I don’t know what I liked better—making Nick’s eyes roll in the back of his head, or coming so hard that I almost passed out. Let’s call it a tie. Making out with him for another several minutes after also rates pretty high up there, especially when he notches me up under his chin and just… holds me.
I’m licking up the beads of water at his neck when I turn and notice the time. I curse and rush out of the shower, getting dressed in record time and racing to turn the sign on and open up the shop. Old Man Morris is waiting for me at the door, his face dour. Honestly, I’m pretty sure that’s just his face at this point. “Three minutes late, kid. Not the way you’re supposed to run a business.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not supposed to feast on the souls of little children, and yet here we are,” I say, gesturing in his general direction.
“Hmph.” He walks past me, pausing to move my collar to the side. “Somebodyhad a breakfast burrito this morning.” I flush as I cover the sensitive skin with my fingertips. “Your hair ain’t even dry, kid. Tell me, did I interrupt anything good?”
Just as he says this, Nick walks out of the bathroom, looking supremely satisfied with himself. I curse my luck, and he digs me in the ribs, laughing. “No need to answer, kid. I got all the proof right here. His hair ain’t dry, either.”
Ohhhh my god. Kill me now. Just… kill me now.
Nick looks up from what he’s doing and checks us out, arching that eyebrow of his, curious. I shake my head and gesture him away. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Turning to the old geezer, I decide on snark. “Jealous, old man? When was last time you got laid? 1976?”
“You forget about my Maggie,” he says, waggling his ridiculous eyebrows. “I rolled over and poked her on my way out this morning.”
Oh, for the love of god.
“Aaaaand now I’m gonna need a bucket of brain bleach to get that visual out of my head. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I mean, I’ve gotta assume that you get wicked rug burn on your balls whenever you fuck her.”
He leans forward, letting his tongue loll out of his mouth. “Aye, but it’s worth it.”
I pretend to dry heave, and he laughs at me, walking ahead to the rower. We go through his typical routine, but I make him slow down when I notice he gets winded.
“Don’t fuss over me, kid. I can do it. I don’t even know why you’re hanging around here.”
“Because it’s bad for business when the old folks keel over on the machines. If you’re going to die, please do so in the parking lot.”
He punches me in the hip with that gnarled-up old fist of his, and it hurts more than I’m willing to admit. That motherfucker is strong, but he does let me slow down the pace of the workout, thankfully.
When we wrap up, he gestures for me to follow him out the door. “What’s up, old man? Did you forget that you just did a workout?”
He knuckles the meat of my bicep, and I decide it’s better to let him speak.
“No, you little punk. I just want to warn you. Nick, he’s a good guy, but he’s got some history.”
Morris sounds uncharacteristically serious, which is weirding me out. “No shit. Was it the prosthetic that gave it away?”
Frustrated, he pokes my chest with his Grim Reaper finger. “Listen to me, kid. I just don’t want you to get hurt. He might not know how to give you what you need.”
“And what do I need?” I scoff.
His face… softens. Which is super off-putting. “What you need is someone who’ll take care of you.”
His simple words nearly knock the wind out of me, for the simple reason that the idea of someone—especially a particular someone—taking care of me, having my back, sounds like an amazing and impossible dream for someone like me.And yeah, the soft touches and post-sex cuddling make me think that Morris might have it wrong.
“I can take care of myself just fine.”
He looks at my face and gives me a warm smile. Fucker. “Sure you can, kid. But let’s just say that I know where you live, and that a guy with one of those sex buttons on his phone and a pattern of fuck-and-run isn’t gonna be your Prince Charming.”
“Keep your voice down,” I hiss under my breath. I look inside quickly to see if Nick can hear our conversation. He’s at the front desk looking down, riffling through some paperwork, and doesn’t seem all that interested. Good.“Look, I don’t need anybody to fix anything for me. They just promoted me, and my first paycheck will be enough to get into a better place. You just mind your own business.”
He holds my gaze for a long moment, then nods and pats my arm. It hurts, because it’s the same arm the son of a bitch bruised earlier. But I let him go on his merry way and hope that he’s able to leave well enough alone.
Chapter Eighteen
