Taylor had never played any kind of tabletop games, he just liked how the brush felt between his fingers. Plus, back in the day, that blond haired elf with the bow had been one of the hottest omegas in existence and Taylor would hear no different.
Letting out a weary sigh, he raised his arms, the muscles in his shoulders popping and aching from months of not being exercised properly. Where Johnny was built like an infuriatingly handsome and well-muscled gazelle, Taylor was most definitelyan ox, and his weight training had been sorely lacking in recent months.
Once his ears had stopped ringing, he padded out of the room and grabbed a towel from the airing cupboard. He’d forgotten to use softener last time he did the laundry, so they were like sheets of sandpaper.
Across the landing, Johnny’s door was open, but when Taylor stuck his head in he found there was no one there. It probably meant he’d gone for an early morning run with Blake again.
Weirdos.
Both of them actually seemed tolikerunning, and that thought alone made Taylor shudder.
The water was lukewarm by the time he finished washing and strangling his morning wood, but Taylor struggled to find even an ounce of guilt after Johnny’s music-induced torture. After sloping back to his room, he pulled on a pair of lime green boxers, odd socks and a fresh pair of combat trousers. Opening his wardrobe, he groaned when he realised there were no clean tactical shirts.
“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging his feet all the way back to Johnny’s room.
He took a spare one from his wardrobe and pulled it over his head. It was too tight across the shoulders, and clung to his back as if it was sprayed on, but the arms were so long they grazed his fingertips, making him look like a 2000s emo kid.
Sniffing, he stood in Johnny’s room. Unlike the disorganised bedlam of his own bedroom, Johnny’s was neat and tidy, with his bed tucked in with military precision, the curtains immaculately folded behind the hooks, and he even had a reed diffuser on his bookshelf. A fuckingreed diffuser. The guy was a sixty-year-old woman in disguisefor sure.
A wooden cross dangled from a piece of cord next to his door, and Taylor gave it a little tap to make it swing. “Morning, bigman,” he said, stopping it with a finger and stroking tiny Jesus’ face.
Taylor wasnotreligious in any way shape or form, but he could appreciate a man who got nailed for six hours straight and still came back for more.
Johnny’s windowsill was full of family photos and mementos the kids had made. There was a photo of Taylor front and centre, which would have been sweet were it not for the fact that he had been absolutelyslaughteredduring their first holiday to Magaluf. He was sprawled across a pink flamingo in the middle of a public fountain, passed out, with vomit that was not his across his chest and a party hat that made him look like a really shit unicorn.
He didn’t even remember most of that holiday, or getting an elephant tattoo on his arse cheek, or how Johnny had sustained a broken wrist. But what hedidremember was the raging case of crabs they’d both contracted after a threesome with an omega on the beach, andnotthe crustacean variety.
Rolling up his sleeves, he made his way downstairs. It was only 6:30 am, but morning light was already pouring in through the windows and bouncing off the high-end aluminium microwave like it was the second coming of Christ. Maman had donated it to them when the restaurant was re-fitted, along with the fancy toaster, air fryer and coffee machine (even though neither of them drank coffee, but it looked good on the counter).
Glancing towards the door he saw that Johnny’s trainers were gone, as was the CamelBak that usually hung from the coat rack. In the space where his running shoes had been was a stained rag and an unfamiliar tin of boot polish. Taylor frowned, because neither of them had bulled their boots in ages, but as his eyes followed the skirting board, there they were.
Two sets of black combat boots all shiny and clean on a sheet of newspaper.
Two sets.
Taylor’s chest gave a sharp little tug, the sensation flitting down into his belly and settling like a lead ball. Johnny wanted to make a good impression. Wanted them tobothmake a good impression. Usually he didn’t give two shits about Taylor’s scruffiness, but that morning…
Christ, guilt felt unpleasant.
Sighing, Taylor wrenched open the fridge, pulled out a can of Coke and headed to the back door. He stepped out onto the patio, running the pad of his thumb around the lip of the can. The massive field at the back of the house was full of sheep, like fluffy clouds under the morning sun. The woods beyond were dark as usual, and Taylor wasdefinitelytaking his wolf out for a run later.
Was he seriously not going to get to clean his gun today? No click of the trigger, no slide release, no pop of the recoil spring or smelling the gun oil as he ran it through the barrel.
Shit, his hands were already itching for something to touch, and a soft clearing of the throat made his head jerk round.
“You… okay there, Tay?”
Taylor jumped. “Fuckin’ hell,” he said, eyeing Pember, their dark-haired omega neighbour from over the fence. He was holding a coffee cup and had two dogs lying at his feet; a Labrador and a corgi. Taylor took a long drink to cover how flustered that’d made him. “You’re as quiet as a mouse.”
Pember’s mouth twitched into a small smile, and he pulled an oversized dressing gown around his shoulders. He hopped up onto a plant pot so they could see one another better. “Or maybe you’re just noisy,” he said, grinning as he took a slurp of coffee.
Fuckhe was cute. Like, reallyreallycute. All dark hair and big green eyes. Blake had played a blinder bagging himself such a fine?—
“You okay?” Pember repeated, resting his mug on the fence post. “We heard what happened… with the transfer.”
Taylor groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Is everyone talking about it?”
Not that he really cared, he just didn’t want it to get back to Johnny’s Aunt Chichi, a pathologist for Major Crime. Because if Chichi knew the reason for their departure, then Maman soon would, and Taylor could not bear the thought of meeting her disappointed expressionagain.
