Page 56 of Boneyard HEA

“How do I get into the hotel, like this, without being arrested for indecent exposure?”

“We might just toss you through the door,” Mr. Loxland says.

I headbutt his arm, softly, before I snuggle back into him, and he pulls me closer.

19

Juniper

Breakfast at the café downstairs means we must talk quietly about anything to do with murder or the sex-drenched parties, or so I thought.

A small crowd is passing when Mr. Loxland angles back his chair on the sidewalk and says, loudly, “Your thoughts? Will it be one hundred or two hundred percent come in this pool, by the time we get there?”

Chewing a mouthful of food, I combust on the spot, cough, and struggle not to inhale the rest of my blueberry danish.

“No.” Tomás barely cracks a smile, only vaguely eyeing the people passing behind him by tilting back his head. He pushes a glass of water at me, and I waver between that and coffee. Wisely, I decide on water to wash away the flakes of pastry that are halfway up the back of my nose.

“Here.” Loxland offers me a tissue, and I blow my nose, think about throwing it back at him, but place it in the pocket of my white shorts. “Those? They’re all fraternity members.”

“Figures.”

These shorts and three little summer dresses and the gossamer red bikini have come from the so-called Rough Tides swimwear shop beside the café. The bikini has gross diamante decorations plastered over the top of it as well as the front triangle of the G-string. The strap-on pegging equipment and various bondage gear I found in the back room of the shop, that was…curious.

The CNC Fraternity must come here frequently, or Dragon Island has a lot of other kinky visitors at this time of year.

I drink more water while eyeing the remains of the pastry. A flock of cockatoos wheels in and descends onto the power cables across the road, lining up as if to check us over before stealing our food. I heard they like pizza. “Is a danish pastry bad for them?”

“Those birds?” Tomás shifts his chair around this time to look. “Don’t they eat seed?”

“I’ve seen them stealing takeaway pizza.”

Mr. Loxland’s phone dings, and he squints at it before tucking it in his shorts. “My man is on that travel info problem. Might be a day or two before we get answers.”

I’m still staring at my danish with the coughed-up bits on it when he tilts his plate over mine and scrapes half of his bacon and smashed avo on sourdough onto my plate.

“Oh. Wow. Looks delicious. You sure?”

“We need to fatten you up for the swimming.”

Tomás drawls, “If you’re drowning underwater from too much breakfast, I’ll give you a snorkel to suck on.”

“Whatever do you…” I sigh, heavily. His cock. “That’s too small to get any air through.” I mock kick him under the table, and my toe connects with his knee. “Worst dad joke ever?”

“What is a dad joke? Also, you’ll have a red ass later. My knee is injured.”

Mr. Loxland groans. “A very bad dad joke. Keep the threats for the party.”

I smirk. I have one of them defending me.

“I don’t know.” He looks around the café. “I could bend her over here and⁠—”

“Shhh!” I collapse my face into my hands. “Is this like good cop, bad cop, only with Doms?”

I look up to see they’re both watching.

“Sound like an idea, Tomás?” Mr. Loxland takes a bite from his breakfast.

“Bad Dom is better.” He leans across the table and picks up a piece of bacon from my plate, offers it to me. The muscles on his arm bulge and the scar on his mouth curves upward. His eyes are, probably, gleaming. “Have a bite, poquito.”