Page 17 of Psycho
August clearly wasn’t explaining himself correctly. A problem he’d never had before. “What if I want him to do those things to me?”
Noah’s eyes widened as understanding dawned. “Oh.”
“I did not see that one coming,” Adam said.
“I totally did,” Archer muttered, pouring himself another serving of vodka.
“You still need to talk about it—with him. But maybe you should worry about getting him to like you before you worry too much about getting him to spank you.”
Archer scoffed. “I’m not drunk enough for this conversation.”
“Me either,” Adam said, reaching for the vodka bottle.
Noah smacked his hand away. “You haven’t even had breakfast this morning.”
That. Whatever that was. That was what August wanted. With Lucas. A total stranger. It made no sense, and he couldn’t describe it to another living soul with any elegance, but he wanted a person of his own. He wanted Lucas to be his person. But Noah was right. August was weird and off-putting and he said and did everything wrong. How did he make Lucas see that August couldn’t love him but he could protect him? Keep him safe.
He left Adam’s house with a promise to keep Noah apprised of the situation as it unfolded. The moment he slid into the driver’s seat, he pulled up Google and typed in books on relationships, choosing the first one calledThe Five Love Languages. August was great at languages. He spoke seven. How hard could it be to learn five more?
He sat in his car scrolling page after page, learning about acts of service, quality time, words of affirmation, receiving gifts, and physical touch. He wanted to touch Lucas and wanted Lucas to touch him, too. But he needed to start small.
Coffee. August could do coffee. He loved coffee. Did Lucas love coffee? He drove back to Lucas’s apartment, breaking into his house once more. Lucas was gone, a half eaten piece of toast sitting on the counter and a full thermos left beside it as if he’d left in a hurry, too distracted to remember to grab it.
August continued to prowl around, opening the kitchen cabinets, pausing when he saw the numerous medicine bottles on the bottom shelf. There were mood stabilizers and antidepressants, anti-anxiety meds, and painkillers. Something bad had happened to Lucas, and August was determined to find out what it was.
In a spare bedroom, he hit pay dirt; a thick file folder sat on a desk. Inside sat a stack of missing person posters, several neatly written notes, and a photo of a man in an FBI jacket with a lanyard around his neck that stated he was Special Agent Laurence Kohn. Across that photo somebody had written one word in blood red marker.
GUILTY
Guilty of what? What had happened to Lucas that made him wake up every night screaming? What could have caused a man who had lived with a burden like being clairvoyant to suddenly snap after years with the FBI? Who the fuck was Special Agent Laurence Kohn, and what was he guilty of?
August pulled his phone out and began to snap pictures of the missing person photos. They were all women, all indigenous. The youngest appeared to be barely thirteen, the oldest forty-five. Had Lucas stumbled upon a serial predator? Was that predator a fellow agent? That would be enough to drive anybody over the edge. Had Lucas realized it with just a touch like he had August? No wonder Lucas had been terrified of him.
He put the folder back where he found it and made to leave. He was going to bring Lucas’s thermos but thought better of it, returning the apartment to exactly as Lucas left it before locking up and heading back downstairs. At the base of the stairs, there were businesses on either side. To the left was the near empty coffee shop he’d seen when he’d arrived. Coffee.
Inside was a girl with pink hair and a nose ring, scrolling through her phone. She perked up when she saw she had a customer. When August got to the counter, he smiled, doing his best to make sure he wasn’t smiling like a supervillain. It must have worked because she didn’t look spooked like strangers usually did.
“What can I get you?” she asked.
That was a good question. He had no idea how Lucas took his coffee or even if it had been coffee in the thermos. With the meds he was on, caffeine wasn’t good for him.
Still, there was always decaf. “Weird question, but do you know the man who lives upstairs? Six foot, blond hair, pretty eyes?”
The girl grinned. “Lucas?”
August nodded, relieved. “Yes. I don’t suppose you know his coffee order?”
The girl examined him closely. “Yeah. He gets the same thing every day.”
Damn. Maybe he’d already had his coffee. “Did he come in this morning?”
The girl’s brow wrinkled. “Actually, no. Kind of weird.”
“Would you get him whatever his usual is?” he asked. “But make it decaf.” When she frowned, he added, “I’m worried about his stress levels.”
She gave him a simpering look, like she thought he was sweet. That boded well, he supposed. “He your boyfriend or something?”
August sighed. “Not yet. I’m trying to find out his love language.”
