“I know. But it wouldn’t be fair to you if you had to stay with an old man, waiting for his death. Damn, I can’t even imagine it without getting all worked up. I’m a mess!”
Dre stepped forward and took Sammy in his arms. “Then don’t imagine it. Our story has just begun, and even though we might not have all the time in the world, we do have some of it. Let’s enjoy our dating phase without worrying about the future. We can go slow, get to know each other better. And when we’re both ready, I can give you my bite.”
Sammy clung to Dre and buried his face in the hard chest. “You’re aware that I’m only going to fall harder for you the longer we know each other?”
“I’m counting on it, mo grah thu. Now stop overthinking this. It’s enough if I do it. Tell me how can I help you with closing the shop?”
Sammy straightened and looked around. “Actually, it’s not too bad today. How about you put the pastries into the fridge in my office while I clean the coffeemaker. After that, I usually do a quick sweep through the place to see if any books need to be re-shelved. My cleaning lady comes tomorrow morning, so there’s no need to vacuum. When we’re done, we can go upstairs and order something from takeout. My treat today—and don’t you argue with me!”
Dre held up his hands in a defensive gesture. “I’d never dream of it. Let’s get started.”
* * * *
As Sammy had predicted, it didn’t take long for them to get the shop straightened out. As soon as they entered Sammy’s kitchen, he handed Dre a stack of menus from delivery places in Beaconville.
“Have you got a hankering for anything?” Dre looked at Sammy. Sammy shook his head.
“No, I’m good with anything. The Chinese is decent, and the pizza place makes a delicious panna cotta.”
Dre shifted through the stack until he found the two menus in question. He wasn’t a great fan of Chinese food, but he did love a greasy pizza. “How about we order two pizzas, extra-large—one meat lover and one with four cheeses—plus two helpings of panna cotta and one salad.”
Sammy grinned. “Low on the greens, I like that. We can take it all to the couch and watch a movie.”
“How about A Fish Called Wanda?” Dre tried his hardest to look suggestively.
“Great idea. Though I do have to warn you… I’m not sure if you can match up to John Cleese.”
“Uh, I bet I do. Wanna know why? Because I, mo grah thu, happen to speak fluent demon, which is a lot more erotic than Italian.”
“Is it?” Sammy raised a brow. “I haven’t heard you speak demon, but I always imagined it would sound a bit like Klingon.”
Dre pressed one hand to his chest and the back of the other against his forehead, feigning consternation. “Klingon! I’m wounded. Deeply wounded. The demon tongue is pure poetry.” He sighed. “I better start teaching you, so you can appreciate it in its full glory.”
Sammy laughed out loud. “You do that.” He wrinkled his nose. “After I have a shower. I reek.”
“Only of the best things—coffee, muffins and books.”
“You charmer. I don’t believe you, since you’re biased. Can you order our meal? I’m in their database.”
Dre saluted. “Will do that. Take your time under the shower.”
Sammy sauntered over and pressed a kiss to Dre’s lips. “Thank you, Dre.” The look in Sammy’s eyes told Dre he was thanking him for more than just ordering their dinner. He caressed Sammy’s hair, wondering how he had managed to fall so hard for the man in such a short time.
“It’s fine, mo grah thu. Go shower. We can talk later.”
With one last kiss, Sammy vanished through the kitchen door. Once Dre heard the water in the shower running, he took out his cell to make their order. While he waited for Sammy to finish his shower, Dre made himself comfortable in the living room, where Sammy had one of those couches with a seating surface so big that it was impossible not to put your feet up if you wanted to lean against the backrest. The cover was made of a sturdy canvas material in different shades of orange to red with six fluffy pillows in yellow. The floor was done with light hardwood planks, which went well with the white walls and furniture that provided a nice contrast to the colorful couch. A slim wardrobe with the door missing and stocked with books and an entertainment center with gleaming silver surfaces made for an interesting mix.
Dre studied the pictures Sammy had hung on the walls. Most of them were family pictures, showing Sammy from being a baby up to a clumsy teenager who seemed to be made purely of legs and arms, always together with a woman with blonde hair, blue eyes and lightly tanned skin as well as a lean black man with soft, dark eyes. The love in those pictures was palpable. Sammy hadn’t told Dre much about his parents. The topic seemed to be too painful for him, and if the pictures were anything to go by, Dre could understand.
The doorbell ended Dre’s musings. Since Sammy hadn’t come out of the bathroom yet, Dre made his way down to the back door that doubled as the entrance for the apartment. Getting out his wallet with a grin, Dre opened the door. It seemed as if Sammy would have to wait until he could pay for one of their dates, which was just fine with Dre. He liked providing for Sammy.
The delivery guy was still in his teens, with some acne spots on his cheeks, a few patches of brownish stubble growing around his chin and mouth and decidedly too much cheap cologne that did a poor job of masking the stench of puberty sweat. The boy held out the bill but avoided making eye contact.
“That’s twenty-five seventy, sir.”
Dre felt a strange niggling at the back of his mind, telling him he had heard that voice before. He ignored it, getting out the cash to pay for their dinner. When he handed the boy the money, he looked up from under his baseball cap and his eyes widened, almost as if he were a cartoon character. His mouth opened and closed a few times, doing an impressive impersonation of a fish before he squeaked: “Thank you, sir.”
Dre frowned. He had heard that voice before, not even a week ago. “You! You’re the black terrycloth guy!”
The boy dropped the insulated box, turned on his heels and tried to make a run for it but Dre was faster. He grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around so fast that the boy practically crashed against his chest.
“Oh no, my friend. You’re not going anywhere.”
Dre put his wallet back into his jeans pocket, threw the struggling boy over his shoulder, bent down to retrieve the food and went back upstairs. Sammy was out of the shower now, his hair still a bit wet—a look that worked well for him—and was busy carrying cutlery and glasses into the living room. He threw Dre a questioning glance.
“Did you change your mind about the pizza?”
The boy struggled more fiercely on his shoulder when he heard that question, so Dre hurried to put the box with the food down before he placed the boy on his feet, never letting go of him.
“I might still do that. This is one of the little shits who tried to sacrifice you. I thought it would be nice to get some answers.”
Sammy gasped at this revelation and started approaching Dre and his prisoner carefully.
“Are you sure?”
“Oh yes.” Dre knew his eyes were deep red by now because he was so angry about what Sammy had had to endure. If it hadn’t been thanks to the kidnapping that Dre had met Sammy, the boy would already be on a trip through the demon cells in the royal prison to teach him a lesson.