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Pretty Boy nodded, rubbing his chin. “Mmmhmm, yep, all good points. Beast, what say you in your defense?”
“I say this relationship has run its course.” Anteros leaned back in his chair, interlocking his fingers above his head in a restful position. “It’s been fun. We had some good times, but you all are just too goddamn annoying.” Anteros looked over to Crazy A, who hadn’t joined in on the conversation. It wasn’t unusual for Crazy A to stay silent when it came to jokes or ribbing, but usually he had something to say about business. That day he sat silently in the corner, observing.
“Ha!” Little O laughed, drawing Anteros’s attention back. “You wouldn’t get rid of us.”
“Nobody else can stomach your taste in music,” Big O said, a look of distaste on his face. “You wouldn’t kill us.”
“Exactly,” Little O turned to Big O. “Can you imagine if word got out that the big bad Beast liked The Backstreet Boys?” Little O leaned back into the couch, laughing. Anteros unlocked his fingers, reaching behind him to try to grasp the stereo. When that didn’t work, he spun around and started fiddling.
“I didn’t choose this song,” he said. “It came on randomly. This is Big O’s stereo anyway.”
“Sure it did,” Little O said, glancing to Big O.
Big O threw up his hands. “Don’t blame me for your Nick Carter fetish.”
“I do so declare,” Pretty Boy said, standing up, finger raised in the air, “Beast is pussywhipped.”
When the stereo wouldn’t shut off, Anteros knocked it over and stood up. “Assholes,” he said. Big O, Little O, and Pretty Boy all bust out laughing. Anteros walked to the door, stepping over Big O, who’d slid off the couch in his fit of laughter. Just as he reached the door, Crazy A grasped his arm, stopping him.
“Emilio should be in place by Christmas, right on schedule,” Crazy A said. “But…” Crazy A’s narrow face contracted in a way that Anteros knew meant something serious, something bad, was bothering him.
“But?” Anteros asked, feeling his own face contract.
“They’re just joking about her,” Crazy A’s gaze drifted to where the three were doubled over. Pretty Boy’s hand was on Big O’s back, looking for support as laughter rolled through him. Slowly his gaze came back to Anteros and they locked eyes. “But you gotta get a handle on this thing between you and her, feel me?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Anteros replied stiffly.
“I think I know better than anyone,” Crazy A replied, stare intense. “And you know that.” He dropped his grip instantly. Anteros shook his shoulders out then continued on his way.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Little O called out after him.
Anteros turned around. “What?”
“We’re connected to your account,” Little O said. “The music won’t stop playing.”
Anteros spun around with a glare and kept walking.
“Don’t leave us here without disconnecting!” Big O yelled. “You can’t torture us this way!”
Anteros shook his head. He was down the stairs when he heard Little O yell, “It’s inhumane!” A ghost of a smile came to his lips but disappeared just as quickly when Crazy A’s words echoed back in his head.
When he returned home, Frankie wasn’t in his room. For a moment he thought she’d tried to escape, but then he remembered he’d permitted the use of the library. He took off his pea coat, undid his tie, loosened the buttons of his suit, and changed into something more comfortable. Then he joined her.
Frankie’s golden legs were crossed and up on a footrest. Part of her bottom lip was pulled between her teeth and her hair was tied up. She was clearly engrossed and didn’t even hear him enter the room. It was unfair, like a lion approaching a sleeping gazelle.
He walked behind the chair. She’d clearly picked out the most unattractive items of clothing she could find: a thick, cotton t-shirt and long black leggings. The way the big, ill-fitting shirt fell from her shoulder, revealing the slightest stretch of skin, had the opposite effect she’d intended, though. Lightly, he touched her.
“Oh, Jesus.” She jumped.
“Quite the opposite,” Anteros mused. “Interesting choice.” He plucked Paradise Lost out of her hands.
“I didn’t expect you to have it.” She leaned her head back against the chair so that she could look up at him. In that position, her eyes looked like saucers. “But you have so many books.”
“Some of these books aren’t mine.” Out of the thousands, there were probably less than ten that didn’t belong to him. Anteros had learned long ago it was the wise man who plays the fool.
She put her hands on her lap and scooted to turn to face him. “What does that mean?”
“Some were given to me. Some I inherited. Enough talk.” Anteros pulled her up by the arm, dragging her from the seat. He pushed her against the shelf that lined the wall, a few books falling out. Her eyes widened. He put her arms above her head and lifted the baggy clothes up, immediately unimpressed by the thick, gray bra she wore, one intended for working out.
