Wyatt pressed his lips hard together. He waited for Noah to work out the ramble. It was perhaps his favorite aspect of Noah’s personality.
“Anyway,” Noah said as he began walking again.
“What are they called?”
“What are what called?”
“A collective of sasquatch . . . es.”
“Oh. A pungent. Creative, huh? My favorite is a smack of jellyfish.”
“How do you get laid as much as you do?”
“I don’t know. I know things. Lots of things. Lots of dirty things. What were we talking about?”
“Dueling,” Wyatt said.
They chose a table in the far corner, where they ate and talked about Noah’s vast and weird knowledge of collectives.
“So,” Noah finally said as he crunched a Cheeto.
“Yes?” Wyatt sat back and placed his half-eaten sandwich on his tray. He’d known Noah would broach the subject sooner or later.
“Wyatt!” Noah looked up as if appealing to the gods, and flopped his hands, closing his eyes and sighing. “You were at Gravedigger’s last night!”
“And aren’t you glad, because you and Caleb would have been walking home if I hadn’t been there.”
“And that’s why I didn’t bawl you out last night. But I rode the Shadow today and I know I’ll get home safe so I can bitch slap you a little and it’ll be okay.”
Wyatt laughed and shook his head.
“Wyatt,” Noah said, leaning forward and pinning Wyatt with a glare. His entire demeanor had changed. His voice was lower and just this side of offended. “I asked you nicely.”
Wyatt closed his eyes. “I didn’t go to get him into bed.” He glanced around and then scooted his chair around the edge of the table so they were closer. Hell, most of the museum staff thought they were screwing anyway. “I was showing him those documents I found, okay? Completely innocent.”
“Caleb said Ash could barely stand still when he showed up for work this morning. He said he was spooked by something.”
Wyatt frowned and leaned back. “I was well-behaved, I swear.”
“Just stay away from him, okay? It’s not so hard.”
Wyatt hesitated, looking at Noah with a mix of pain and relief. “It is, actually.”
“Oh, Christ.” Noah smacked his forehead. “Are you telling me you’re falling for him?”
“I just . . . He’s—”
“I know what he is. I know what you are. And I never would have introduced you if I thought you were going to do what you did!”
“I know!” Wyatt hissed. “And if I could change that, I would. But I like this guy, Noah, I really do. And he wasn’t upset to see me, I swear.”
“Then what’s wrong with him?”
“Why don’t we go ask him?”
Noah narrowed his eyes, then grabbed his bag of Cheetos without looking away and stood up. “Very well, then,” he said, affected and regal, sticking his nose in the air. How he managed not to smile through the performance, Wyatt didn’t know.
Wyatt stood as well, inclining his head to match, and grinned. They stood staring at each other for a moment until Noah broke into a smirk. “We only have ten minutes left to lunch.”
“Meet you at five?”
“And bring your fork, sir,” Noah drawled in a horrible British accent as he turned away.
Wyatt ran late, supervising the preparations for the new exhibition. He was making frantic phone calls to anywhere and everywhere trying to collect artifacts. He’d even been in contact with a local Wiccan and a group of ghost hunters, much to his chagrin. They had mere days to get the exhibit hall in order, and Wyatt had rolled up his sleeves early on.
At five, Noah wandered into the hall and began helping when he saw how much work remained. It was well past seven when they called it a day.
They stood surveying the pieces they had finished. “These things are turning out pretty creepy, man,” Noah said.
“That’s what happens when you have too many cooks in the kitchen.”
The exhibit had veered into the overly dramatic, Wyatt knew that. There were cases with mannequins made up as monsters, antique and vintage clothing floating on wires as ghostly figures. There were pictures taken from around the state showing unexplainable images, or as Wyatt liked to call them, camera flares.
The last empty cases were confounding Wyatt, and he had no idea what to put in them. But he had fought to keep the rest of it tasteful and he thought they were doing a good enough job. The trustees wanted it scary, though. And Wyatt had to admit, after closing, with the museum still and quiet around them, it was. Noah’s next words echoed his thoughts.
