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“They should. It’s a good document. Very important.” Phineas polished off his snack and started eyeing the rack of chips for more. “Do you think the founding fathers had beautiful hands? I bet Thomas Jefferson did. He seemed like he’d have nice hands. Aristocratic but not lazy.”
“I’m not sure anyone’s ever asked me that before.”
Dominic ambled over and tossed another bag onto the counter.
“Thank you, sir,” he said to Dominic with excessive formality. “You are a gentleman and a scholar, and your beard is magnificent. Very… face-scruffy. In the best way.”
Dominic shot me an amused look. “Your friend’s a lightweight.”
“He’s had a long day.” Phineas slid the bag toward me, and I opened it while my mate patted my knee like a good doggy.
“Your beard is very nice, too. Very fashionable. Very motorcycle rider. Very…” His gaze traveled over me, and the pink in his cheeks deepened. “Very broad.”
I bit back a laugh. “Broad?”
Phineas pressed a hand to his own torso, like he was fighting just as hard for restraint. “You are…a very large coffee man.”
He gazed at me with so much need in his eyes I’d almost forgotten we were in public.
“Drift,” he said, tasting the syllable. “It suits you. You’re very steady. Grounded. But with movement. Like a river. Or a very calm avalanche.”
“Been called worse.”
“I bet you have. People are terrible.” He dunked a twist in his coffee, stared at the result, then ate it anyway. His expression cycled through confusion, regret, and grudging acceptance. “That was a mistake. I’m full of mistakes tonight.”
“You’re full of beer tonight, kitten.”
“Semantics.” He waved the soggy twist at me. “Your name, though. Drift. It’s nice. It’s a good name. I like saying it. Drift. Drift. Driiift.” He drew out the vowel until it turned into a yawn, which he tried to hide behind his hand and failed. “Sorry. I’m not tired. I’m very awake. Sober even. Practically a monk.”
“You’re practically falling off your stool.”
“It’s wobbly. Probably because I’m sitting on its face.” He yawned again, jaw cracking wide, and this time, his eyes stayed closed for a beat too long. “Okay, maybe a little tired. But only physically. Emotionally I’m very present.”
“Finish your coffee. You’ll thank me tomorrow.”
“I have a question,” Phineas said, barely stifling another yawn.
“Shoot.”
“Your lap.” He pointed at my thighs with one unsteady finger. “Is it soft?”
“Why?” Was he going to climb into it? He didn’t seem the type to get freaky with people around.
Phineas didn’t answer. His eyes had drifted shut, and his body leaned sideways in a slow, inevitable tilt. His forehead connected with my shoulder first, then slid downward in a graceless slump that ended with his face planted squarely in my crotch.
I stared down at the top of his head.
My treacherous body reacted with a hard, immediate jolt of want. Heat punched low through my belly, and my cock gave a very enthusiastic jerk.
“Phineas.” I touched his shoulder, giving it a gentle shake. He batted at my hand like a kitten with yarn.
Fuck. I didn’t even know where he lived or who to contact. That left me with no other choice but to take him home.
Chapter Ten
Phineas
I groaned before my eyes even opened, the pain announcing itself first. Someone had apparently replaced my brain with a bag of angry hornets and then shaken it. My skull throbbed in slow, punishing pulses, each one timed to my heartbeat, and my mouth tasted like a sock that had been marinated in cheese dust and bitter coffee.
