Prince stumbles against him and Bobby eyes their drunker friends. “Demeroven,” he says, catching the man’s attention. Demeroven looks back at him, then glances at Rupping and Wristead. “Take Prince. I’ll handle them, and Cunningham will—”
“This way, lads!” Cunningham proclaims, dancing down the street ahead of them.
Both Bobby and Demeroven laugh. Their eyes meet as Bobby passes Prince over to Demeroven and he feels that pull again. He knows there could be something more than animosity between them, if they let it. But Demeroven skirts his glance away and starts guiding Prince down the street, leaving Bobby to corral Wristead and Rupping. A good distraction if ever he knew one.
Four pubs later, Bobby’s impressed any of them are still standing. He cut himself off at the third pub, and his buzz is beginning to wear down. But the rest of the gents are still going strong. They’ve already lost Rupping. Not quite sure where he got off to.
Wristead’s starting to nod off against the wall as they stand at the entrance to the Pewter House, waiting for Cunningham to close their tab. Bobby wonders idly how much Prince’s father provided for this evening.
“On to Twildings!” Cunningham decrees as he guides a stumbling Prince out of the pub. Demeroven brings up the rear, hands out to catch Prince should he fall backward.
“Wristead, you should take a coach,” Bobby says.
Wristead startles and starts to fall sideways. Demeroven runs up to catch him, buckling under his weight. Prince turns to help, slipping out of Cunningham’s grip, and Bobby rushes forward to brace him.
He and Demeroven exchange a glance. They’re reluctant partners in keeping their friends alive tonight, it seems. He supposes that’s nominally better than being partners in evading extortion.
“I’ll get Wristead into a coach. Cunningham, help me, would you?” Demeroven says, beckoning Cunningham over while Bobby steadies Prince on his shoulder.
He jerks his chin toward the end of the block and Demeroven nods, ushering Wristead and Cunningham toward the curb. Bobby helps Prince begin to shuffle in the opposite direction.
“My lover’s eyes are the sea. She walks on air and clouds to me. Each morn I wake I feel a glow, her skin like cream and hair like...” Prince hesitates, tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration.
“What are you doing?”
“Sonnets,” Prince says, as if it’s a normal pastime. “What rhymes withglow?”
“Snow,” Bobby suggests, laughing as Prince gives him a truly affronted look.
“Her hair is brown.”
“Sorry. Um,know?”
“Why would her hair be like know?” Prince demands.
“Poetry is not my forte, Prince. But, oh, easy there,” he says as Prince trips over an askew cobblestone.
“Catherine’s like poetry,” Prince says dreamily. “You should find a woman like poetry.”
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” Bobby says honestly, guiding Prince over to a stone wall they can lean against until Demeroven and Cunningham catch up.
“But it’s so nice to have a lady. She’s so smart and pretty and nice. Ladies are so kind, Mason.”
“I’m sure they are,” Bobby agrees. Beth is, at least. Gwen is... something.
“You need a good woman to love,” Prince insists.
Bobby sighs and looks over at his friend, who’s leaning against the wall at an absurd angle. “Prince.”
“You never know who will light up your life,” Prince says, his gaze suddenly serious. “Sometimes they just stumble into you when you’re not looking.”
“Whatever you say,” Bobby agrees, his head a little heavy—with melancholy or alcohol, he’s not sure.
Prince smiles blearily and opens his mouth, but whatever he plans to say is drowned out by the sound of Cunningham falling against a bush, heaving his guts out.
Demeroven stumbles back from him, checking that he made it out of the splash zone. “Wristead’s gone home.”
“Just us left, then?” Bobby asks, trying not to look at the mess seeping out from the roots of Cunningham’s bush, or at Demeroven, who looks even more beautiful under the lamplight. Frazzled and frustrated suits him. Oh, Lord, no wonder he’s become... infatuated; he frustrates Demeroven every time they speak.
