His ears perked when Stanley invited them over for dinner and Bo promised to take him up on the offer. Meet the neighbors? Go into their house? Eat with them?
Bo probably needed two years more therapy after meeting the Lucklighters.
Lucky didn’t exactly run the man off the moment they’d finished their task.
Bo elbowed him all the same. “He’s our neighbor, being neighborly, did you have to scowl at him?”
“I wasn’t scowling.” Actually, he’d been going for more of a glare. Glares got folks’ feet moving quick most times.
Bo stared at Lucky’s gotta-have-it-now fire pit, hands on his hips. “Anyway, it’s here, it’s in the ground, what now?”
“Now we start a fire.” Oh, yeah. Lucky planned to do some burning.
“Now?”
“Got something better to do?”
“A few things, actually.” Bo swayed and ran his hands up and down his body, stripper style.
Oh, hell. Lucky’s cock took notice. “Later.”
Bo’s mouth dropped open. “Later! Later, he says. I’m offering sex, and he says later.”
Lucky hoped his gaze pierced Bo’s soul, like Bo’s so often pierced Lucky’s. He nodded. “Oh yeah.”
Bo’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Oh. Alrighty, then. Let’s get this fire started.”
Using fallen twigs and branches gleaned from the backyard, Lucky fanned the flames of a cheery blaze five minutes later.
“Now.” He looked Bo straight in the eyes. “I want every single damned condom out here in this pit. Now!”
Bo froze. And then grinned. “Yes, sir!” He darted through the backyard and up the steps, doing a gazelle-worthy leap over their couch-sized dog.
He returned a few moments later and skidded to a halt a few feet from Lucky. “You wanna do the honors, or you want me to?”
“I don’t care, as long as those suckers burn.” And the sooner the better. No more condoms for Lucky ever again.
Bo tossed in a handful. Then a whole unopened box.
Ah, what a pretty sight, the hints of color the rubbers added to the flames. Smelled like hell, but still pretty. Lucky stood watching the flames destroy them, arm around Bo’s waist. “You get them all?”
“I think so.”
“Bathroom? Bedside table?”
“Yes and yes.”
“Your wallet, the couch cushions, the glovebox? The Harley’s saddlebags?”
“Oh. Be right back.” Bo took off like a shot, Moose chasing behind him. Damn if the mutt’s barking didn’t sound like laughter.
“What ‘cha doin’ over there?” the neighbor called from his side of their shared fence.
Oh shit. One introduction and now they’d never get rid of the guy. “I could tell you, but trust me, it’d be too much information.” There. Let him chew on that.
Bo came back and dug packets out of all his pockets. How many condoms did they own?
As long as the answer from here on out was none, who cared?
