Atticus flopped back down on the bed. “I watched you cut a guy’s fingers off during a racist game of Jeopardy. I guess I thought there was a cone of silence thing happening here. Don’t friends have secrets?”
Jericho grinned at that. “Yeah. They do.”
“Good.”
“I get it. Why you do what you do. In my neighborhood, there are a lot of people who prey on the weak, the vulnerable. People they know can’t go to the cops—especially right now—for fear of being deported. So, me and my boys, we look out for them, take out the trash.”
“Trash like Trevor?” Atticus asked.
“Yeah, trash just like Trevor.” Jericho gave him a humorless smile. “There, now, we both have something to lose.”
Atticus reached out and grabbed Jericho’s hand. His palm was warm and his grip awkward, but when he squeezed, Jericho knew he was trying to comfort him. He didn’t pull away. After a few minutes passed, he said, “Please, let me help you look into your sister. It won’t bring her back but, if nothing else, it might give you some peace of mind.”
Jericho knew he should say no. But he had no faith in the police. There was too much bad blood between him and Gabe. He didn’t think Gabe would go so far as to not follow up on a lead to spite him, but he’d never been particularly thorough…with anything, really. “Yeah. If you wouldn’t mind.”
Once more, Atticus squeezed his hand. “I don’t mind. Do you want pizza? I’m suddenly starving.”
Jericho laughed at the jump in topics before shrugging. “Yeah, pizza sounds…pizza sounds good.”
“ …and that’s how I ended up in a straight porn movie.”
They sat naked, tangled in Jericho’s sheets, a pizza box between them. They hadn’t discussed anything of importance since they’d agreed on dinner.
Atticus blinked at him, chewing his pizza thoughtfully. “Fascinating. I can’t figure out how much of what you say is true and how much is bullshit.”
Jericho grinned at Atticus’s deadpan delivery. “I’ll leave you to wonder,” he said, stuffing the crust into his mouth and chewing obnoxiously before swallowing the huge bite. “You could tell me something about you, then I wouldn’t feel compelled to fill the silence.”
Atticus snorted. “I already told you I’m a psychopathic vigilante who comes from a family of serial killers. Everything after that seems trivial, no?”
“Whydidyou tell me that?” Jericho asked. “I would think something that big would be a sort of top tier secret. One saved for deathbed confessions. Why blurt that out to a complete stranger?”
Atticus thought about it for a long moment. Why had he just blurted out a huge family secret, one he’d been furious to find that Adam and August had revealed so easily? Jericho was reckless. He had a look in his eye that belied this cavalier attitude about his own safety and welfare. A look that made Atticus want to follow suit.
“It’s like you said in the cabin, how often do you meet somebody you don’t have to lie to?”
Jericho’s grin slipped away as he studied Atticus. “You lie a lot, huh? I found a bunch of pics of you online. You at cocktail parties and award dinners. You posing with city council members. All big smiles and relaxed shoulders, nothing like you are with me.”
Atticus took another bite, contemplating Jericho’s statements, wondering if he was meant to explain himself, deciding he would either way. “I—My father says I’m a mimic. That I simply imitate the behavior of others without even trying. I give what I get. It’s superficial, performative. My brother, Adam, can do it, too, but he’s too reckless. He likes to play with people, cause problems. He’s chaos. My father uses me as the public face because I’m essentially a mirror just reflecting people back at themselves with nothing behind my eyes.”
“That’s bullshit. Not the mirror thing, but the nothing part. That’s not true.” Atticus’s heartbeat shot up as Jericho closed the pizza box and tossed it on the floor. He pushed Atticus back onto the pillows, following him down. He immediately opened his legs, letting Jericho settle between them. He really hoped he didn’t want to hook up again. He didn’t think he could do what they’d done again after that much pizza.
“I don’t want to have sex again,” Atticus blurted.
“Ever?”
Atticus wished he could say yes. “Just…not right now. Pizza…”
Jericho shook his head. “You really have no concept of intimacy. It’s fascinating. Me, I’m super touchy-feely. I like kissing and hugging and cuddling, even hot hookups sometimes end up as sleepovers.”
Fury rocketed through him, like a shock wave at the thought of Jericho doing this…wanting this with anybody else. It made no sense. Atticus had just told him they were friends with benefits, less than that. Just benefits. But he didn’t want to think about Jericho kissing or fucking anybody else, and he certainly didn’t want to think about him…comforting them or cuddling them. What the fuck?
Jericho placed a soft kiss on his lips. “Come back.”
“What?” Atticus asked, voice thick.
“You definitely checked out there for a minute.”
“I was just thinking how absurd your last sentence was,” he lied. “I understand intimacy. It’s just not something I’m capable of.”
