“But if you weren’t trying to snoop, how…?” He gestured with the French press in one hand and the bag of gourmet beans in the other.
Brady’s eyes lit up. “Oh my God. Champagne coffee. Holy shit. Will I be ruined for all other coffees? Will everything else taste like caffeinated mud? Please, tell me it’s like heroin, and I’ll have to buy my own press and everything.”
Eric narrowed his eyes, trying not to chuckle. “Gee, mister, you have awfully inflated expectations from a cup of coffee.”
“I live a small life,” Brady reassured him. “And I was looking out my window, because….” He shrugged. “If you haven’t stared out at the desert at night, it’s like you might as well live somewhere else. And like I said, I saw that line of cars and thought, ‘Hey, is that Ace’s place?’ And it’s the only stoplight on the highway, so, uhm,yes. And then you all disappeared, and I thought, ‘Hey, what have I missed in a year of cruising the most boring place on earth?’ So this morning I left for work early and, well, here I am.” He smiled prettily. “About to get spoiled for coffee.”
Eric couldn’t help it—he let the laugh escape so it wouldn’t burble or cackle or anything embarrassing. “I shall do my best,” he promised, before pressing the bean grinder. As he scooped the grounds into the small “travel-sized” espresso machine, he added. “Why were you so interested?”
Brady let loose a snort. “Sir, there areeightenormous millionaire houses out here that arefinished, and that doesn’t count the lots that were just sketched out. Nobody has any idea this shit is out here, do they?”
Eric shrugged. “I didn’t.”
“Well, how did you find out?” Brady asked.
“I told him,” Ernie said, popping his head in through the door, a plate full of—oh dear God what was that?—in his hand.
“Why hello,” Eric muttered, wondering if there was an unwritten desert rule about,Hey,on Fridays, you’ll wake up down the rabbit hole. Don’t worry. It’s fine.
“Are those strawberry glazed?” Brady asked, a hint of a wibble in his voice.
“Yes, I guess they’re for you,” Ernie said, hauling himself up the steps and shutting the door carefully behind him.
With a cheerful smile, he set the donuts on the table andsprawledon the bench across from Brady. Eric realized that he’d have no choice but to sitnextto Brady, and his heart rate sped up a little while his hypothalamus said,Oh, no—he cute, he’s smart, and he doesn’t know which side he’s on. This can only end badly.
His last lover had ended up bleeding out on the ice from one of Eric’s little shurikens, and Eric still had no regrets.
HelikedBrady—he’d regret it if he had to do the same thing to him.
He found himself stammering. “I’ll… if you don’t mind, I’ll go put on a shirt before that finishes.”
And then he fled.
He came back and found Ernie had scooped Katie up in his arms and was crooning to her while she went boneless. This kid was supernaturally gifted in more ways than one—Eric could swear he spoke Felinese.
“So,” Ernie said, looking up from the enchanted kitten, “I’m here because you did such a good job subbing in for me yesterday. Crullers and Jason both came home for the weekend, and if I can get you some guaranteed pool time at Jason’s, I was hoping maybe you could sub for me today. Brady could drive you there. Crullers and I could do some shopping in town like you did yesterday.” Ernie batted his eyes. “Jason’s going to San Diego tonight to fetch Cotton, and they’re staying at a hotel because Jason’s one romantic motherfucker, and you can have the pool all this evening and tomorrow morning. Deal?”
Eric felt an absolute visceral longing in his stomach, thinking about swimming and then lying out in the sun—even if it was only in the low 70’s—and then swimming some more.
Suddenly he understood how Brady felt about the coffee.
“Certainly,” he said. “Would you mind….”
“Taking these guys to Cathair Acres?” Ernie asked pertly. “Never. I willnevermind taking them, and I will run them by tonight if you like.” He turned to Brady and grinned. “Of course, if Eric’s here to let you in, you’re welcome to swim this evening too.”
Brady, to Eric’s private disappointment, didn’t return the grin. “I’m afraid I’m working a long shift tonight, and another one tomorrow. And while I don’t know who Jason and Cotton are, I’m going to assume Crullers is your boyfriend and you’ll all be banging like bunnies this weekend, and since I don’t know you that well, it sounds awkward as hell.”
Eric busied himself pouring coffee and then fixing up a little creamer/sweetener tray to set in the middle of the table. After presenting it to his guests (and didn’t that sound overblown and pretentious in his little camper, no matter how luxurious), he bit the bullet and slid in next to Brady.
He caught a deep breath of Old Spice Swagger and some sort of mint shampoo and had to work at not moaning and shuddering in pleasure.
Holy hells, this guy smelled good.
“Nice shirt,” Brady said, eyebrows arched, like Eric was fooling nobody. It didn’t matter—Eric only need fool himself to keep Brady alive.
“You woke me up,” he said bluntly. “Would you have preferred me naked?”
Brady snorted. “Yeah, ’causethatwould be a hardship.” He turned toward the platter of—ugh—deep fried strawberry dough with strawberry icing on top and selected one, inhaling appreciatively before he bit.
