Bad Habit Page 6

  He’d just smoke half a cigarette now, half in the morning. If he stayed ahead of security, he could probably manage another shower in the athletic building. He’d gotten familiar enough with the campus when Liam was going here.

  Scott ended up smoking the whole damned thing, dragging every last rush of cool thick smoke into his lungs and holding on. When he hit the filter, he flicked the butt into the night sky and watched his exhalation follow it.

  Sharp raps on the hood jerked him awake into a blistering morning. He sat up, scrubbing at his face, lie ready to go.

  “Hey, I’m just waiting for my girlfriend to get out of class.”

  “At seven thirty in the morning? Try another one, McDermott.”

  At the familiar snarl, Scott shaded his eyes against the glare. “Jamie?”

  “What the hell are you doing? Three fucking calls in the last twenty-four about a suspicious guy in a ’68 blue Shelby Mustang. University security thinks you’re about to take out the place with an AR-15.” Jamie wore some kind of uniform, but it wasn’t the standard blue.

  “Thought you were out playing bumper boats in the harbor.”

  “Clocked off. Then that description came through the radio.”

  “Wanna search my car?”

  Jamie stuck his head in and jerked back. “Fuck no. Smells like ass and ashtray. What the hell—”

  It was too late to hide the bag Scott’s dirty shorts were sticking out of or the bag of Slim Jims Scott had been living on.

  “Are you living in your fucking car?”

  “What the fuck is it to you?”

  “Right now you’re trespassing and damned lucky I’m the one who woke your ass up. How long have you—”

  “Since none of your goddamned business.” Scott needed to piss. He’d have thought he’d sweated out every last drop of fluid overnight, but he couldn’t be that lucky. He needed coffee and a cigarette. More, he needed to take the Mustang back to Galvez and see if he could still get that thirty-two grand for it.

  He climbed out. Jamie could watch him pee in a bush if he got off on it.

  Jamie shoved him back against the car. “Get in. Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “The Little Home for Fucked-Up Queers.”

  “Can I piss first?”

  “No. And if I look back and you aren’t following me, I will fucking arrest you.”

  Chapter Seven

  JAMIE PARKED his F-100 in front of the driveway of a two-story redbrick house with white shutters that looked pretty much like all the other red-brick houses on the street. If it was the Home for Fucked-up Queers Jamie labeled it as, there wasn’t so much as a little rainbow flag out front. Scott tucked the Mustang behind a middle-aged minivan and walked just slowly enough that, by the time he stood by Jamie on the front steps, the cop’s red hair was bristling off his head in frustration. A ten-year-old Buick with new tires squatted in the driveway.

  “You’re friends with someone who drives a Buick?” Scott muttered.

  Jamie snorted. “Different tastes. Thank God I don’t have to drive it.” He leaned over to peer in a front window, then glanced down at his phone.

  “Maybe they’re closed today.”

  Jamie turned to glare at Scott, then raised a fist to knock and almost punched the guy who opened the door.

  As Scott took in the sight of the bare, muscled chest above a pair of boxers, he decided he wouldn’t be the one throwing the first punch if it came to that. He recognized Salt-and-Pepper Studly from the day at the car show. Right now there was a glint of something hard behind the sleepy blue eyes. Scott had the urge to raise his hand before asking if he could use the bathroom.

  The guy studied Scott back, his eyes narrowed. Scott had seen that judgment too many times not to know what it was. He thought about a what-the-fuck’s-your-problem challenge, but he was too damned tired. He shook his head and stepped backward off the stoop.

  Jamie latched on to Scott’s shoulder. “Quinn, this is Scott. Been living in his car.”

  Like it was this guy’s business where Scott tried to catch some sleep? He should have just stayed in the apartment and waited for the sheriff.

  Someone slipped up behind Quinn. Should have known it’d be that goth kid from the car show, this time in a neon-green silk bathrobe untied over black briefs. The kid shoved the hair off his face. “Meet us in the backyard. I don’t want to—you?” He stared at Scott. “The guy who punched the EMT? What the fuck, Jamie?”

  Jamie held up the hand that wasn’t gripping Scott’s shoulder. “It was his ex, who, I guess, had it coming. Anyway, the ex didn’t press charges.”

