Chapter Eleven
Troy
Brennan (pimp daddy): So, remember when my guys burned down the old peach canning factory? The one where those pills were being produced?
Ravi: You mean the time I got a face full of some nasty drug powder stuff that almost killed me? Sort of.
Brennan (pimp daddy): Right. Turns out, we didn’t kill the supply, so you fuckers be careful out there.
Troy: Not to be a dick, but Brennan, are you warning us for safety reasons or because whoever’s supplying this shit is competition?
Brennan (pimp daddy): Do what you want I’m not your mother. But you can bet your ass I’m not out there using some cut rate chemist to cook up shit that will kill people and then flooding the streets with it. This shit is bad news.
Michael: Kind of you to warn us, Brennan.
Dean: Kiss ass.
“Uh-oh. Mom and Dad are fighting again,” I tell Adam as he pulls the Mustang up to our apartment building. The exterior paint is peeling, and the hallways smell like onions, but it’s not the worst. It’s on the outskirts of downtown, where the nice part of town starts to get a little less nice.
We’ve talked about moving, but this place is familiar. It was the first place we found when we were finally able to afford something real. The landlord’s kind of shady, but he also doesn’t ask questions. It’s convenient.
“Huh?”
“Dean and Michael. They must be in the off-again phase of their…whatever it is.”
Adam huffs a laugh. “I don’t know what’s up with those two.”
“They’re destined to either ride off into the sunset or murder each other. Let’s get your insulin and get back to the hotel. Next time you should pack more.”
“How did I know Rigby was going to want an extra night with us?”
“There’s never a downside to making sure you have extra insulin. It’s better than running out.”
“Except for the times I’ve ended up accidentally leaving hundreds of dollars’ worth in a hotel mini fridge,” Adam grumbles.
Eh. “That’s fair. It’s worse, though, if you run out.”
“Hey.” Adam puts his hand on mine. “It’s not like it used to be. I’m fine. We’re fine.”
We’re long past the days when I begged, borrowed, stole, and fucked—sometimes all at once—to keep Adam healthy and alive.
Are we fine, though? Are we safe? I don’t know.
In the same way Adam still hides valuables in his boots, I’m not sure I’ll ever stop worrying about him having what he really needs.
We’re not on the streets anymore, which was terrifying.
The things we did—the things I did—to keep Adam safe back then?
Well, the worst part was not always knowing if they’d work.
The times he got hospitalized and I couldn’t get in to see him, those almost killed me.
The worst was the time, shortly before he turned eighteen, when a social worker wanted to send him back to his family, and we had to run again.
Which is how we ended up in Belle Argo, working for Brennan.
A lot of people don’t trust Brennan, but as pimps go, we’ve definitely seen worse. It’s good we found him when we did. The guy may be a snake, but we grew up around vipers, and Brennan is more of a python. He’ll at least give you a hug and make you feel good about yourself while he’s killing you.
“Shit. Check this shit out.”
Adam’s still in his seat, staring at the front of our building. “Is that…?”
Yeah. Our kitten is here. “What the hell is this about, you think?”
Wes is coming out of the front door of our building, still wearing the same tired-ass business casual he had on when he walked out of the hotel earlier. Poor guy’s got dark circles under his eyes, and he carries himself with an unusual stiffness.
Adam hustles out of the car. I follow.
“Kitten, you look lost,” I call out to him.
Given the adorable way his ears turn red every time I call him Kitten? It’s what I’m calling him forever and ever.
When he sees us, he practically flattens himself against the cement wall by the entrance. “Jesus Christ, are you guys following me now?”
If he didn’t look ready to pass out, I might actually laugh.
We’re the ones who live here. I’m too caught up by how his clothing is rumpled and his dark hair is a little shaggy, like he hasn’t had time to give it a good brush, let alone get it trimmed into something befitting a manager in a pricey hotel.
Digging the overgrown stubble, though. Makes me want to rub up against him.
“We live here,” Adam says. Then he points to the Mustang, which is parked in a space marked Resident.
“How is that supposed to tell me anything? In my limited experience with the two of you, you’re not exactly concerned with following the rules.” That angry scowl of his is just precious. Kitten’s trying to act all big and bad.
“Is this about us jerking you off at the gym?” I ask. “Or when Adam blew you in that closet? No rules against any of that.”
“There are all sorts of rules against all of that .” Poor man looks exasperated. Guess we haven’t helped him relax enough yet. “By the way, the gym specifically has posters up in the locker room telling people not to masturbate.”
