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His phone rang before Quinn could respond. He answered with, “City morgue, you kill ’em, we chill ’em.” He winked at Quinn when he was sent an unimpressed look. It was code for “not alone, not secure,” but he didn’t need to know that.
Quinn turned away, looking out the window.
“Did you pick up the package?” Six asked.
“Post offices aren’t my style,” Jericho replied.
Six hummed. “There’s a strawberry yoghurt in the fridge…” he trailed off suggestively, and Jericho scowled.
“Don’t fucking touch my yoghurt. Yes, I picked up the package.” He had enough trouble keeping Greer away from his sweet snacks. If he had to worry about Six too, he would go insane from paranoia and turn into one of those people that anally labelled everything in the work fridge.
“And the other one?” Six asked cautiously.
“Can’t you call back later?” Jericho asked. They could talk about this when he didn’t have to find euphemisms for everything. He loved a good dick joke as much as the next person, but he was preoccupied with Quinn’s sheer presence in the car, making the spacious interior feel more enclosed than usual.
“Why, you too busy for me?”
“I’m always too busy for you.”
He could almost hear Six pout. “That hurts my feelings.”
Jericho grinned at Quinn as he turned the next corner. He hoped Quinn knew that every brush of his knuckles against his thigh when he switched gears was deliberate. He wanted them both naked. Or at least unzipped. With Jericho riding him. Or bent over in the backseat. He wasn’t picky when it came to these things.
“I’m waiting for some algorithms to do their thing, and it’s taking forever. I created a whole bridge out of Paddle Pop sticks.”
“A whole bridge?” Jericho asked.
“It even has towers, suspenders, and cables. I think you’re underestimating how long this program is taking. The number of databases it’s going through is ridiculous.”
“What did you use for suspenders?” Quinn asked curiously.
“String,” Six answered easily. “And Paddle Pop sticks.”
“And the cables?” Jericho asked. He’d seen some of Six’s elaborate creations, and not all of them were structurally sound or safe or fireproof. Or all three.
“Also string,” Six said pleasantly. “It’s a basic bridge.” He mumbled a curse, and something crashed. Jericho decided it was best not to ask.
“You’re slacking,” Jericho said with atut-tutsound.
“Oh, fuck off. I wanted to use live wires; Sir Grumpsalot said that I wasn’t allowed.”
“He ruins all your fun.”
“He better be careful because payback’s a bitch,” Six sang.
Jericho let out a barked laugh. Vanilla was not the name of the game in Six’s bed, and Greer seemed to like it just fine.
Quinn glanced at him curiously.
“There’s a whole craft shop in the office,” Jericho explained. “Six gets bored easily.”
“Right. And we’re just not gonna talk about your Eiffel Tower?” Six asked primly.
“I came in after hours to finish that.” Mostly. And it hadn’t been all him. Hunter and Olivia had helped too.Hehadn’t put those Strawberry Shortcake stickers on it. Olivia had made him lick one to show him that it even tasted like strawberry. He’d agreed because she was feisty. It had tasted like paper and Paddle Pop sticks.
“So you say.”
“Is that all you called to say?” Jericho asked. “That you’d built a bridge? I’m really proud of you, man. Send me a pic, and I’ll put it on my Instagram.” A fake name, of course. They all had fake personas online that couldn’t be traced back tothem. It was safer that way.