“The museum is creepy enough at night.” He poked at one of the mannequins and watched it like he thought it might poke back.
An idea dawned on Wyatt, so sudden and brilliant that it made him grunt in annoyance. “That’s how we should advertise it!”
“What? Museums are creepy, stay away?”
“No, we make the opening an overnight stay in the museum.”
“Oh God, the security,” Noah groaned. He put his palm to his forehead.
“We do sleepovers for school classes and birthday parties. It’s worth a thought, anyway.”
“Whatever, Wy, it’s disturbing in here.” Noah glanced askance at the mannequins one last time. “Still want to head to the bar?”
“Yeah,” Wyatt said, staring up at the lifeless eyes of the mannequin for just a little too long. He shook off the shiver that ran down his back and let Noah drag him out of the hall.
They opted to drive Wyatt’s car rather than walk in the chilly night. When they got close to the corner on which Gravedigger’s sat, flashing blue and red lights were holding up traffic and crowds of people stood in the street, heedless of the cars trying to get by. Gravedigger’s was at the center of the action. Wyatt’s heart dropped into his toes.
“Fuck, man.” Noah pointed to an empty spot on a side road and said, “Park.”
Wyatt was already turning, and he illegally parked as he tried to see what was happening. Noah lurched out of the passenger’s side before the car even stopped moving. Wyatt threw it in park and jumped out, jogging to catch up, and they forced their way through the crowd to see what the commotion was all about.
Caleb and Ryan stood on the sidewalk in front of the patio of Gravedigger’s Tavern. People stood around, murmuring to each other and gawking as two cops held a man against the hood of their car and patted him down. An ambulance was parked in front of the police cruiser, half on the sidewalk, with its lights blinking.
Wyatt looked around almost frantically for Ash.
“Caleb!” Noah called as he stood on his tiptoes. He was several inches taller than the people around him, and Caleb spotted him. He motioned for them to come closer and they began to push their way through all the people. The sun had just set and twilight cast the scene in an eerie blue half-light. As they broke through the crowd, the timed lights over the patios flickered on as if announcing their grand entrance onto the scene.
“What happened?” Noah asked.
“Guy went batshit,” Caleb said with a snarl. He nodded his head at the man the police were now handcuffing.
“Where’s Ash?”
“Inside,” Ryan said, expression grim. “Paramedics are checking him out.”
“What happened?” Noah asked again. Wyatt looked at the door, trying to see inside, but the reflection of the lights was all he could make out.
“Ryan had the bar,” Caleb said. Noah moved closer to hear his gruff words. “He cut a guy off, told him he was going to call him a cab ’cause he’d had too much. The guy went off, started shouting, threatening the customers, refusing to leave. Ash went over to help escort him outside and the cunt grabbed one of the flair bottles from the bar and hit him in the head.”
“Jesus!” Wyatt whispered.
“Those flair bottles are thick. They’re meant not to break when you drop them, you know?” Ryan said. He ran hi
s hand through his hair.
The bell on the door dinged, and Wyatt turned to see one of the paramedics coming out of the bar.
“He’s doing okay,” he said before any of them could ask. “He’s refusing to come to the hospital, and we can’t force him.” He held up the waiver Ash had apparently signed, foregoing the trip.
“Yeah.” Caleb sighed and nodded. “He’s got a thing about hospitals. Unless he’s dying or unconscious he won’t be caught in one.”
“Well. He’s lucky. Someone needs to pay special attention to him, though, for at least seventy-two hours. Make sure he’s not suffering from confusion or visual disturbances. If he has ringing in the ears, excessive drowsiness, or vomiting, get him to a doctor so they can check him out. He may experience some memory loss over the next day, and it’s my suggestion that he have a follow-up in a few days.”
“Memory loss?” Ryan asked.
“Nothing long-term,” the paramedic said. “He might wake up in the morning and not remember what happened tonight. That’s why I’m telling you all this as well as telling him.”
Wyatt frowned and stared at the police car. This was unbelievable.
