Page 104 of The Little Shop of Curiosities Cursed Object 1, The Music Box

“People get bored around here, Harrison. There’s not much to do.”

Pops leans in and grins at me. “He’s hot, Harry. I knew you had it in you.”

“I haven’t had it in me yet,” I reply without thinking, then grimace. Where the hell is my inner monologue? I don’t know. Several spectacular orgasms and now my brain-to-mouth filter is suddenly fried.

“You know, Harrison, if you’re going to try anal, preparation is key.” Dad says seriously. “I could send you some links.”

“Please stop talking.”

“I’m just saying that if you and your super-hot boyfriend–”

I squeak. “I didn’t say boyfriend.”

“Oh, is it friends with benefits? Is that what all the kids are calling it these days? Because in our day, we just called it a relationship.”

“Okay, Grandpa.” I roll my eyes. “And no. That’s not what we’re calling it, because we’re both adults.”

“Ohhhh, so you’re sowing your wild oats, then?”

“Pops, please make him stop.” I send my other dad a beseeching look, and he chuckles.

“Come on, honey, time to accept our baby boy’s all grown up. Let him go and have breakfast slash late lunch with that fine-looking, half-naked man.”

“Oh my goddess.” I sigh. “You’re just as bad.”

“Love you, honey.” Pops grins.

“Yeah, I love you both too.”

“We’ll call tomorrow,” Dad yells as Pops takes the phone from him.

“Just as long as you leave my oats out of it,” I mutter, and I hear Pops chuckle again.

“See you later, Harry.”

I hang up the phone and smile, shaking my head. I really lucked out when it came to parents. As annoying and embarrassing as they can be, I love those two more than anything.

Tucking my phone into my pocket, I go in search of Sam and find him moving around the small kitchenette in nothing but a pair of jeans…which I happen to know he’s going commando under.

I’m not actually sure how long I stand there and take in the pure perfection of the man. His feet are bare, and he’s shirtless. The top button of his jeans is undone, leaving them hanging low on those sculpted hips. My gaze catches on something I noticed last night, but I didn’t want to mention it in the heat of the moment. A nasty-looking scar rides high on his torso, right beneath his pec.

“Lost my spleen,” Sam says. My gaze snaps to his.

“I’m so sorry. It was rude of me to stare.” I frown.

“Prickles, there isn’t an inch of my body you haven’t already seen. Go ahead and look.” He leans against the counter as I cross the room towards him.

“What happened?” I ask quietly, my brows drawn down in a frown.

“The official report says that I was in a bar and misread a guy’s intentions, that I came on to him and then, when I wouldn’t take no for an answer, I got my ass handed to me.”

“Okay, now tell me what really happened.”

“I was in a bar, not looking for anything serious, just a hookup. I wasn’t openly out because of my job, so I was always careful, always discreet. That night, a guy came onto me. He wasn’t my usual type—bigger, buffer, sportier looking, but I was attracted to him. He was the one to initiate it, flirted hard. I figured why not. So, when he invited me back to his place, I accepted. We got outside and started walking, but as we went down a blind alley, he had friends waiting. They jumped me.”

I inhale sharply. “Why?”

“Hate, pure and simple.”