“Thank you, no, I don't smoke.” Some inner demon prompted Jason to put on his best upper class accent, plummy and orotund.
But it didn't drive away the other man. “Is it OK if I do?”
“Of course,” Jason said, embarrassed by his own embarrassment, and now as frigid as the Queen in the presence of an errant fart.
“You're English aren't you?”
Jason nodded, eyes averted.
The young man got up to leave. “I know you want it, you know. I saw the way you looked at me! I'm not blind!” His disdain was cutting.
This jolted Jason out of his funk. “Look, sorry, I was just, well, I was embarrassed, if you must know.”
The other man promptly sat down again, and drew hard on his “ciggie”. “You haven't done it before, then?”
“No,” said Jason, lying through his teeth. He was extremely unwilling to explain. That would involve going down roads he never wanted to travel again. “I . . . It's just . . . well, to be frank . . . .”
“Yeah, I can see your frank.” The man's dark, liquid eyes were sparkling with lust and amusement and malice. His gaze was firmly fixed on Jason's crotch.