Page 53 of Filthy and the Beast

Don’t want to hear Damian’s lecture about pushing myself too hard, and I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t let Nico’s presence stop him from sharing his mind.

They go inside, and the garden gets quiet. I trudge my ass toward the house. Promised Damian I’d meet his friend and play nice, so I’m going to, even though my nerves shoot up.

Nico is a rock star. Don’t normally give a shit about fame. But unlike every other damn person I’ve met over the past decade, I care about Nico liking me because, well, Damian.

What if his best friend points out that I’m an old grump, and they’re a couple of young men with bright futures ahead?

After a quick shower, I find Damian and Nico in the kitchen. Damian is scooping ice cream into two bowls. When he sees me, a grin fills his face as he gracefully spins and grabs a third bowl.

“Oh, hi!” Nico says warmly. He’s a little taller than Damian. Despite helping move some of Damian’s stuff in and doing physical labor, he’s wearing a button-up shirt, white and ironed. “You must be Enzo. I’m so glad to finally meet you!”

“Enzo.” I offer my hand. When I realize he just said my name, I cough on my words. “You’re Nico.”

Damian’s grinning. I’m acting funny.

He calls itcute, but whatever.

“I’m Nico,” his friend agrees with a clear-eyed smile. “I’m excited to meet your dogs, too! Damian’s told me so many stories and sent me so many pictures, I kind of feel like we’re old friends.”

Huh. Sometimes, I worry he talks about the girls so much because he’s indulging me, but I guess that’s not true.

“I’m sure they love the company.” My eyes drift back toward the stairs to the guest quarters, cardboard boxes piled up haphazardly.

Of course. I offered to extend Damian’s contract indefinitely, and he checked about moving more of his stuff in.

I definitely want this. Still, the reality makes my pulse jump.

Hard to breathe. Chest pain. But it passes.

“Ice cream?” Damian slides me a bowl of vanilla with cookies or some shit in it. He’s smiling, but an eyebrow is slightly arched, and I know he’s wondering what’s going on in my head.

Don’t be an asshole, Enzo.

“Thank you.” I take the bowl even though I don’t really want it immediately after working out. When I shove a big spoonful of cool sweetness in my mouth, though, my tense back relaxes.

I turn back to Nico, eating his own bowl at the counter. “You’re a musician. Congratulations. I don’t listen to a lot of new music, but it sounds like you’ve got a hell of a career.”

“Thank you,” he says. “That’s kind. And yes, I’m grateful. I love my band and I have a side project where I write sci-fi albums with my boyfriend backing on guitar. It’s a dream come true.”

Fame isn’t easy, but I’m sure I don’t have to tell him that, and I’d rather not dredge up my sorry past trying to relate.

“Enzo listens exclusively to cheesy eighties music,” Damian adds happily.

I scowl at him. “I do not. Who said so?”

“Uh, you think I can’t hear it from my part of the house?” Damian looks to Nico. “You know that one?” He sings enthusiastically off-key. “Who-o-ooo wants to rock and roll all ni-ei-iight? And part of every day.”

“It’sIwant to rock and roll all night andpartyevery day,” I say, exasperated. “And it’s a great fucking song. Aseventiessong.It’s Kiss! Why would you brag about only rocking part of the day, anyway?”

Nico laughs warmly, not mean at all, but I snap my mouth shut.

Fuck. I’m talking like I do when Damian and I are alone. Probably shouldn’t get so comfortable.

Nico licks ice cream off his spoon. “I like cheesy eighties music. Lots of great keyboard solos.”

Nodding, I grunt, glad he threw me a lifesaver.

“Now that I’ve moved my stuff, I’m reunited with my games,” Damian says, changing subjects. “Nico and I were going to play something before he took off. Any chance I can lure you to the gaming table?”

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