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“Thank you for helping Beverly.”
Elliot smiled at me, tired and small like grinning through pain. “Anything for an animal.”
Despite his exhaustion, he was handsome when he smiled, and it made me beam like an idiot.
“Ellie.” Jag jumped to his feet so quickly that he splashed into Beverly’s pool, and the beaver grunted in annoyance.
Jag reached over the dam to hug Elliot. Of course, these two were friends. Every guy I had met in the last few days was part of this little group.
“Solitary was worse than I thought it would be,” Elliot whispered.
I grimaced. I should have made him leave the library before letting Beverly chew on the wood. Or I should have confessed to save him from the hole.
Jag had told me that he and his friends didn’t belong in prison. Now I understood why. Soft-spoken, bookish Elliot and trusting, kind Moe were going to be eaten alive.
Jag broke off the hug. “Did you practice your fingering to pass the time? It always calms you down.”
“He can practice his fingering on us,” my brain said. Wait, did she say that out loud or just in my head?
Elliot blinked at me. “What?”
“What?” I said.
Jag and Elliot stared at me.
Change the subject! I made a loose fist and slid my index finger in and out. “You mean fingering… in your butt?”
Elliot gave me a what-the-fuck look while Jag grinned. “I meant fingering for a clarinet,” he said. “Elli is so skilled, he can play in the air and hear all the notes in his head.” Jag mimed playing an instrument.
“Oh, you’re a musician,” I said.
I’d rereadDick Fight Islandwith its copious ass play way too many times over the last few days. Stupid, boring solitary.
Elliot shook his head. “I don’t play anymore. I was never a real musician, anyway.”
Jag grabbed his shoulder. “Don’t you ever talk about yourself like that. You are—”
“Hey, guys,” said a cheery voice that could only be Moe.
As I laid eyes on him for the first time, a tingle went down my spine. His dark blond hair was disheveled like he had just woken up from a nap. His blue eyes were bright, as though fairy lights glowed within them. Despite his boyish hair and eyes, his jaw was strong, and he looked to be in his thirties like me, Jag, and Elliot.
We should kiss him,my brain said.
He hates us,I reminded her.
“Moe!” Elliot said, his voice raising an octave in happiness. He wrapped the other man in a big hug.
Moe chuckled and held Elliot with one arm. He stretched the other past Beverly’s dam to pat Jag on the shoulder.
Jag squeezed his hand. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“I counted sixty thousand sheep!” Moe said happily.
Apparently, nothing could get him down. Except for me.
I backed away from Moe. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to dodge him. I insulted everyone all the time, and it never bothered me—at least, it hadn’t since I had learned to stop giving a fuck. It was easier that way.
But I was ashamed for hurting Moe.