“Thank you, I appreciate your speed in getting here,” Caleb said as he shook the paramedic’s hand. A second paramedic exited the bar and held the door open for Ash, who trudged out, holding an ice pack to his head.
“Asshole,” he muttered as he watched the police car edge its way through the crowd with its new detainee.
Ryan placed a hand on Ash’s shoulder. “You okay?”
“No,” Ash said, frowning. He pulled the ice pack away and looked at it. Wyatt saw the blood-spotted bandage it had been covering, and his stomach turned. Ash faced Caleb and scowled. “Do I have to finish my shift?”
Caleb gave a weak laugh and shook his head. “I think you can fuck off tonight.”
“We’ll take him home,” Noah told them. He slid his hand around Ash’s waist. Ash leaned against him and looked down at the sidewalk. They led him away, asking people to move aside as they headed for Wyatt’s car. People parted immediately, some of them speaking to Ash and others wishing him well.
Ash kept his head down, smiling weakly to a few people. He got into the back of Wyatt’s car without a fuss and closed his eyes as soon as he was seated. Wyatt looked at him in the rearview mirror and could barely keep his eyes on the road as he pulled out and drove away from the crowd.
Noah turned around in the front seat and peered back at Ash. “Had to go and play the hero, huh?”
“Yeah, I’m a real fucking superstar.”
Ash woke with difficulty, fighting his way out of sleep as if he’d been drugged. When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t alone in bed. He squeezed his eyes closed and tried to remember the night before.
Not a thing came to him, though.
He groaned and opened his eyes again. He turned his head, groaning louder at Noah, curled up asleep beside him.
“Oh, God,” he moaned when he sat up too quickly. His head spun, but the panic overrode it. He reached over and shook Noah. “Noah. Noah, wake up.”
Noah shot up, looking around wildly and then reaching for Ash as if he thought he was falling off the bed. “You okay? Feel all right?”
“No! What . . . did we . . . what are you doing here?”
“You don’t remember?”
Ash pushed up onto his hands and knees, looking around the room. His head began to pound and he turned to sit with his back against the headboard, holding his head in his hands. He stared at Noah with growing apprehension, still not quite comprehending why he was here.
To his continued horror, Wyatt appeared in the doorway to his bedroom, hair mussed, frowning. Ash gaped at him, shaking his head.
“It’s okay,” Wyatt said, holding out a hand. “You were hit in the head, do you remember? They said you might lose some time.”
Ash blinked at him, his mouth still hanging open. He looked back at Noah, who had pushed up off the mattress to rub his eyes. “You really need a guest bed, man.”
Ash grunted.
“You okay?” Wyatt asked in the same careful tone. “You feel nauseous? Ears ringing?”
“No.” Ash glanced from Wyatt to Noah again and began to relax. He huffed and pointed at Noah. “All I could think was that Caleb was going to kill me.”
Noah snickered and rolled out of bed. He hadn’t even been under the covers, and he still had all his clothes on. If Ash had noticed that before, he could have saved himself the panic. He groaned and rubbed his fingers over his temples. “Wow. Okay, I remember the flair bottle to the head now,” he said, words measured. “God, that sucked.”
Wyatt chuckled, a low, pleasant sound that sent a slow thrill through Ash’s body. Now that he was over his panic and thinking somewhat clearly again, having Wyatt in his place like this was not a good thing.
“Uh . . .”
“We’ll leave as soon as we’re sure you’re not going to bleed out of your ears,” Noah said. “Want us to fix you breakfast?”
“No.” Ash drew the word out uncertainly. He looked from Noah to Wyatt again and licked his lips, then glanced at the clock. “Oh, shit. I’m late.” He threw the covers off and swung his feet out of bed.
He stood and was immediately hit with a bout of lightheadedness. He wavered, closing his eyes and reaching out to steady himself. The others moved toward him.
“I’m okay,” he whispered as he held out a hand to stop them and opened his eyes again.
He had stayed on his feet, at least.
Noah held his hands out as if he thought Ash would fall over. “Caleb said not to worry about work.”
