“Nero?”
Nero shook his head. Don’t. Don’t say a fuckin’ word. And Lenny didn’t. He stood silent and still as Nero stumbled away from him, the darkness descending like an iron curtain and more of a barrier than his bedroom door would ever be, even as he clumsily slammed it and slid down the smooth wood, burying his face in his bent knees.
Fucking idiot.
“Nero . . . Nero. Wake up? Please?”
Nero woke with a jump, heart racing, his throbbing hand curled into a fist so tight his knuckles screamed with a new pain. But then gentle fingers touched him, prying his hand open to lay a warm palm in his, a palm that carried a current strong enough to clear his blurred vision and reveal Lenny sitting on his bed. His seraphic face was full of apprehensive concern, and set off by a glittering nose stud that had definitely not been there the day before. Unless, of course, Nero was still dreaming and Lenny was about to evaporate into a puff of smoke, leaving in his place the grim, set features that were carved into the darkest part of Nero’s soul.
Fuck you.
Nero wrenched his hand from Lenny’s and laid it over his stampeding heart. “What are you doing in here?”
“Apologising.”
“What for?”
“For jumping you last night. Don’t know what got into me.”
“What?”
Lenny groaned softly. “Aw, don’t make me say it again. I’m embarrassed enough.”
He’s embarrassed? Nero searched his jumbled mind for any reason that emotion didn’t belong to him alone, but found none. “Don’t apologise. It was my fault.”
“Was it?”
“Yes.”
Lenny pursed his lips, marring their beautiful shape. Nero’s hand reached out, unbidden, and cupped his chin, his thumb swiping across Lenny’s mouth. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Let my shit get to you. I ain’t worth it.”
“Thanks for the warning, but I haven’t got many choices left, so I’m going to hold on to that one if it’s all the same to you.” Lenny’s gaze remained serious for a long moment, then the mischievous gleam returned to his eyes and he poked his tongue out, pushing Nero’s thumb away.
The childish gesture broke through the heavy air. Nero reclaimed his hand and scrubbed his face, wondering if he’d woken to a different world, even with the disquiet of some seriously disturbed sleep lingering in his chest. “What time is it?”
“Early. It’s still dark.”
“Yeah? Why are you up, then?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” Lenny bounced on the edge of the bed. “Too much sugar.”
Nero knew a white lie when he heard one, but let it slide. Lenny’s demons were his own. “What are you doing today?”
“Working?”
“No chance.” Nero picked up his phone. “You’re banned from the kitchen for twenty-four hours.”
“But I want to work.”
“I know, but I can’t let you. It’s not safe, especially if you’ve been up all night.” Nero’s phone lit up with a reminder that he was due in Vauxhall that morning, and his heart sank. Really? Today? “I’m not working downstairs either. I’ve got shit to do south of the river. You could come with me, if you want?”
Stupid question. Nero didn’t want to leave Lenny, but Lenny’s expression told him there was zero chance of him leaving the perceived safety of Pippa’s. “Will you be okay by yourself?”
Lenny yawned. “Haven’t got much choice if you won’t let me go downstairs.”
“I’m not saying you can’t go downstairs. You can go anywhere you want.”
“But not to work?”
“Not in the kitchen, no.”
“No point me going downstairs, then, is there?”
Nero sighed. He couldn’t think of a sensible reason for Lenny to hang around Pippa’s kitchen, but the thought of him pacing the flat all day, climbing the walls while his mind got the better of him . . . nah, that wasn’t right either. “How about you do something for me?”
“For you?” Lenny’s glum expression brightened. “What do you need?”
“Well, it’s not me really, it’s the business. Tom asked me if you might be interested in helping them design the Vauxhall project.”
“The bakery?”
“And the restaurant. He wants it kinda urban, like Misfits?”
Lenny nodded sagely, like people spouted that crap at him all the time. “They won’t want it totally like Misfits, though, will they? You guys never open the same restaurant twice. How about a cross between the hipster-concept thing and a proper old-school pizzeria?”
“Er . . . yeah?”
