I can't wait for the fireworks!

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