Was this how sex was supposed to be? Knock you off at the knees and leave you clinging together after, words soft and languid? Bo’d had his share of lovers in the past, mostly between his two forays into internet fame, but it’d never had these moments, tangled together and speaking softly.
“You’re a revelation,” Ever murmured, leaning to kiss Bo with slow intensity, stealing his breath just as Bo caught it. “If a poor hairdresser.”
Bo laughed and kissed him again. “I did my best.”
Ever’s fingers spread over Bo’s side, palm flat, a warm, comfortable heat. “If you wish to make another such attempt, I wouldn’t be opposed.”
Fucking sweet, the idea. Sex and lazy kisses, arms wrapped around one another, and ending the night the way they started.
“I think I owe it to your hair to not leave twigs in it.” Bo tugged once more in demonstration. “And maybe get one of us a crown.”
“A wreath of oak would suit you,” Ever said, the daring tease.
“If we find bits of trees, sure.” Shit, even if they didn’t. Bo could make a paper crown or something. Whatever Ever wanted. “So, we get up, get cleaned off, and I take a second shot at being a stylist. Sound alright?”
“That sounds suitable, yes. Provided you’re amenable to sleep, after. It’s been some time since I’ve had a proper rest.”
“Think you’ll be able to tonight?”
“Oh, yes,” Ever murmured, all but purring. “You’ve managed to put me quite at ease.”
So fucking sweet. And Bo knew they had shit to face. A murderous ex to hide from. Robin and Jan to navigate. A morning after to not make awkward.
Fucking worth it, though. Whatever happened to them, it’d be fucking worth it.
“It’s mutual, kelpie,” Bo said, smiling. They’d be fine. He’d make sure they were fucking fine. “C’mon. Let me get you cleaned up.”
“We have plenty ofroom,” Talia said, like she was making a perfectly normal request. A kid wheedling for a second dessert. “No castlesorstowaway rapscallions. Half of the backseat is empty.”
“The backseat has a kelpie in it.” Because itwasn’ta perfectly normal request. Bo flipped open the small coffee maker, all butfeelingTalia’s eyes go narrow in contemplation, looking for a counterargument. “A kelpie who already has to deal with being trapped in a metal tube for hours on end.”
“Everil’s all about manners. It’s polite to give someone a ride if they need it.”
Bo laughed. “You’d put him at risk with some random off the street?”
Pretty fucking kelpie. Serrated, wickedly sharp teeth, claws made for tearing. Kelpie who could take care of himself if the way he ripped through the forest–and dryad–meant anything. Who watched Bo with eyes wide and spoke in soft, needy whispers.
“I’ll make them promise they’re not an ax murderer,” Talia swore. Bo scoffed. “And besides, Everil won’t mind. Will you, Everil?”
Bo glanced up at the sound of the bathroom door opening. Leering at Everil almost had him fucking up the coffee.Almost. He managed to get the cup under the drip just before it started.
“That depends entirely on whom you’ve decided to carry off this time,” Ever replied, pushing still-wet hair back from his face. The freshly showered look suited him. So did the sidelong, hesitant glance at Bo.
“Not ‘carry off.’ Offer a ride.”
“To carry them off in,” Bo added, biting back a grin. He failed utterly when he met Talia’s eager, expectant expression.
“It’s not a road trip if we don’t pick up a hitchhiker.” Fucking weird kid, saying that with the confidence of teenagers everywhere.
“I’m not familiar with the Protocol for a ‘road trip.’ ” He looked to Bo, offering a small, shy smile. “I’m afraid this falls under your jurisdiction.”
“It’s Protocol for seventies road trips,” Bo clarified, turning toward Ever with a smile of his own. He leaned his hip on the low counter, gaze lingering on those long fingers and that little smile. “Not for modern trips. You can ask my aunt about her adventures, kid. She’s got some fucking doozies.”
“Not even if they’re determined yet downtrodden?” Talia looked at Bo, her round little chin on a knee, half hidden in her hoodie despite them being inside. “They’ll have a battered suitcase and big sunglasses so no one can see their pain.”
Bo stared at her. Talia stared back, the silence not dimming her hope in the slightest.
“If we see someone downtrodden yet determined, holding a battered suitcase and wearing big-ass sunglasses to hide their wounded eyes, yeah,” Bo said after a moment. “We’ll pick them up. As long as you make them promise they aren’t serial killers.”
