Page 29 of The Good Boys Club

“Lonely, I guess.”

Mash tilted his head to the side. His eyes did that big, glassy, puppy-dog thing they did. “You’ve got me. I’m not going anywhere.”

I laughed. Under my calm and collected surface, my heart threw itself against my ribs. “Is that a promise or a threat?”

“A little from column A, a little from column B.”

Without warning, he pushed my feet off his legs and lay down, his head now in my lap. He lifted my arm and guided my fingers to his hair. “As long as you’re living in Remy,” he said to the TV. “Then I will too.”

Smell Ya Later

Present Day

Mash

We agreed to take Cian’s car because he drove a sensible five-seater saloon. The gateway vehicle between family-man MPV and my coupe because . . .

“That thing is not practical, Mash. I have three suitcases and four suit bags. It’s a two-month-long trip. Where’s all your stuff gonna go?”

“Shorts don’t take up that much room. You can sit with it on your lap.”

“No. I’m driving and that is that.”

He waited for me in his building’s car park, leaning against the back of his car, next to the recently vacated space designated for apartment twenty-three. Each flat came with one free parking spot. In a security protected building, it made Cian’s place a million times more sought after—and overpriced—than most in Remy.

Cian’s boot lifted electronically. I threw my few bags on top of his.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Almost. There’s just one thing we need to do before we go.”

He narrowed his eyes at me.

“We can go upstairs to your flat, or we can stop at the services and do it in the bathroom?” I said.

His gaze became so shadowed, I wondered if he could still see me. He didn’t answer my question.

“Your place then. Come on.” I swiped my key card—the spare one Cian had given me years ago—on the panel next to the lift. The doors opened. I pressed the number five button, and held my foot over the sensor so Ci could catch up.

He got in, shaking his head. “What is it? What do we need to do? If it’s what I think it is, I’m not coming.”

I pretended not to hear him. Stuck a finger in my ear, wiggled it around. “Hmm?”

“Mash?” he said, like a stern parent.

The doors pinged open, and I used my extra inches to race to his front door. I let myself in, disarmed his alarm with the code,and placed a small object on the breakfast counter. I leaned against the marble, and waited for him to join me.

“Mash, I swear to the gods, if this is—” He rounded the corner. His eyes landed on the object and he stopped in his tracks. “No.”

“You have to. We both have to. There’s no other way,” I said.

“I’m not—no. Not doing that, it’s disgusting.”

“Aw, come on baby, it’s not disgusting, it’s natural.”

He eyed it, turned his side to it, his hands held instinctively in front of his throat as though he expected it to attack him at any second. “When you said there were other ways to fake a mate—”

“We could fuck?” I suggested.

---