Page 42 of Sycopation
Mish’s gaze shifted to Ray’s door. “Oh,hell.”
Okay, yeah, Zavier probably was right.Shit. He shoved the ice bucket into Mish’s hands and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.
“Nine-one-one isn’t going to do anything,” she said.
“I’m not calling anyone.” Zavier called up the memo app and hit record, then crossed the room and banged on Ray’s door. Better safe than sorry. “Ray.”
Nothing.
He pounded on the door again. “I’m not going anywhere, Ray. Open the damn door.”
A door opened, but not the one he wanted. Dom stuck his head out of his room. No makeup. Honest-to-god old-guy pajamas. “What’s going on?”
Mish answered, “We think Ray’s got an underaged groupie.”
“Fuck.” Dom’s eyes widened.
“He’s not opening this for me.” Zavier thumped the door with his foot.
“I have a keycard,” Dom said.
Zavier whipped around. “What?”
“Sometimes Ray sleeps really heavily and wears earplugs. He’s terrified of dying in a fire. Used to have nightmares as a kid, so...”
“Dominic,” Zavier ground out, and laid his hand flat.
He’d never seen that man move quite that fast. A moment later, the card was on his palm. A second after that, he was in Ray’s room. And yup, there was the guy, sans hoodie. Barely any chest hair. At least his pants were on and Ray was fully clothed.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ray didn’t yell, but there was unmistakable malice in his voice.
“Likely saving your ass from a felony.” Zavier pointed at the kid. “How old are you?”
“He’s legal,” Ray said. “I checked his ID.”
“I’m twenty-one!” the guy growled.
Part of Zavier understood the appeal. Guy was broody, with dark hair and pale eyes, and had that whole rebel thing going. Might have been a baby-faced twenty-one-year-old, but he looked like he might be younger than that, too.
Jesus, Ray. What the hell are you doing with this guy? “Let me see this ID.”
The guy dove for his jacket and handed over the ID with shaking fingers.
On the surface, it looked legit. And yup, the birthdate placed him a couple months over twenty-one. Zavier stared at it, andthe more he looked, the worse he felt. The ID was real. The guy was quite legal, and Zavier’d just blundered into a hookup.
“This is real,” he murmured.
“Of course it is.” The guy snatched his ID back. “Asshole.”
Zavier didn’t focus on him—he looked at Ray.
Pale. Angry. “Zavier...” A tremble in his voice.
Fuck. He’d jumped to a conclusion. “He looked young.” Had he? Or had that been a convenient excuse?
“Ilook young,” Ray said, his voice cold.
Not like his guy did, with his baby face and the scowl that looked more teen than twenty. But best to make a hasty retreat, and try not to think about these two fucking. “Fine. I’m sorry for worrying.” Ray could do so muchbetter.
