“So, you just stop going?” Javier scolded.
Bowie sucked his teeth. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve kind of had a lot on my mind with two people being murdered a hundred feet away from me and me being dragged in for questioning. Suddenly, dance seems a little unimportant. I can’t dance in jail.”
Javier softened at Bowie’s words. “I’d never let you go to jail, angel.”
There was a sound like Bowie shifting, getting more comfortable. When he spoke again, there was no hostility left in his tone. “Is it weird that I miss you?” Bowie asked, voice hesitant.
“Is it weird that I hoped you did?” Javier countered, sliding down in the king-size bed until he was flat on his back. “Is it weird I miss you back?”
“This whole thing is weird, really,” Bowie confided. “I should feel bad that he’s dead but I don’t. I should be terrified because I know who did it, but I’m not. That’s weird, right?”
Javier put a hand up over his head. “It’s not weird to be relieved that you’re safe. And I’m sure whoever did it only did it to protect you.”
“Yeah, I wish I could thank him,” Bowie said, voice a bit breathless.
Javier smiled. “He knows. It ain’t no thing, angel.”
Once more, there was the sound of shifting and the sound of a door opening and then quickly slamming shut again. Then Bowie asked, “When are you coming home?”
Home. That was a good question. Was LA his home? He’d never thought of it as such. He was born in the States, but Mexico was his home. This was where he’d spent most of his life. Still, if it meant getting back to Bowie, LA might be his home. “I don’t know, angel. My family stuff could take a few weeks.”
“Weeks?” Bowie whined. “Why so long?”
“That’s just the way it has to be,” Javier said, both his heart and dick equally intrigued by the disappointment in Bowie’s voice. “Take a picture and send it to me. I miss your face.”
“You do?” Bowie asked, sounding genuinely surprised.
“Yeah, I do.” He really did.
Again, Javier listened to the sound of rustling, trying to picture Bowie lying on his bed. What did his room look like? Was he messy? Did he have his own room? A big bed?
His phone buzzed. He moved it away from his face so he could see Bowie staring up at him from a camera held above his head. No smile. Just his face and those big green eyes and insanely long black lashes. Javier was relieved to see his bruises were nearly faded. Good. All traces of what that motherfucker did to Bowie would soon be as dead and gone as he was.
“I need one with that smile, angel.”
“What smile?” If it was possible to hear somebody’s embarrassment, Javier did in that moment.
Shy Bowie made his dick hard. Who was he kidding? Any version of Bowie got him hot. “You know what I want.”
Bowie groaned, and part of Javier hoped it was because he was just a little bit sexually frustrated, too. “Oh, my God. I’m going to hell,” Bowie finally muttered
A minute later, his phone buzzed again. This time, it was Bowie’s thousand watt smile as he peeked through his fingers, his cheeks red.
“Why’s that, angel?”
“Because two people are dead and one is critically injured and I’m flirting with you on the phone. That’s gotta be bad karma or something, right?”
Javier stopped in his tracks, his hand absently rubbing the enormous bruise on his chest. The one left behind by the bullet that had hit his kevlar vest. Fucking hell. Bowie had said two people. Javier had been so happy to hear from him he hadn’t truly absorbed the words. Only two people died. “One lived?”
Bowie seemed to hesitate before saying, “You…you didn’t know?”
“How would I know that, angel?” he asked, keeping his voice casual. He didn’t need to worry Bowie. He had enough going on.
“Yeah. He’s in a coma or something. The cops are dying to talk to him. They’re just sure he’s going to tell them how I hired a hitman to take out my rapist and his friends. Though, I have no idea how he’d know any of that.”
Javier chuckled. “Is that what they’re saying? That you somehow managed to hire a hitman?”
“They tried to say that, yeah. Until Odette pointed out that I’m a broke kid from the Midwest and would have no idea how to hire a hitman and no way to pay one if I did,” Bowie said ruefully.