“That’s only in the showers though. Because of the plumbing,” Adam points out.
“Right. The jizz gums up the pipes.” I nod along with my best friend.
“That is not the only—” Wes shakes his head. “You know what? Never mind. I’m not going to stand here and do this with you. And now I’m definitely not taking the apartment. No offense, but I cannot live in the same building as the two of you.”
“Wait.” I catch his arm as he tries to pass me. “The building’s full.”
Wes frowns. “I just looked at a place on the third floor. I filled out an application.”
That fucking scum-sucking, cock-smoking landlord. “Was the place furnished?”
A crease divides Wes’s forehead. “Yeah. Gina kept the house and the furniture, so it was ideal.”
“Did you pay an application fee?” Adam adds.
Wes’s frown deepens. “For the credit and background check.”
I cut my gaze to Adam, who’s already starting for the door. “Go take care of it.”
“Way ahead of you,” he announces, taking the steps two at a time.
“What is happening right now?” Wes looks down at where my fingers are gripping the crook of his arm, as if he’s seeing me touch him for the first time. That’s all he does, though. Stares.
Every time one of us touches him, I think that’ll be the time he tells us to take our hands off.
Surely at some point he’ll storm away and freeze us out.
Instead, he’s like this feral cat my mom fed in the backyard when I was a kid.
He’d snarl at anyone, but all I had to do was scratch him under the chin, and he’d purr.
So Kitten really is a fitting name for Wes. Wonder what would happen if I tried to pet him? Would this kitten bring his claws out? I’m half-hard at the thought.
“The building is full,” I tell Wes again. “And our landlord is a sack of shit. What you probably looked at was Jalen’s place. Third floor? Works for our pimp. He’s a neat freak, and he’s not home too often, so it would be easy to make it look like the place is vacant.”
Wes sags back against the wall. I’m not exactly caging him in, but I’m right there, up close and personal. Enough that if either of us took a deep breath our bodies would press together.
Which means I can see the little signs that I’m getting to him.
The bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows.
A twitch at the corner of his eye. The pulsing blood vessel in his neck.
Little splotches of color on his throat and face and ears that are way cuter than they have a right to be on a grown-ass man.
This is a guy gripping the windowsill with white knuckles, but his fingertips are slipping. What are the chances he’ll let us catch him?
“So he took my deposit knowing there’s no apartment available. Great.”
“Yeah. He does shady shit like this all the time. Fuck knows how many poor saps he’s had through here that he’s collected some ‘non-refundable application fee’ from for a supposed background check on an apartment that isn’t available.”
“And I’m another poor sap. Of course I am.” Kitten looks like someone cut all his strings.
This close, I can make out the flecks of silver in his hair. The subtle lines fanning out from his eyes. His chin lifts and his lips turn down simultaneously, as if he is trying to keep his head up but losing the battle.
Kitten’s gonna drown if he isn’t careful. Maybe that’s why this guy intrigues me so much. Something deep inside me recognizes its own kind. Someone trying to keep his head above water, sometimes not sure if he’s winning or losing.
I slide my hand along his stubbled jaw, forcing him to look down into my eyes. “Don’t give up on me now, Kitten. It’ll all work out.”
“I don’t see how.” Those four words are so achingly honest I wonder if he’s forgotten who he’s talking to.
“You’ll figure it out. You will because you have to. Because you’ve come too far to give up now. This is a detour, that’s all.”
When he puts his hand over mine, I’m not sure which of us is more surprised. “I don’t know why you’re being nice to me.”
Excuse me? “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. We’ve been nothing but nice to you.”
His eyes go wide. Like a tall, sexy deer in headlights. “Is that really what you think? You shoved me into a corner of the gym locker room and jerked me off?—”
“I swallowed you down and everything,” I remind him.
“Because you thought I was homophobic.”
“Misunderstanding. Still, we both know you loved it.”
He drops his chin to his chest and rubs his forehead a little. “You put on a fucking porn show in the back of my classroom while I was teaching.”
Can’t keep the grin off my face. “You looked so fucking hot up there, by the way. About to blow a gasket and trying to play it cool.”
“You sucked me off in a goddamn closet!” He’s whisper-yelling now. Glancing around in all directions to make sure nobody heard him. As if anyone around here even cares.
“That was Adam. Still, I’m failing to see how any of this is bad, Kitten.”
“You cockblocked me at a gay bar.”
“You didn’t want that guy anyway. He couldn’t give you what you need.”
