Page 20 of Knot That Serious

Jack narrowed his gaze, but then Beckett widened his eyes in a false fear, staring over Jack’s shoulder. Jack’s hand slipped away from the bill as he turned to see what had frightened Beckett, and Beckett swiped the bill while he was distracted.

Jack earned a few dirty glances from the surrounding patrons with his craning neck, but Beckett was already sliding his card into the slot by the time he spun back around.

“You…” Jack sputtered, and Beckett sent him a grin. Jack slumped back in his seat. “You tricked me.”

“You were tricked,” Beckett agreed, and placed the plastic tray at the end of the table.

“Fine, then,” Jack said haughtily. “I’ll get you back next time.”

Next time.

“Deal.”

“Why do you paint your nails?” Jack asked, stroking Beckett’s fingers and the beds of his nails.

Beckett let his shoulder bump into Jack, next to him on the cushy blue couch in Beckett’s living room.

The television was glowing softly, but they’d never gotten around to actually choosing something to watch.

Instead, Jack was playing with Beckett’s hands and his jacket was over the back of the sofa and his socked feet were curled up beside him on the cushion.

“They’re like an accessory,” Beckett said softly, unwilling to disturb the moment. “The process of doing them can be like a ritual.”

“You do them yourself?” Jack asked, and peered closer at the polish. “They’re so neat.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” Beckett said. “I have a sister. She’s an omega and all packed up now, but we always used to do them together.”

“That’s precious,” Jack said. “Do you still talk?”

“Sometimes. She’s busy with her pack; I’ve got my own stuff going on.” It was an excuse, but sometimes drifting apart was easier. His sister was happy, and that’s all that mattered.

Jack hummed and glanced around. “Like the record collection.”

“Like the record collection,” Beckett agreed.

“Show me your favorite,” Jack said, and stood, looping his fingers with Beckett’s and dragging him over.

Beckett’s meager stereo setup was shoved into the corner. Screwed into the wall was a small display shelf, the words now playing creating an edge for the record to lean against. On either side of it were two open-face cabinets, and stacked on the shelves were dozens of records.

“Wow, you have everything,” Jack said, flipping through the sleeves. “Even—” He pulled out a floral and stained glass sleeve and arched a brow. “Lyric and the Heartbeats?”

“Shut your mouth, she has an amazing voice,” Beckett huffed. “It was a special edition, look,” he said, and took the sleeve to slide the record out. It was dyed clear and teal, matching the album art. One of his favorites.

“It’s pretty. I’m sorry I offended her,” Jack said, and took the record back carefully. Jack chuckled as he replaced it with more care.

“This is my favorite,” Beckett said, and pulled out a well-loved sleeve with reverence. “She’s old,” he explained.

Beckett lifted the clear case on the record player, then pulled the vinyl from the sleeve. With practiced fingers he lowered the record and placed the needle. Soft music spilled from the speakers.

“I don’t recognize this,” Jack said, and Beckett shrugged.

“Do you like it?” Beckett asked. Soft rock tones with a steady bass filled his apartment, an electric guitar twanging above the rest. On the shelf, Beckett sat the album sleeve on the display shelf.

“That’s clever,” Jack said, motioning to the shelf.

“That’s what I said when I bought it,” Beckett told him, and waved a hand at the collection. “It’s perfect.”

Jack grabbed his hand right out of the air, and studied his nails some more. “You know what’s perfect? These nails. I mean, I’ve painted mine before, but they never come out this even.”

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