elbow grease and a few parts couldn’t fix. Lucky opened his mouth, but snapped it shut. Bo had made a decision. He’d thought something out and had spoken up, instead of cruising on autopilot and saying, “Whatever.”
A few minutes under the hood could make the car run, but prove Bo wrong. Lucky called a cab.
***
“Lucky?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you awake?”
“No.” Lucky hid a yawn. “What time is it?”
“Three a.m. I need to ask you something.”
“What?” Waking up for sex? Oh, yeah. Questions requiring functioning brain cells? Not before coffee. “You didn’t have another bad dream, did you?” Lucky rolled over and held out an arm.
Bo crawled closer and took the offered shoulder. “Remember when we were in the tunnel and talked about reconnecting with our families?”
“Yeah.” Not that it’d be easy for Lucky, with everyone but his sister thinking him dead. Nor for Bo if he kept ignoring all calls from Arkansas.
“Thanksgiving’s coming up, and well, my aunt invited us to spend the holiday at her house. My brother will be there with his girlfriend, and my aunt’s boyfriend will be there with his three kids. What do you say?”
So, after the nightmare Bo broke down and talked to his aunt. Yeah, ‘bout time he took Lucky home to meet the family. Meeting family meant Bo planned to keep him around—for a while at least.
But would the rest of the Schollenbergers think him good enough for Bo? Probably not. But it wasn’t their decision to make, was it? “If you want to go, sure, why not?” Plenty of time between now and then to regret his words. If a family visit got Bo out of the house and reconnected with his loved ones, it’d be worth every minute.
Bo found Lucky’s cheek in the dark for a quick kiss. “Thanks.” He squirmed into Lucky’s side.
Tune in next time, folks, when Lucky meets the family!
Ah, hell.
Chapter Eight
“How’s it going with your fella?” Johnson hefted a box of records onto one hip and tagged along behind Lucky out to her Jeep, a cup of vending machine coffee in her other hand. She’d been playing chauffeur too much, but the Camaro was unreliable and Lucky hadn’t found time to climb under the hood after getting it back to the house.
Taking the truck and leaving Bo at home with no transportation wasn’t happening.
But how were things going with Bo? “He has good days and bad days.”
Bad days mostly, not cleaning or showering. He moped around, watched TV, keeping sex a distant dream—complete with condoms on the few occasions it’d happened.
Lucky once used latex as a barrier to more than possible infection. Bo did the same, keeping distance between them.
“But you’re getting along? Therapy’s helping?” Damn the woman for prying.
“Whose therapy?”
“His and yours. You’re still going, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Helping?”
“I’m not sure. I’m not waking up screaming as much, but with Bo there—” Oh, hell no. He was not sharing his love life, or lack thereof, with this woman. If he struggled to tell the doctor the SNB paid by the hour, he wasn’t giving away his secrets for free. Of course, in all his time with Dr. Drake, he’d yet to talk about anything other than Bo’s problems.
“Why don’t you do something different? Take him out someplace special. Last week Phillip took me to a great restaurant. Here, hold this.” She placed her coffee on the carton Lucky held, opened the back of her Jeep, and shoved her box of log books and shipping records inside. The next few weeks of someone’s life would be spent scrutinizing those documents.
She reclaimed her coffee, took Lucky’s from his hand, and nodded toward the Jeep. Lucky shoved more records into her already full vehicle. This drug distributor would be out of commission for a while. “Almost made up for his mama forbidding him to bring me to Thanksgiving dinner.”
“He’s going without you?” Why Johnson put up with Phillip’s family’s crap boggled
A few minutes under the hood could make the car run, but prove Bo wrong. Lucky called a cab.
***
“Lucky?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you awake?”
“No.” Lucky hid a yawn. “What time is it?”
“Three a.m. I need to ask you something.”
“What?” Waking up for sex? Oh, yeah. Questions requiring functioning brain cells? Not before coffee. “You didn’t have another bad dream, did you?” Lucky rolled over and held out an arm.
Bo crawled closer and took the offered shoulder. “Remember when we were in the tunnel and talked about reconnecting with our families?”
“Yeah.” Not that it’d be easy for Lucky, with everyone but his sister thinking him dead. Nor for Bo if he kept ignoring all calls from Arkansas.
“Thanksgiving’s coming up, and well, my aunt invited us to spend the holiday at her house. My brother will be there with his girlfriend, and my aunt’s boyfriend will be there with his three kids. What do you say?”
So, after the nightmare Bo broke down and talked to his aunt. Yeah, ‘bout time he took Lucky home to meet the family. Meeting family meant Bo planned to keep him around—for a while at least.
But would the rest of the Schollenbergers think him good enough for Bo? Probably not. But it wasn’t their decision to make, was it? “If you want to go, sure, why not?” Plenty of time between now and then to regret his words. If a family visit got Bo out of the house and reconnected with his loved ones, it’d be worth every minute.
Bo found Lucky’s cheek in the dark for a quick kiss. “Thanks.” He squirmed into Lucky’s side.
Tune in next time, folks, when Lucky meets the family!
Ah, hell.
Chapter Eight
“How’s it going with your fella?” Johnson hefted a box of records onto one hip and tagged along behind Lucky out to her Jeep, a cup of vending machine coffee in her other hand. She’d been playing chauffeur too much, but the Camaro was unreliable and Lucky hadn’t found time to climb under the hood after getting it back to the house.
Taking the truck and leaving Bo at home with no transportation wasn’t happening.
But how were things going with Bo? “He has good days and bad days.”
Bad days mostly, not cleaning or showering. He moped around, watched TV, keeping sex a distant dream—complete with condoms on the few occasions it’d happened.
Lucky once used latex as a barrier to more than possible infection. Bo did the same, keeping distance between them.
“But you’re getting along? Therapy’s helping?” Damn the woman for prying.
“Whose therapy?”
“His and yours. You’re still going, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Helping?”
“I’m not sure. I’m not waking up screaming as much, but with Bo there—” Oh, hell no. He was not sharing his love life, or lack thereof, with this woman. If he struggled to tell the doctor the SNB paid by the hour, he wasn’t giving away his secrets for free. Of course, in all his time with Dr. Drake, he’d yet to talk about anything other than Bo’s problems.
“Why don’t you do something different? Take him out someplace special. Last week Phillip took me to a great restaurant. Here, hold this.” She placed her coffee on the carton Lucky held, opened the back of her Jeep, and shoved her box of log books and shipping records inside. The next few weeks of someone’s life would be spent scrutinizing those documents.
She reclaimed her coffee, took Lucky’s from his hand, and nodded toward the Jeep. Lucky shoved more records into her already full vehicle. This drug distributor would be out of commission for a while. “Almost made up for his mama forbidding him to bring me to Thanksgiving dinner.”
“He’s going without you?” Why Johnson put up with Phillip’s family’s crap boggled
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