Page 66 of The Devil’s Feather

Ross showed up 15 minutes late, much to Rafael’s annoyance.

“Why does tardiness bother you so much?” I asked as my friend traipsed across the street. “You sure you’re not actually German?”

“To be a musician is to be a timekeeper,” Rafael said, scowling.

My friend bustled through the door and waved both hands at me, nearly blinding me with his megawatt grin. Ross’s enormous, round doe eyes shone like a cartoon character’s when he spotted the composer. He hurried over to us, pink-cheeked and wearing the same thing as always: a floral-patterned button-down, color-coordinating shorts, and Gucci slides.

We hugged, and he enveloped me in his comforting squish. Ross used to joke that hugging him was like hugging a Care Bear. I’d grown so used to hugging a man made of rock the effect was startling. We looked each other over, and I fluffed the dark brown curls brushing his collar.

“You let your hair grow out!”

“You dyed yours blue!”

We sat at a window table rather than at Rafael’s usual spot. Without his back to the wall, he fidgeted and cast surreptitious glances over his shoulder. I made introductions.

Ross’s eyes grew larger than I would have thought possible at the sound of the composer’s voice. “Wait, I know you from somewhere, not just the music.” His thick brows drew together as he studied Rafael’s aquiline face.

My composer propped his chin in his hand. “I cannot wait to hear it.”

I kicked him under the table. “Don’t mind him; he’s a grump today.”

Whatever realization Ross was looking for struck. His mouth pursed and his eyebrows shot up.

I leaned across the table and poked Ross in the arm. “Ok, now you have to say.”

Tiredly, Rafael waved an elegant hand. “Go on. She knows I am bi and kinky as fuck.”

I inhaled my coffee and coughed hard. “Goddammit Rafael. You’re supposed to warn me before you say shit like that.” Had the baristas heard? Surely they knew. He was fairly open.

Ross tittered nervously, eyes darting between Rafael and me. “Um, ok. Yeah, I saw you at Folsom like five or six years ago.” He gave me an apologetic grimace.

Bored, Rafael said, “When I invited all comers to take a swing at me? On the big St. Andrew’s Cross?”

Ross nodded. “I’m pretty sure they changed some rules after that. I’ve never seen anyone take that much punishment without safewording. There was a lot of blood. Oh girl, it was a mess.”

I laughed into my latte, mildly jealous Ross got to see that and I didn’t. “Did you give him a swat, too?”

Ok, maybe a little jealous of the participants, too. Did they count toward his total bodies? Wait, the scars on his back…Rafael caught my glance and arched a brow.

“Oh no, I just like to watch.” Ross’s eyes flickered to the composer’s arms, hidden under long sleeves as always. “I mean, you’re pretty distinctive. So tall, and that hair…”

“You want to ask about my scars?” Rafael asked flatly.

Ross fluttered his long, thick lashes with incredulity. “Ok, so why are we bitchy this morning? Did you miss your beating today?”

“He’s worried I’m going to get kidnapped or something at this fight and you won’t be able to protect me. So he’s mad at himself for agreeing to let me go. He also gets twitchy and mean when he can’t sit with his back to the wall. Did I miss anything?”

Rafael straightened. “Close enough. I am poor company for most people, Mr. Mayhew. Particularly when I am worried about Elaine. You two are going shopping, yes? I recommend something more…defensive for tonight.” He gestured at Ross’s slides.

“Maybe we should pop over to that leather boutique in the Haight.” Ross shimmied his shoulders. “Who can resist a theme night?”

Zainab brought over tray after tray with the rest of our order. Turkish coffee for Rafael, a large vanilla latte with caramel drizzle for Ross, and a massive amount of food.

“No freebies for you today, Mr. Vinegar.” The barista gave him an imperious look and handed me the rose latte with a wink.

I sighed. She was so sweet I couldn’t tell her the milk would murder my stomach. Lactaid, thoughts, and prayers it was.

Rafael plucked the latte out of my hands. “Dairy makes Elaine sick. Remake this with oat milk, please, Zainab.” He gave me a disapproving glare. “Why did you not tell her with the first one?”