Page 38 of Filthy and the Beast

Instead, he acted exactly like I secretly hoped. Still gruff, but sweet and awkward, shy in his plaid boxers.

As we eat, we find plenty of other things to talk about, primarily the dogs, who we walk around the garden after clearing our plates. The morning eases forward. Enzo keeps peeking at me and looking away abruptly, and I maybe do the same. I really do want him to think about what we’re proposing, so I spare him the shameless flirting.

Still, the silences feel both comfortable and loaded, stretching on with sparks of electricity, quiet but definitely not boring.

And later, when I support his weight and help him with his exercises, his firm muscles and his sweaty scent take me straight back to the night before.

I want to wrap my arms around his big body, pull him close. Kiss him again, taste him. Ask him a million questions, or maybe simply hold him until he loosens up and tells me what’s weighing him down. Maybe whatever upset him while he was out last night. Regardless, he’s not about to share with me.

Instead, we both keep it cool. I don’t huff his scent like it’s a drug, and Enzo doesn’t disappear into his secluded wing of the house, and neither of us accidentally tries to kiss the other one, although potentially we’re both thinking about it.

When Nico texts me early in the afternoon, I take the opportunity to slip away from the old mansion. Enzo should clear his head, and probably so should I.

I change into my favorite pink sweater and catch the bus into the city. My best friend is in the park, happily signing autographs and talking to a few fans, backpack hitched on one shoulder. His transformation into a major rock star happened practically overnight, but more than a year later, he hasn’t let fame change him. He’s as sincere and kind as always, talking about ornithology with an excited teenager.

“The adoring public,” I tease, smiling as I slide up close while the fans walk away. “That’s what you get for being a brilliant keyboardist, songwriter, and vocalist.”

Giggling, Nico gives me a hug. “Luckily, most of my fans just want to talk about sci-fi or Shadow.”

“Two of your favorite subjects.”

He shrugs. “Pretty much.”

We walk through the quiet park, rolling hills dotted with ancient trees and pockets of woods. The path heads toward an old, dried-up stone fountain, our favorite bench on the other side. The light is pretty and silver, the overcast day occasionally lighting up when the clouds thin.

“Speaking of, I had a breakthrough with my new album,” he says.

“Oh yeah?” Nico’s grunge revival band tops the charts, but he also writes mind-blowing space operas, all lush keyboard and stunning vocals, with Shadow backing on guitar.

“You remember I thought it was about a dragon planet? Well, Shadow was telling me about this book he was reading, and I realized. It’s about a dragondimension.”

“Ohhh,” I hum. “I like it. The dimensional barriers cannot contain the dragons.”

Nico laughs. “Exactly. Warring planets must align for the common good!”

I take a deep breath of fresh air. “Can’t wait to hear the songs.”

“Thanks.” He skips beside me. “How’s life at the mansion? Is Enzo still behaving and playing nice?”

“Playing nice is one way to say it.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Oh?”

“Oh,” I agree with a firm nod.

Nico’s eyes light up. “Oh! Wait, really?”

We round the fountain, dry as always. “It just kind of happened. 'It' being frotting and an exchange of blowjobs. He’s never had sex with a guy before, and you know I’m skeptical about straight men who suddenly want to explore, but he behaved perfectly today. We did breakfast and trained the dogs, and I helped him with his workout and everything.”

Swinging his backpack off his shoulder, Nico sits on the bench. “Whoa. So you had fun?”

I sit beside him, grinning. “It was so hot. It didn’t even matter that his blowjob was sloppy because it was Enzo, and everything about him just made it all hotter.”

Nico frowns to himself.

“What?” Did I accidentally share a too-explicit detail? It does happen.

He shrugs. “Not everything, right? You’re making an exception to your straight man rule, and I think that’s good. We shouldn’t put people in rigid categories like that anyway. But I have to admit I’m surprised you’re also making a boss exception.”

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