Sure enough, it was Jake. “Hey. How’s tricks?”
“Can’t complain. Who’d fuckin’ listen?”
Jake chuckled. “You’re even more cockney than Cass.”
“I try. What can I do for you?”
A rumble of thunder shook the air as Jake rattled off a series of tics. Nero squinted suspiciously at the sky. He’d heard rumours of an impending summer storm, and he didn’t fancy getting dicked on by the duke of Spain.
“Anyway,” Jake said, “I was calling to see how you got on. Sorry we’ve left you to it with the kitchen plans. It’s been crazy busy at this end. We’ve hired a master baker, though, if it’s any consolation.”
Nero grunted. “Good. I ain’t working twenty-four-seven, even for you.”
“As if we’d ever ask you to. Besides, we know you’re a night owl, so we figured you’d be happier running the restaurant.”
Running anything got on Nero’s tits, but he couldn’t deny he was enjoying developing the pizza menu. Bread, fresh vegetables, and artisan cheese; it was the kind of peasant cooking he enjoyed most. “Who’s the baker dude? Do we know him?”
“It’s a woman, actually, a mate of Gloria’s from Bristol. You’ll meet her soon enough. Try not to shag her and piss her off straightaway, will ya?”
“Fuck off.” Nero glared at no one in particular and lit up a smoke just as the first fat drops of rain began to fall. “I don’t do that.”
“Steph says different.”
Nero sighed. “Fuck Steph.”
“Yeah, yeah—” Jake abruptly hung up before Nero could tell him about the bus. Nero waited a moment—Jake’s Tourette’s often made him do weird shit with his phone—but he didn’t call back, so Nero pocketed his own phone and ducked his way to the Tube station just as the heavens opened in earnest.
He’d made it to Earl’s Court when an electrical fault closed the line. Brilliant. Nero trudged above ground to meet the rain again. The buses were packed and running late, and after stopping at the shops to buy something to make the fridge less bare, it was gone noon by the time he let himself into the flat. And it felt like midnight. That’s what you get for three hours’ sleep, dickhead.
Nero shut the front door behind him and went to the kitchen. He loaded the fridge with eggs, cheese, and green vegetables, and chucked a loaf of bread on the counter, noting that there was no sign that Lenny had bothered to feed himself. Fucking typical. The bloke didn’t need a bodyguard; he needed a mother. Not yours, though, right?
Fuck no. Swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth, Nero went to the bedroom, passing through the living room on his way, but despite the empty couch and his parting words to Lenny that morning, the sight of Lenny stretched out, fast asleep, on the very edge of his bed stopped him short. With the storm still darkening the sky outside, a shadow was cast over Lenny’s face, and Nero had never seen anything so hauntingly beautiful.
He sucked in a shaky breath and took a step forward, Lenny’s kiss suddenly back on his lips like it had never been gone, but he froze before he could take a second step. Lenny was so tired . . . vulnerable, and frightened of something Nero couldn’t see. Drunken kissing be damned, Nero wasn’t what Lenny needed right now.
Like he’d heard the conflict in Nero’s frazzled brain, Lenny stirred, his arms reaching out. “Nero?”
Nero crossed the room in two strides and grasped Lenny’s outstretched hands. “I’m here.”
Lenny’s eyes flew open. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, they were so full of fear Nero couldn’t breathe, but then Lenny focused, smiled, and the sun came out. “Is it my turn to be all sleepy and cute?”
“Cute?”
Lenny’s hazy grin widened. “You’re adorable when you wake up.”
Nero scowled. “I’m not cute.”
“Not often, but not never.”
“You do talk some cobblers, mate. Sorry for waking you up, though. Didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay.” Lenny released Nero’s hands and yawned. “’Bout time I got up, eh?”
“If you say so.” Nero mourned the loss of Lenny’s fingers around his, and he got the feeling he’d miss Lenny’s presence in his bed even more. “Do you need anything? Cuppa? Breakie?”
“Nah, just give me something to do, man.”
“Suit yourself.” Nero left the room briefly and fetched his folder of paperwork for the Vauxhall project. “I got the photos too.”