Lenny laughed just as the first strains of sunlight filtered through the curtains. “What does Tom want me to do?”
“No idea. He did mention that mural you sprayed all over Misfits, though.”
“Oh.” Lenny winced. “Was he hacked off?”
“Not that I could tell.” Nero looked around the room for the jeans he’d discarded the night before. “I’m going down Vauxhall this morning. I can take some photos?”
Lenny hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah, that would be good. Even if I sketch something that Tom hates, it’ll give me something to do.”
“Don’t bank on Tom hating stuff. Me and Cass got arseholed once and decided we wanted a falafel cart. I spent all that summer frying chickpeas outside Fabric in Shoreditch.”
“Seriously?”
“Yup. Made a fucking fortune too.”
“I’ll bet. I used to get pumpkin shawarmas from a cart at Euston Square. Couldn’t beat it after a night on the lash.”
“Anyway . . .” Nero clutched the duvet to himself and swung his legs out of bed.
Lenny blinked. “What?”
Nero shrugged awkwardly. “If I’m going anywhere, you’re gonna have to fuck off a minute, ’cause I’m kinda nekkid under here.”
“Oh.”
Oh. It was a word Lenny uttered a lot, but the blush that accompanied it this time, combined with the bare hint of a smirk, was too much for Nero. Heat coursed through his veins, sudden and violent, and the memory of shoving Lenny into the kitchen invaded his mind. His attraction to men had been dormant so long he’d half convinced himself it had been all about Cass—that no other would do—but his brief, heady encounter with Lenny had blown that theory out of the water. Kissing Lenny, holding him—shit. Lenny needed to leave, now, before Nero made a twat of himself again.
Perhaps sensing Nero’s impending implosion, Lenny slid from the bed and edged his way to the door, his cheeks flushed. He opened his mouth as though he had something to say, but he turned and fled without another word.
With him gone, Nero flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Having Lenny in his room was almost as unnerving as kissing him the night before, and Nero couldn’t remember the last time anyone had sat on his bed. Still, he was running out of time to chew his own face off about it. London was calling his name.
He dragged himself up and retrieved the clothes he’d tossed around the room the night before. His T-shirt was out of the game, but the jeans would do. He took a quick shower, trimmed his dark beard, and got dressed. Then he ventured out of his room to find Lenny asleep on his feet in the kitchen, mechanically spooning sugar into a mug of tea. The sight stirred something new in Nero, an ache in his heart that overcame the lingering simmer in his blood. “You can sleep in my bed if you want?”
“Hmm?” Lenny glanced up, his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot.
“While I’m out,” Nero said. “Get in my bed and have a kip.”
“But you’ve been nekkid in it.”
“Don’t bother me, mate. Just offering you a go on my proper pillows.” Though Nero couldn’t help imagining how he’d feel sliding back into a bed he knew Lenny had slept in. “Might do you some good to get a few hours’ shut-eye. Don’t know about you, but insomnia sends me mental.”
“What about your dreams? Do they bring you back to earth?”
“No, they send me to Hell, but my dreams ain’t yours.”
“Aren’t they?”
“No, so get some sleep. I gotta roll. See you later.”
Nero left the flat without looking back, trying not to contemplate just how many conversations with Lenny were destined to end with one of them doing a runner halfway through. He drifted to the underground, which was oddly quiet. He checked his phone: 5:37 a.m. Damn. No wonder it was nearly deserted. It was too early even for the psychotic commuters he usually tried to avoid. Still, it didn’t really matter. Nero had keys to the Vauxhall site and needed nothing but himself and a camera to get his shit done.
On-site, he let himself into the warehouse. Work had already begun gutting the place and installing utilities. Nero’s job today was to finalise the floor plan for the kitchen, a task that was far easier without anyone hovering over his shoulder.
He moved methodically around the site, closing his eyes from time to time, picturing the kitchen and bakery, and imagining how it would feel with three industrial and two wood-fired ovens blasting heat into the place. Working kitchens were always hot and dangerous, but this one would be something else. Fire, heat, smoke—
Damn it. Nero’s mind took a wrong turn, dragging him back to the dream Lenny’s touch had chased away. Shut it down. Nero tried, but it was no good. Some devils couldn’t be tamed.