“Screw that,” Ash muttered. He searched around for his clothing.
“It’s Friday, Ash, you don’t really think you can—”
“Maybe I can’t flair, but I can at least wait tables.” He stripped off the shirt he’d slept in and went to the closet to retrieve clean clothes for work. He didn’t remember taking anything off last night. He reached up and swiped a finger under his eye. It came away clean, no trace of kohl. He frowned at Noah and Wyatt.
“You took a shower when we got home last night,” Wyatt said. “You were completely lucid.”
“As opposed to all the rest of the time,” Noah grumbled.
“Shut up.” Bits and pieces of the previous night were beginning to filter through his hazy memory. He tossed his shirt into the basket in the corner, glancing at the two men again as he reached for the closet door. They were both watching him with the same dubious expression. “I’ve got to go to work.”
“Okay,” Noah said with a pacifying nod.
“Aren’t you two supposed to be at work too?”
They both nodded. Ash winced. They’d gone to a lot of trouble to stay with him, and now they were here suffering from a bad night’s sleep instead of at the museum, where Ash knew they were scrambling to get that exhibit done in time.
“Christ, guys, I’m sorry.”
Wyatt averted his eyes as Ash stripped off the rest of his clothes and changed. “It wasn’t a problem. I’m sort of the boss, so . . .”
Ash stepped into a clean pair of boxers and watched Wyatt. He nodded and glanced at Noah, who was scowling at Wyatt.
“We’ll give you a ride to the bar if you insist on going,” Noah said, still frowning.
“Thanks.”
It was odd getting ready with Noah and Wyatt hovering over him, but he managed to dress, apply the kohl to his eyes, and run a minimum amount of gel through his hair with little fuss. He was changing the stud in his tongue when Wyatt leaned against the bathroom doorframe.
“Never really wanted to see someone do that,” he said. “But now that I have, it’s quite fascinating.”
Ash glanced at his reflection in the mirror and secured the back of the stud, then closed his mouth and cleared his throat.
“Which one is it today?” Wyatt asked.
Ash turned around and leaned against the sink, opening his mouth to
show Wyatt. It was called a French tickler, usually used for more nefarious purposes than tending bar. It resembled a Koosh ball, with black and lime green silicone spikes all over it. It matched his lime green suspenders.
Wyatt laughed. “Do I even want to know where you find this stuff?”
Ash smiled. Why Wyatt seemed so fond of the tongue rings, he couldn’t guess . . . other than the obvious reasons, of course. But Wyatt didn’t really seem turned on by them so much as charmed. Mostly. Mention of the vibrating one had certainly stopped him in his tracks.
“What’s it feel like to have one of those in your mouth all the time?”
Ash pressed his lips together and then pushed away from the sink. “Want to see?” he offered.
Wyatt straightened, his arms uncrossing and falling limp to his sides. Ash stepped closer and raised an eyebrow. Wyatt opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again, swallowing instead.
Ash grinned crookedly, enjoying Wyatt’s obvious discomfort. He took a last step and pressed his mouth to Wyatt’s. Wyatt’s lips parted and Ash ran his tongue along Wyatt’s as his hands slid around Wyatt’s waist.
“Y’all want eggs for breakfast?” Noah called to them from the kitchen.
Wyatt jerked away and gasped. Ash licked his lips and smiled. “Guilty conscience,” he whispered.
“And you have a head injury,” Wyatt said before turning to go.
“You still liked it.”
“Not the point,” Wyatt hissed as he left.
Ash snickered and turned to check once more that he looked okay before he followed Wyatt into the other room.
Wyatt sat in the car and watched Ash walk toward Gravedigger’s. He waited until Ash had reached the door and entered before he drove away.
The draw of Ash Lucroix was far too tempting. If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t know if it was Ash or if it was merely Ash’s eccentricities that Wyatt found so fascinating. Not being able to differentiate between the two was even scarier than the feeling of being drawn.
He knew one thing for sure, though: Ash didn’t deserve to be hurt because Wyatt was stressed to the gills and couldn’t make up his mind.