But it wasn’t Rory; just a stranger, a white man about Arthur’s age with short brown hair under a fedora and a nice navy suit. Cute enough; notRory-cute, but who was?
The bartender was at the other end of the bar, and the stranger didn’t motion to him. His eyes were on Arthur, paying attention to Arthur’s once-over, subtle as it had been. He leaned in close enough that his words would reach Arthur alone. “Saw you sitting over here by yourself.” His gaze traveled over Arthur, lingering on the cut of Arthur’s suit, the gold-and-pearl cuff links in his shirt, the new watch on his wrist. “Thought I’d come over and say hi.”
Reporter? Police? No, unlikely a police officer would have made it inside the speakeasy, not with Zhang watching out for Jade and the other Robbinses. The stranger’s blue eyes were watery, his pale skin flushed; what were the chances a reporter was already two drinks in? With Stella on stage, the Magnolia drew adorers across genders and had a reputation of safety, so perhaps the stranger’s interest was genuine and his tongue loose enough to say it.
Arthur gave him a polite but disinterested smile. “I’m afraid I thought you were someone else.”
“Get to know me, then.” The stranger’s gaze darted back to the cuff links, then he put an elbow on the bar and leaned close to Arthur. “Come on, daddy, buy me a drink—”
The edge of a breeze grazed Arthur’s skin as it rushed past, caught the stranger’s fedora, and sent it flying off into the crowded tables. The stranger grabbed his bare head with both hands, eyes wide.
Arthur blinked. “An indoor wind appears to have blown off your hat,” he said, as neutrally as he could, because if he thought any harder about what that meant he’d either burst from anxiety or laugh. “Perhaps you’d best go after it.”
The stranger scampered away. A moment later, a smaller body dropped into the vacated bar stool at Arthur’s left with a huff loud enough to hear over Stella. Arthur side-eyed Rory, who was red-faced, arms folded over his chest, and not meeting Arthur’s gaze.
Arthur cleared his throat. “Most people just say hello.”
“I didn’t mean to! I wasn’t trying to use magic against some innocent fella, no matter how much nerve he’s got.”
“Yes, the man flirting with me had some nerve,” Arthur said dryly. “Says the paranormal who thought he’d start a tempest in my best friend’s business.”
Rory winced. He held his hands out in front of him, the bejeweled gold ring incongruous against stubby nails and knuckles that were papery and split. “It’s like the ring picks up all my bad feelings and turns them into wind. I’ve been trying to get it off, I have, but it won’t budge.”
The joint on Rory’s ring finger was red and painfully swollen. Guilt twisted Arthur’s stomach. “I’m sorry, I’m not helping by getting on your case. You’re hardly the first man to feel jealousy, and most men don’t have a link like ours complicating things.”
“Nah, I’m the one who’s sorry,” Rory said firmly. “You can flirt how you want. I don’t get to start windstorms over it.”
“You didn’t do it on purpose,” said Arthur. “And I wasn’t flirting with him—it was very much one-sided.”
“I heard.” Rory made a sour face.“Come on, daddy,”he repeated, with unhidden irritation.
A smile tugged at Arthur’s lips. “You could try that line on me. See what happens.”
“Not in your wildest dreams.”
Arthur broke into a grin. “Ignore him,” he advised, reaching for his drink. “He could have been a reporter looking for a scoop.”
“Yeah, right,” Rory said, eyes narrowing. “No reporter would’ve been that into your cuff links. What a dick.”
Could he be sweeter or more frustrating, thinking Arthur needed protection from gold-diggers when Rory himself wouldn’t take a cent? “I could buyyoucuff links.”
“What am I gonna do with cuff links?”
“Wear them, if you like? Or if you don’t, you could sell them, and use the money to, oh, say, find another room?”Without vermin, Arthur just stopped himself from saying. “Then again, if a different room could be a gift, let’s just skip the cuff links altogether.”
Rory rolled his eyes. “You make any progress with your brother’s problem?” he said, not even dignifying Arthur’s remark with a response. “Is there something I can scry that’ll help him?”
Was Arthur really supposed to just let his lover sleep with rats and roaches? Could he convince Rory to spend every night in his bed instead? Arthur would have liked nothing better, but there were doormen and security at every entrance to his building. Rory’s coming and going from Arthur’s apartment would not go unnoticed.
“No answers yet.” He swallowed. “But there is, ah, something else I should tell you.”
“Sure.” Rory motioned at the bartender, and the gold of the ring caught the light again.
Arthur eyed the ring for a moment. Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. “It’s, ah, it’s not actually of immediate importance. I can tell you later.”
“Just tell me now.”
Arthur cleared his throat. “How’s the ankle?”
