How could Lucky not? Bo gave himself. What better gift? “Bo, will you do me a favor?”
“If I can.” Bo folded his arms over Lucky’s chest, gazing down at him.
“Never stop surprising me.”
Bo kissed him.
Promise enough.
CHAPTER FOUR
“What’s wrong with this product?” Lucky handed out bottles and unit-dose cups to the trainees sitting around the conference table.
The lingering image of Bo’s surprise stuck in Lucky’s head, and he’d caught himself humming to the dance music more than once.
If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the moment of release, his orgasm crashing into him with a sledgehammer’s force.
Not good while in a classroom with a bunch of rookies.
He’d caught a glimpse of Bo a few times since arriving at the office this morning, looking out of Lucky’s league in a suit and tie. Then he’d turn and catch Lucky’s eye, one side of his mouth curving upward. Whatever Lucky had done right to have Bo in his life, he might never know.
Jimmy glanced up and nodded. Butt kisser. Lucky waited to see if anyone else got the answer—if Jimmy wasn’t lying about knowing.
The other six stared at the cups and bottles, turning them over, shaking them, and even rolling them on the table. No guns needed for this exercise. Still, he’d keep an eye on Riley. And Road Rage Robinson. More than bullets put them at risk on the job.
Idiots! “If those were explosives you’d be in trouble.”
Six trainees stopped moving, except for the one who dropped a cup. Riley. Figured. Jimmy snorted.
Oh well, no hope for it. Lucky fought not to sigh. “Mr. Salters, care to tell us what’s wrong?”
Jimmy presented the bottle with unnecessary flourish, like a waiter pushing a hundred-year-old vintage back in the day when Lucky had dined at restaurants with expensive bottles of wine. “No lot number or expiration date.” He held up a cup and spoke in a bored manner. “No barcode. While serialization is still a few months out, most manufacturers started last year.”
The others groaned. Two examined the products again. Okay, three out of the group might last through six weeks of training.
“Without proper identification, these could be counterfeit.” Lucky hoisted a bottle and a cup. “Which is the reason for the Drug Supply Chain Security Act and serialization. Even with tight controls on labels and components, there’re some pretty convincing fakes out there. But a serial number”—he traded the samples for ones with proper identification— “means even John Doe who got the bottle from his pharmacy can trace the product through every step in the supply chain: manufacturer, distributor, possibly more than one, drug store, and on to him.”
Lucky squinted at the barely legible label and passed the bottle around, providing a visual lesson. Damned shitty-assed eyesight.
The moment the bottle had circulated the conference table and made its way back to the front of the room, seven pairs of eyes rose over Lucky’s head to the clock. Okay, tomorrow the clock went bye-bye. No clock watchers allowed. “Four-fifty-five, right?”
Seven heads bobbed.
Worked for Lucky. “Go on, get out of here.”
Six shot for the door. Jimmy paused long enough to round up the product samples and smile at Lucky on the way out.
Nope, Lucky wasn’t putting in a good word with Charlotte. Not happening. If Jimmy wanted to date Charlotte, he could ask her his damned self—and get shot down. Maybe literally. The ex from hell had left Lucky’s sister rather picky.
Lucky put away the samples in a lock box in his cube and waited until the halls cleared. No need joining the stampede, waiting for the elevator and fighting to maneuver his car out of the parking garage.
He’d still get home at roughly the same time.
Most days the drive didn’t bother him as he put the city in his rearview mirror and drove to the outskirts and home. Today the moments might stretch out forever.
Bo, in chaps. Bo, in a thong. Bo, grinding on Lucky’s cock. He reached down and adjusted himself.
No one hovered around the reception desk, and he rode the elevator alone to a nearly-empty parking garage. Bo’s truck sat in its usual place, as did Walter’s SUV.