With shaky hands, he made the last few notes on the kitchen plans, then moved on to the dining floor, an area that usually held little interest for him. But today wasn’t just about him. He pulled out his phone and snapped a few pictures for Lenny, being sure to include all the nooks and crannies that would say more about the building than any fancy design ever could. With the interior of the warehouse documented, he drifted outside and studied the tangled mess of rusting metal that was the patio garden. Eventually, it would become some kind of terrace showing off the best of the river, but for now it was a dumping ground for the builders and— What the fuck is that?
Nero stomped his way through the small patch of weeds to where a dilapidated vehicle had been abandoned. At first glance, it looked like a miniature bin lorry, but closer inspection revealed it to be a rusty minibus—a 1956 Albion Nimbus, the same model Nero’s long-dead maternal grandfather had driven in the sixties. The bus was battered, the interior utterly ruined, but it still had four wheels, which was a bonus as far as discarded vehicles in London went.
Pizzas forgotten, Nero forced the underfloor panel open, taking note that, albeit eroded as fuck, the engine was mostly intact. Some TLC would get it running, if anyone cared enough to bother. He checked underneath and found more rust, but instead of the lost cause a saner person would see, he saw potential, and a faint lick of excitement tickled his belly. He hadn’t had his hands on a good engine since he’d restored a few bits on the vintage fire engine that had pride of place in Misfits, and that had been a year ago.
Nero snapped a few pictures and then reluctantly tore himself away. Time was getting on and an itch in his soul he couldn’t quite describe was calling him back to Shepherd’s Bush.
He left the warehouse behind, noting that it had filled up with builders and tradesman while he’d been engrossed in the abandoned bus. Not that the workman seemed to be up to much. Most of them were eating bacon butties from the dodgy stall across the road. The sight—and smell—of it took Nero back to the conversation he’d had with Lenny about late-night street food. The Vauxhall project needed an extra layer, and if the minibus could be saved, the harebrained scheme percolating in Nero’s mind—
His phone rang in his hand. He looked at the screen. It was Cass’s number, but that meant nothing these days.
Sure enough, it was Jake. “Hey. How’s tricks?”
“Can’t complain. Who’d fuckin’ listen?”
Jake chuckled. “You’re even more cockney than Cass.”
“I try. What can I do for you?”
A rumble of thunder shook the air as Jake rattled off a series of tics. Nero squinted suspiciously at the sky. He’d heard rumours of an impending summer storm, and he didn’t fancy getting dicked on by the duke of Spain.
“Anyway,” Jake said, “I was calling to see how you got on. Sorry we’ve left you to it with the kitchen plans. It’s been crazy busy at this end. We’ve hired a master baker, though, if it’s any consolation.”
Nero grunted. “Good. I ain’t working twenty-four-seven, even for you.”
“As if we’d ever ask you to. Besides, we know you’re a night owl, so we figured you’d be happier running the restaurant.”
Running anything got on Nero’s tits, but he couldn’t deny he was enjoying developing the pizza menu. Bread, fresh vegetables, and artisan cheese; it was the kind of peasant cooking he enjoyed most. “Who’s the baker dude? Do we know him?”
“It’s a woman, actually, a mate of Gloria’s from Bristol. You’ll meet her soon enough. Try not to shag her and piss her off straightaway, will ya?”
“Fuck off.” Nero glared at no one in particular and lit up a smoke just as the first fat drops of rain began to fall. “I don’t do that.”
“Steph says different.”
Nero sighed. “Fuck Steph.”
“Yeah, yeah—” Jake abruptly hung up before Nero could tell him about the bus. Nero waited a moment—Jake’s Tourette’s often made him do weird shit with his phone—but he didn’t call back, so Nero pocketed his own phone and ducked his way to the Tube station just as the heavens opened in earnest.
