“Come along, Piers. Kayleigh and Marcus are making dinner. Would you like to join us?”
“I think Larissa is already there,” Piers said, nodding acceptance. “Thank you.” As he walked out of the tiny studio, he gave Lucky a level look. “And remember,” he said gravely, “if you decide you don’t want to give it a try, you’re not the only one who watches his show.”
Lucky’s eyes narrowed. “I grew up in Southie, and I’ll cut you,” he said with absolute sincerity, but Piers only laughed as he followed Helen out the door.
Lucky was so relieved to have them gone he leaned against the door, his gaze taking in his small apartment in one go.
Like Scout and Kayleigh’s basement place, the walls were brick, but the hill the shops were built into had moments of granite so absolute they’d been left as foundations for the stores above. The placement of the slab rendered Lucky’s place about half the size of Scout’s flat. He liked it. The kitchen area had a fridge, a stove, a microwave, and some counter space. Helen had bought cookware for the place, and he’d indulged himself in trying to make his Auntie Cree’s favorites since he’d arrived on the Drift. Helen and Marcus had enjoyed his brisket very much, in fact, and he had to admit to himself that he’d been having fantasies of making it again for Scout.
The kitchenette took up one corner of the studio, and the bed was on the adjacent wall. The other corner had a television with a streaming box, and a couch. Lucky had agonized what to do with the couch, but finally he’d conceded that the apartment was just not that big. If he ever wanted company over, he’d have to make the television visible from the bedandthe couch, so he’d angled everything so the bed was part of the conversation pit.
Seeing Scout curled up on his side on top of the covers, he had to admit he still wanted a movie and popcorn night with Scout and his sister, and maybe even that Lightning guy and his cousin too.
People his own age who didn’t want to kill him were turning out to be sort of a kick.
But he didn’t want all those people herenow.
He also didn’t want sand in his bed, which meant he was going to have to help Scout off with his boots and his clothes.
The boots weren’t so bad; they were a little big, and Lucky thought Marcus might have steered him to a thrift store to put together his performance outfit. His undershirt could stay on, but the nifty waistcoat and red satin shirt had to come off—lots of laces there and some fancy buttons as well.
Lots of chances for Lucky’s fingers to brush Scout’s chest through his T-shirt as he was doing those laces.
Lucky had already decided he liked the slender muscle of Scout’s body, but by the time he was done unlacing the waistcoat and tugging Scout’s jeans down off his long legs, he may have been spoiled for every other body type.
Everything about Scout made Lucky want to touch, and if pressed he would have confessed to some lingering strokes of his palms down the back of Scout’s thighs and his calves, squeezing the calves a little as he neared the end just because he liked having that done himself.
When he’d tucked the blanket up under Scout’s chin, he saw that Scout’s piercing eyes were trained on his face.
“What?” he asked gruffly.
“Glad to wake up here,” Scout said. He gave a sweet little smile. “I… something about that last image we saw made me appreciate what I had here.”
Lucky grunted. “We’re not talking about that now,” he ordered. “You’re napping, I’m making dinner, and if we’re super good, we may get to watch some movies tonight and cuddle.”
Scout brightened. “Cuddle?”
“Yeah.” Lucky moved close enough to cup his cheek. “Cuddle. Like last night. But no magic mystery tours of the beach, okay? I’ve had enough tours of the beach. I just want….” Well, why not? “You. I just want you. No mysteries tonight, okay? No magic. Just dinner and us.”
“That’s funny,” Scout said softly. “That’s what I was thinking all day. That I knew there was stuff to be done, but I really only wanted to be with you.”
Lucky scowled. “Then why all the… folderol!”
Scout’s snort of laughter made his cheeks apple under his eyes, and Lucky wanted to absolutely devour him. “Oh my God! Lucky! That word. Who says that?”
Lucky’s face heated, but still he laughed. “My Auntie Cree, I guess. She worked hard—really hard. Every day. And I asked her once if she didn’t want me to get really rich to take care of her. She said, ‘I don’t want all the folderol, my boy, but I surely wouldn’t mind a new dishwasher.’”
Scout chuckled, like Lucky had meant him to, but his eyes remained soft. “Did she know? That you liked boys, I mean?”
Lucky shrugged. “I didn’t try to hide it from her. But one day I watched a… I guess he was a rent boy, I watched him get the shit beat out of him, and when I told Auntie Cree that we should call the police, she told me that the cops would only come help the guys beating him. She looked at me for a long time and said, ‘You’ll have to leave this place before you’ve got breathing room to be happy, my boy.’ I think that’s why she wanted me to have the house so bad.”
Scout raised his hand and pushed the hair from Lucky’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It must have been so hard to get pushed from your home.”
Lucky shrugged, uncomfortable. “How about you and Kayleigh? Any regrets?”
“God no.” Scout rolled his eyes. “It wouldn’t have sucked so much, you know, if Alistair hadn’t wanted me to fail so badly. He knew I was gay. and you have to understand. The compound is one big breeding program, like racehorses, but with Alistair’s good stock, as he would say. To Alistair, Kayleigh’s only function was to be married off to another wizard to produce a third son of a third son.”
“Is that a big deal?” Lucky knew his eyes were huge, but he couldn’t fathom that. Yeah, sure, his neighborhood was overrun by gangsters, but if they wanted you dead it was because you pissed them off—not because you weren’t the third son of the third son or whatever.
