Page 130 of Luxuries of Lust

And Gem dropped the drink he was holding. He shrieked as coffee exploded from the open top of the to-go cup and splattered his and Oliver’s legs.

“Ah, I’m sorry.” Grabbing several towels, Gem crouched down and wiped at the mess. “I was just so aghast. Because that is new and unexpected information. You, Oliver, have officially ghasted my flabbers!”

Joining him on the ground, Oliver helped him clean up the spilled coffee. “What?”

“My flabbers are ghasted!” Gem cried, and Oliver startled. “What has brought you to this astonishing and serenbipatous—”

“Serendipitous,” Oliver corrected, but Gem ignored him.

“—conclusion that our dear friend Rusty has a parachute?”

Oliver blinked at him in utter confusion. “You mean, paramour?”

“Oh, honey.” Gem patted the top of his head. “I don’t think that’s a word.”

“It’s definitely a word,” Oliver grumbled as they both rose, coffee-soaked towels in their hands. “And why are you talking like an old Victorian woman?”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Gem said.

With a huff of exasperation, Oliver started counting off on his fingers. “Rusty’s constantly in a good mood, he’s showing up to work late in clothes that aren’t his, he’s trimmed only a few of his claws, and he’s claimed that his tardiness can be blamed on the late tram system. But he doesn’t take the tram! Which means he’s leaving in the mornings from a different location than his own apartment.”

“What are you, a private investigator in your spare time? Seriously, Ollie, I think you need a new hobby,” Gem snipped, and Oliver released an impatient sound in the back of his throat.

“Jesus Christ, I thought they were exaggerating when they said it’d be like pulling teeth.” He ran a hand through his blond hair before he levelled Gem with an almost condescending expression. “Gem, we know, okay? We all know.”

Gem’s stomach dropped to his toes. “Know what?”

Before Oliver could respond, Rusty asked, “Yeah, what do we know?”

Neither Oliver nor Gem had heard him approach, and they both jolted, turning to face him. He was indeed wearing the dark purple shirt Gem had made him buy at the thrift store, the hem coming to an end right above his round little snack pack that Gem loved rubbing his face on. His pale eyes jumped between Oliver and Gem, before landing on Gem and holding.

“We know,” Oliver said, and even though Gem was pretty sure the cause was lost at this point, he still leapt in to try to save it.

“Yeah, we know, Rusty. We know all about you and your little girlfriend, you… floozy.”

Fuzzy, mauve eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”

“Oliver, the great detective that he is, put all the pieces together,” Gem said, pantomiming wildly. “And after inspecting the evidence, we’ve come to the conclusion that you’ve been flouncing around the town with a very special parachute.”

“Paramour, Gem!” Oliver corrected vehemently.

“Paramour’s not even a word,” Gem cried.

Rusty scratched behind his ear as he said, “It’s definitely a word.”

“Donottake his side!” Gem snarled, and Rusty shuffled back a half-step. “You have some explaining to do, you harlot. You and your secret girlfriend and your… flouncing.”

“I don’t think Rusty has ever flounced in his life,” Oliver said.

“Oh, babe, he flounces.” Gem simpered for a moment before he withered under Oliver’s significant stare. “Which is what his girlfriend would say. I assume.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Rusty said, and Oliver threw up his hands.

“I know!”

Tail flicking, Rusty ducked his head and nodded. “Yeah, I figured.”

The kitchen doors opened, and Glyma, Willow, Zef, and Tad filtered in.

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