He’d made it to Earl’s Court when an electrical fault closed the line. Brilliant. Nero trudged above ground to meet the rain again. The buses were packed and running late, and after stopping at the shops to buy something to make the fridge less bare, it was gone noon by the time he let himself into the flat. And it felt like midnight. That’s what you get for three hours’ sleep, dickhead.
Nero shut the front door behind him and went to the kitchen. He loaded the fridge with eggs, cheese, and green vegetables, and chucked a loaf of bread on the counter, noting that there was no sign that Lenny had bothered to feed himself. Fucking typical. The bloke didn’t need a bodyguard; he needed a mother. Not yours, though, right?
Fuck no. Swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth, Nero went to the bedroom, passing through the living room on his way, but despite the empty couch and his parting words to Lenny that morning, the sight of Lenny stretched out, fast asleep, on the very edge of his bed stopped him short. With the storm still darkening the sky outside, a shadow was cast over Lenny’s face, and Nero had never seen anything so hauntingly beautiful.
He sucked in a shaky breath and took a step forward, Lenny’s kiss suddenly back on his lips like it had never been gone, but he froze before he could take a second step. Lenny was so tired . . . vulnerable, and frightened of something Nero couldn’t see. Drunken kissing be damned, Nero wasn’t what Lenny needed right now.
Like he’d heard the conflict in Nero’s frazzled brain, Lenny stirred, his arms reaching out. “Nero?”
Nero crossed the room in two strides and grasped Lenny’s outstretched hands. “I’m here.”
Lenny’s eyes flew open. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, they were so full of fear Nero couldn’t breathe, but then Lenny focused, smiled, and the sun came out. “Is it my turn to be all sleepy and cute?”
“Cute?”
Lenny’s hazy grin widened. “You’re adorable when you wake up.”
Nero scowled. “I’m not cute.”
“Not often, but not never.”
“You do talk some cobblers, mate. Sorry for waking you up, though. Didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay.” Lenny released Nero’s hands and yawned. “’Bout time I got up, eh?”
“If you say so.” Nero mourned the loss of Lenny’s fingers around his, and he got the feeling he’d miss Lenny’s presence in his bed even more. “Do you need anything? Cuppa? Breakie?”
“Nah, just give me something to do, man.”
“Suit yourself.” Nero left t
he room briefly and fetched his folder of paperwork for the Vauxhall project. “I got the photos too.”
He passed Lenny his phone, and watched, fascinated, as Lenny drank it all in, muttering to himself, and doodling over Nero’s carefully scrawled notes. “This place has potential to be really fucking cool.”
Nero rolled his eyes. How many times had he heard a variant of that sentence over the years? Too many. “The big bosses are pretty open-minded when it comes to tarting these places up. Don’t be shy.”
“I’m not shy, mate. Trust me.” Lenny shot Nero a devilish grin, then went back to his scribbling and muttering.
Nero took that, and the heat in his cheeks, as his cue to piss off. He stood and turned away.
Lenny’s hand around his wrist stayed him. “Where are you going?”
“Er, downstairs?”
“Thought you were off today?”
“I am, mostly. I’ve got some admin to do—food orders and stock checks.”
Lenny let go. “Fair enough. Guess I’ll get on with this, then.”
Wondering what Lenny would’ve had in mind otherwise was enough to drive Nero from the room without further comment. He went to the office and got on with his work. Admin was a part of his job he detested, but today he welcomed the distraction of the flashy computer he’d often threatened to smash to bits with his meat mallet. Even the spreadsheets failed to irritate him as much as they normally did.
“Shit, sorry. Didn’t know you were in here.”
“No?” Nero glanced over his shoulder at Steph. Somehow he’d missed her opening the office door. “My ugly mug not give it away?”
“Can’t see through walls, can I? Besides, I can usually hear you growling from upstairs if you’re on the computer.”
She had him there. He went back to his work as she opened and shut filing cabinets, until the silence—which he normally relished—got under his skin. “So, you all right, then?”
“What?”
Nero closed the stock spreadsheet and turned around. “What’s the matter with you?”
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