He sat on the edge of the bed and lightly rubbed Nero’s forearm, expecting a disgruntled groan, but Nero shot bolt upright and gripped Lenny’s shoulders, nearly sending them both tumbling off the bed.
Lenny steadied them. “Whoa. Easy, mate. What’s the matter?”
“Fuck.” Nero released Lenny and scrambled unsteadily from the bed. “I’m late for work. Why didn’t you wake me? Bollocks. I’ve got shit loads to do today too.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“Yes, I have. Where’s my fucking jeans?”
“They’re on the chair, but you don’t need them. Cass is downstairs.”
“Cass is—” Nero abruptly stopped spinning around. “What? Say all that again?”
“Cass is downstairs. He’s going to work today.”
“What about Jake?”
The echo of his own thoughts warmed Lenny’s chest. “Cass says he’s fine, but I’m going to work too, so he can leave if he needs to.”
It seemed to take Nero a few seconds to compute Lenny’s words. He rubbed the puzzled crease in his forehead. “How did Cass know to come in? Did you call him?”
“No, he came in anyway. He didn’t say why. Does it matter?”
Nero blinked. “What?”
“Never mind. Look, Cass is here, I’m here. You don’t need to work. You don’t even need to be awake. Just go back to sleep, or at least rest, okay? The world isn’t going to end if you take a day off.”
“It ain’t my day off.”
“It bloody is now!” Lenny exploded. “Jesus. Why are you such an arse when it comes to taking care of yourself?”
Nero’s eyebrows shot up, then a faint grin brightened his tired eyes. “Are you shouting at me?”
“No.”
“Sure about that? ’Cause I reckon they heard you in Pimlico.”
“Fuck off.”
“Thought you wanted me to lie down?”
Lenny sighed. “Do one or the other, will you? Before I lose my shit.”
“You’ve already lost your trousers, mate.”
Damn. Lenny had forgotten he was enduring this shambles of a conversation in his pants. “Don’t change the subject. How are you feeling?”
“All right . . . I think?” Nero finally sat back down. “Reckon I could sleep another week, and I feel like I drank way more rum on . . . shit, whatever day it was, than I actually did. But I’ll live.”
Lenny laid his palm on Nero’s bare chest, absently wondering if Nero had made the connection between Lenny’s obsession with his tattoo and the technicolour beast TST took its name from. “You don’t feel as hot.”
“No? Shame.”
Lenny rolled his eyes. Nero must still be half-delirious if he was making quips like that. “Sorry I screeched at you.”
“Don’t be. I’m a dick. What time is it?”
“Nine-ish. Cass doesn’t need me till twelve. Are you hungry?”