“How the hell would you even know what I need?”
“Hey. Settle down there, babe. You’re going off like our elderly neighbor’s tea kettle.
” My hand finds its way to his waist. It’s such an easy thing to tug his belt a little, to bring his body flush against mine.
It’s not a hug exactly—his head is still flopped against the stone wall—but he’s surprisingly willing to let himself melt against me.
He eases farther forward when my free hand finds his, one thumb making circles on the webbing between his thumb and forefinger.
And he thinks I don’t know what he needs. “Kitten, I know exactly what you need. I think you do, too. Only you’re afraid to admit you need it.”
“I’m too fucking tired right now to play your games, Troy.
I am drowning in debt, I am exhausted, and I’ve got days to be out of the hotel room I’ve been living in since I caught my wife and our boss naked in our upstairs bathroom.
I’m too old to be learning new things about myself, too fucking wrung out to even process what any of it means.
Whatever you’re trying to do here, you need to stop. Okay?”
His lower lip juts out some. A slight pout that I can’t keep myself from kissing off him.
When I brush my lips over his, he sighs. It’s a deep thing that seems to come from down in his core. “You really want us to stop, Kitten?”
“I’m nothing but a game to you,” he mumbles against my lips. “Adam told me you guys like that I’m easy to fuck with. I don’t have time for games. And I’m too damn old for fucking around.”
“Not a game at all, Kitten.” Maybe it was, but it’s something different now.
I grip his chin between my thumb and forefinger, pushing it upward.
Taking a big inhale of his spicy scent, I press the flat of my tongue to the base of his throat and lick upward, stopping with a bite to his chin.
He’s salty and a little bit bitter. The way he gasps and then his breath stills is music to my ears.
“What…” His heart is racing. I can feel it pounding against mine. When he exhales, eucalyptus and menthol puffs against my lips. “What is it, then?”
“You know that old saying, ‘I licked it, so it’s mine?’ Well, I licked you. You’re mine now. Since I share everything with my best friend, that makes you his, too. Ours.”
Oh, shit, I love the look on his face right now. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was drunk.
The door beside us swings open, and out comes Adam with one of his backup diabetes kits under his arm. “Got the insulin. Good to go.” Then he stops and looks at us both. “Everything okay?”
My best friend’s single eyebrow raise loudly asks what the hell I’m up to out here. As if he doesn’t already know.
I slide my nose along Wes’s neck again, drinking in his spicy scent. His swallow rings in my ears, wet and loud. “Peachy.”
Adam grins and blows a kiss as he heads to the car.
I fucking knew it.
Once Adam got over his issues, I knew he’d be into this like I am. I know him better than I know myself.
As I’m backing away, our landlord, Eddie, comes out, cradling a swollen jaw. He thrusts a sort of damp-looking crumpled-up check into Wes’s hand. Damn. I’m betting Adam tried to shove the thing down his throat.
Which, I mean, gross. But also, hell yeah.
Wes takes the nasty thing, still looking a little shell-shocked after that kiss, if I can blow my own damn horn for a minute.
“Place is taken. Should’ve told you.” Eddie glances at Adam, who’s giving him the stink eye and crossing his arms over his chest. He tacks on a hasty “Sorry” before hustling back inside.
“That look like fucking around to you?” I ask Wes.
His lips part on a stuttered exhale. “I don’t know what that was.”
The way Wes is little lost and confused, I don’t want him hanging around here after we leave.
I’d hate for Eddie or anyone else to get any bright ideas.
This isn’t the worst neighborhood, but it also isn’t the best. Only a couple of blocks over I know guys who sling the sort of cut-rate pills Brennan’s been warning us about, and where that shit goes, tragedy follows.
“Change of plans,” I announce. “Give us a ride back to the hotel, eh, Westy? You’re living there now anyway. No sense in us wasting gas. Gotta protect the environment and all.”
The way his fingers curl and uncurl into fists, I wonder if I’ve pushed him too far. The shock on his face firms into annoyance, and then something a whole lot like anger. Adam, who knows damn well my tendency to push until something breaks, is trying not to laugh and failing. Badly.
Our kitten looks like he’s about to take a swipe with his claws out. Fuck knows he’s shooting laser beams with his eyes.
Right about when I think he’s about to tell us to piss off, he pulls out his keys and shoves the check into his pocket. “Call me Westy again and I’ll leave you by the side of the road.”
Adam gives me a subtle fist bump behind Wes’s back.