Page 54 of Stay in Your Lane!

“Steve is an asshole,” Kyle grumped as he got into my car—we’d left his at Waffles? for the time being. “He took a chunk out of me this morning, see?” He held up his bandaged hand.

Stevewasan asshole, but that was part of his appeal. “I’ll handle everything,” I assured Kyle. “You just get a bag of stuff to take to my place while I take care of your pets.”

Caring for said pets took longer than I’d thought—apart from Kyle needing to put a bag together and Patches dogging him the whole way, Jeff was apparently desperate for pets and literally climbed my leg at one point so I would hold him. It was cute but alsoouch, those claws—but we made it into my car and, from there, back home to Mulligan’s Mortuary.

Kyle stared at the neon sign as we drove around the parking lot to the back. “Wow. I never stopped to think about it before now, but you actuallylivein amortuary.”

“Only kind of. The ground floor and basement are the business, but the top floors are for the family.” I parked in my usual space and pointed to the top of the A-frame. “My room is up there.” And I’d totally cleaned it up, kind of. Enough that there was a path from the door to my bed and the bathroom, which was pretty good for me.

Shit. If I was going to make a habit of this, I was going to have to do better when it came to keeping my space user-friendly.

“Come on.” I led the way inside—no lights on other than the one in the hall, like usual, which meant everyone was asleep. That was good. I didn’t want to have to explain having someone sleep over at holy hell o’clock in the morning. Which, speaking of…

I was about to have Kyle in my room. Kyle, gorgeous and snarky and so with-it I almost couldn’t stand it. He was going to be in my room, in mybed. And I…was going to do absolutely nothing about it. Well, maybe a goodnight kiss, but other than that, nothing. A little snuggling, maybe. Or not, if his ribs couldn’t take it. Maybe I should?—

“Wow.”

I’d opened my door on autopilot, and now Kyle was seeing the chaos. “The sheets are clean,” I assured him.

“Yeah, but what would I find if I pulled up the carpet?”

I grinned. “Not bloodstains!”

That got a smile out of him. “Good enough.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “God, I’m so tired.”

Of course he was. He’d been threatened with death by industrial mixer, or lathe, or whatever that thing was the guy had threatened to turn on while he was cleaning it. “C’mon, I’ll show you the bathroom.”

Ten minutes and one quick check of my calendar later—no funerals until the afternoon, excellent—we settled into bed. I gave him plenty of space, scooting over until my back hit thewall. I figured that would make him feel better, since I’d be less likely to squash him in the night.

Kyle sighed. “Okay, this is going to sound stupid, but…”

“It won’t.”

“I haven’t even said it yet.”

“You don’t say stupid things.”

He smirked. “Flatterer. No, but seriously, it’s—okay, can I just, um, hold your hand or something?”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. “You want to what?”

“It’s just, I’m used to sleeping with cats,” he muttered. If the lights had been all the way up, I was sure I’d be able to see him blushing. “I’m used to sleeping on my back, so I don’t think my ribs will bother me all that much, but I need some sort of heat, or pressure, or justmovementto make my mind quiet down. If that’s weird, I can?—”

“No, it’s totally fine.” And I was going to take total advantage of it. “Yeah, I can be your kitty.” I leaned over and poked his shoulder with my nose. “Should I purr? Maybe lick you a few times?”

“Notyet, if you don’t want this to be a very frustrating night,” Kyle replied, and that was a plan I could get behind. I slid my hand down until it met his, and Kyle wound our fingers together. It felt sweet, almost innocent. Like the sort of thing I wouldn’t expect two grown men who were into each other to do, and yet I was thrilled to be doing it. “Good night,” he said with a little squeeze.

“Sleep sweet,” I told him. I was pretty sure I would.

Morning, of course, was another matter entirely. The second my siblings saw us, anything sweet was out of the question.

“Dude, what?” My brother stared at me with his spoonful of cereal halfway to his mouth as Kyle and I, fully clothed because I wasn’t a complete idiot, walked into the kitchen. “What?”

“What what?” I asked as I went to the coffee machine. “Cream and three sugars, right?” I confirmed with Kyle.

He smiled. “You remember my coffee order.” He was doing a lot better today; his ribcage was still black and blue along his right side, but not so bad that he’d needed help getting dressed. Which was kind of too bad, since I was hungry for more ways to put my hands all over him—platonically—after a night of hand-holding and cuddling up against his arm.

“Sixty-one percent of men prefer their coffee with cream,” I informed him as I poured out a cup. “It’s something like eighty-one percent of women, I think. And almost half of people like a sweetener with their coffee as well, but I actually remember you like it with sugar because you laid the empty packets out side-by-side on the table at Waffles.”

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