“Nero—”
“Tom.” Cass stepped in, perhaps knowing Nero’s short fuse well enough to be cautious, except he was wrong this time. Lenny had obliterated Nero’s fiery temper to the point where now, Nero simply turned away from Tom’s irritation and scooped another pizza out of the oven. Who cared if they couldn’t serve calzones on opening night? They had plenty of other good shit to sell.
He tuned the conversation out, letting Cass uncharacteristically play the role of pacifier, and his thoughts drifted to the pinky-blond bombshell he’d kissed good-bye at Shepherd’s Bush tube station at the arse crack of dawn that morning. Lenny wasn’t, and would never be, a morning person, but his sleep-addled smile had been on Nero’s mind ever since. That, and the toe-curling fuck they’d managed to squeeze in before work. Nero had never been much into anal sex with women, and the yearning to have Lenny inside him still made his head spin—even if it conversely terrified him enough for Lenny to be scared of it too—but fucking Lenny was something else; the way he moved, the sounds he made, the way his body clamped so tight around Nero’s dick it felt like he’d never let go.
And Nero didn’t want him to let go. Falling in love with Lenny had taken him by surprise, though he’d known it long before he’d said it aloud, but he was lost in him now, and could hardly imagine the time when running from him had seemed the safer option.
“You’re different,” Cass had said to him just a few days ago. And he was right. Happy wasn’t a place Nero believed was for him, but with Lenny sharing the load of his demons, he was as close as he’d ever been. He felt alive instead of lost in the constant search for oblivion.
Didn’t stop him worrying that Lenny saw him as some kind of psycho, though. And if he did, was he wrong? Most days, Nero didn’t think so, and despite his good mood and temper, four hours of grafting over a hot pizza oven was beginning to fray his tired nerves, like the heat penetrated his soul with every scrape of metal on stone. Baring his soul to Lenny, it seemed, wasn’t a miracle cure.
He handed the reins to his newly appointed sous chef and went outside for a smoke. His craving for peace and quiet was almost as strong as the one for nicotine, and he was in his own world when Tom made him jump a little while later.
“Sorry for being ornery,” Tom said. “I’m just a bit fraught. I’ve never known so many stupid things to go wrong on a project. It’s usually the people I have to worry about, not a shortage of teaspoons.”
“You’re complaining about not having to fret about some lunatic band of idiots wrecking your baby?”
“Pretty much. I left the employment to Cass this time around, and he’s somehow managed to pull together the tightest new team we’ve ever had.”
In spite of his initial misplaced pessimism, Nero couldn’t argue with that. If the TST kitchen team lived up to his expectations, his new role would be a piece of piss, which felt slightly too good to be true.
Like he’d heard Nero’s thoughts, Tom leaned on the railing and gazed out over the waterside dining area. “I suppose I’m just waiting for the real hammer to fall.”
“Why? Don’t worry about shit till it happens, mate. Makes you old.”
Tom sighed. “I suppose you’re right. Have you heard from Lenny today? Jake hasn’t checked in for a while.”
It was Nero’s habit to fob Tom off any chance he got, but the infinitesimal edge to the question made him look up. “He messaged me a while ago. Said they were still in Stockwell sorting the glass delivery. Why? Something wrong?”
“No.”
“Really? ’Cause you look like a bulldog chewing a wasp.”
“And you sound like Cass when he’s not getting any.” Tom’s frown turned droll. “Seriously, though. I like that Jake has Lenny with him. All the running around he does gets on top of him sometimes. It’s hard not to worry that we won’t be there when he needs us most.”
Nero’s habitual sarcasm died a death as Tom’s words hit home. Tom and Cass adored Jake as much as they did each other, but Jake wasn’t like them. His TS left him vulnerable in a way Nero would never truly understand, and he could hardly bear to imagine how tough it was for Cass and Tom who loved him so much. Pain lanced Nero’s chest as he recalled the day Lenny had finally forced himself to leave the flat, and then every day after for weeks and weeks when he’d jumped at every little sound. It seemed to be all behind him now, but Nero couldn’t forget the terror in his eyes. Wouldn’t ever forget it. He pulled his phone from his pocket and waved it at Tom. “Save me getting my knickers in a twist too, eh?”
He called Lenny, trying not to melt under Tom’s watchful gaze as Lenny answered with a giggle. “Where you at?”
“Just got off the Tube. Be there in five.”
“Hurry up,” Nero said. “Tom’s twitching for Jake, and . . . I miss you.”
“Me? Or the twenty fags I’ve got in my pocket, ’cause I know you’ll have smoked yours by now.”
“You’re all heart.”
“Not really, but what I have is yours.”
Nero turned away from Tom as heat flooded his cheeks. Would he ever get used to the certainty in Lenny’s voice when he said shit like that? He hoped not, because all the rum in the world didn’t carry a buzz quite like the one that came with loving Lenny. “Just get your arse here.”
He hung up and faced the music. Tom was grinning a grin that would’ve looked more at home on Cass. “All these years, I had no idea.”
“No idea about what?”
“That you swung a little our way. Cass kept it from me until recently—for your sake, I think. And he was right. You weren’t ready for Lenny before now.”
“You read that on the back of a cereal box?”
