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“Whatever’s on tap for me,” I said. “And a bag of cheese twists for this one.”
Phineas gasped like I’d just proposed in front of royalty. “You remembered!”
“You shouted it into my ear twenty minutes ago.”
His brows drew together as if he was thinking hard. “That sounds like something I would do.”
Dominic poured my glass then tossed a small orange bag on the bar. Phineas reached for it with both hands, missed on the first try, then patted the bag gently when he found it.
“Thank you, Moose Man,” he said with immense sincerity.
Dominic pointed at him. “You are my favorite customer tonight.”
Phineas turned to me with a proud little smile. “I network.”
“Clearly.” I lifted my mug and took a drink, using the motion to hide the grin trying to break my face in half. “You also rescue arachnids.”
“They eat pesky mosquitos.” He fumbled with the bag of twists, squinting at the seam. “This is sealed by dark forces.”
“Want help?”
His gaze snapped to my hands. The sudden focus would’ve been funny if it hadn’t sent blazing heat straight to my cock.
Dominic returned with a coffee and set it down before walking away.
Phineas slowly pushed the bag toward me with both palms. “Yes, please, Drip.”
“Drip?”
Color bloomed higher in his cheeks. “No. Dift. Driff. Dr—” He frowned harder then pointed at me. “Your presence is making my brain throw out error codes.”
“You eat anything tonight?” Taking the bag, I tore it open and set it back in front of him. His eyes tracked my hands the whole time, not subtle for a damn second.
Phineas considered this question with the gravity of a philosopher confronting the meaning of existence. “I made dinner,” he said carefully. “Spaghetti. It was good spaghetti. Nobody got hurt by the noodles.”
“Glad to hear the spaghetti was nonviolent.”
“It was very well-behaved for once.” He nodded solemnly, and then his gaze drifted back to my cut. His fingers lifted, hovered in the air near the leather, then retreated. “Can I touch it? Is that allowed? Is there a rule forbidding touching by mere mortals?”
“No rule. You can touch me anytime you want.” I’d meant to say touch the leather, but Freud had slipped that in instead.
Phineas traced the edge of my name patch with one fingertip, featherlight, like he expected the embroidery to bite. “It’s real leather. I can smell it. Smells like… outdoors. And pine trees. And something else. Campfire? No. Just… safe.” He blinked. “Warm. Just…warm. Yeah. Good save.” He shoved a handful of twists into his mouth.
“These are transcendent,” Phineas announced through a mouthful of processed cheese dust. “I’m having a religious experience.”
“Cheese twists’ll do that.” I took a sip of my beer, watching him over the rim of the glass. The pink flush on his cheeks had spread to the tips of his ears, and his hair was sticking up in the back like he’d been rubbing his head against the car seat. He looked rumpled and ridiculous and so goddamn sexy my dick ached.
Phineas washed down the twists with a gulp of coffee then made a face. “This is not coffee. This is bitter bean water. Who hurt you, bean water? Who made you this way?”
“It’s black coffee. You need the sobriety.”
“I don’t want sobriety. Sobriety is boring, and it makes life worse.” But he took another sip anyway, obedient even in rebellion. “You’re very tall. Has anyone told you that? You’re like a tree. A nice tree. An oak. With shoulders.”
“An oak with shoulders.”
“Broad shoulders,” he clarified, gesturing vaguely at my upper body. “Very… horizontal.”
“Horizontal shoulders. That’s a new one.”