  “So?” the kid said.

  “Who here would be glad to punch my ex in the nose?” Quinn asked in a rumbling voice.

  “Fine,” the kid huffed. “Just go around back.”

  Jamie released his grip on Scott’s shoulder. “Now, Eli, hasn’t Daddy trained you to pick up your toys? I’m sure you guys could figure out how to turn it into a kinky game.”

  Eli batted long, thick lashes at Jamie. “Jealous of our playtime?”

  Jamie’s cheeks flushed dark under his freckles.

  Whatever the hell these guys got up to was none of Scott’s business. And he planned to keep it that way. He started to ease back off the porch.

  Jamie grabbed his arm again.

  “You’re freaking out your guest,” Eli said. “And I’d rather not wake up Silver and Marco.”

  Scott looked from Quinn to Eli. “You guys got kids?”

  Jamie coughed a laugh next to him.

  “Moving day is next Friday.” Eli’s smile was faked sweetness. “Gavin tells me you and your truck will be free then.”

  “Shit.”

  Jamie’s bitching was going to have to wait. Scott seriously needed to piss.

  “Uh.” He resisted the urge to raise his hand. “Can I use a bathroom or you want me to water your bushes out back?”

  Eli rolled his eyes so high they disappeared under his hair. “Down the hall, behind the stairs. Then come out through the back door in the kitchen. And be quiet unless you want a horny eighteen-year-old grinding on your lap.”

  Kidneys no longer on fire, Scott headed for the back door. As Scott cut through the kitchen, he found Quinn, now in a T-shirt, scrambling eggs and frying bacon, but right then, Scott only had a hard-on for the coffee dripping slow and dark. He took a big whiff of the fragrant steam.

  Quinn put a mug down on the counter in front of Scott. “Here. Need sugar?”

  Scott shook his head as he snatched up the ten-cup jug and filled the mug. Add in a little nicotine, he’d be ready to face whatever Jamie had dragged him into.

  Quinn pulled down some plates and three more mugs and shoved them into Scott’s hands. “Make yourself useful and take these outside.”

  Scott’s stomach was gurgling from the smell of the food, so he bit back the Do I look like a waiter? and accepted the stack.

  “So you running a hostel here or what?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’m guessing this Silver and Marco, they didn’t have anyplace else to go?” Scott indicated the upstairs with a jerk of his head.

  At Quinn’s nod, Scott said, “Why get involved?”

  Quinn’s mouth twisted in half a smile. “Why not?”

  Scott balanced all four mugs, including his full one, on the stack of plates as he took them out to place on the patio table. Now maybe he could get to actually enjoy the coffee. He wrapped his hand around his mug.

  Eli snatched it. “For me? Thanks, hon. How about some forks?”

  Scott wasn’t sure why he let the kid pluck the mug out of his hand. He shook his head as he went back into the kitchen.

  Quinn already had forks and napkins waiting. “Take this and the coffee. I’ll be right out with the food.”

  “You do this a lot?”

  Quinn gave a soft snort of laughter. “It’s been a busy summer.”

  After bringing the rest of
the crap to the table, Scott poured himself another coffee and walked toward the back edge of the yard, where thorny-vined roses climbed an eight-foot wooden privacy fence. He lit his second-to-last cigarette and fought the urge to test the barrier by jumping to grab the stockade-point tips. He couldn’t do that and hang on to his coffee, and running wouldn’t fill his stomach.

  Even this early, the sun had burned off the dew, but it was going to steam with humidity later. Quinn’s was comfortable thanks to the central air unit humming away at one corner of the house. Not that Scott was staying—assuming anyone asked him. He’d had enough of people who claimed to be helping. There was always a catch.

  “Put it out and come eat,” Eli called.

  Scott tapped the end gently against a fence post and tucked the remaining half away for later.

  From the first mouthful, he was fucked. He ate like a starving dog, unable to hide it, doing everything but burying his face in the plate. When he thought he’d puke if he shoveled in another slice of buttered toast, he finally faced their stares.

  “Thanks. Good breakfast.”

  Eli smirked at him. “Glad you liked it. So now that you’ve got something in your stomach, what’s your sob story?”

  Scott glared at Jamie, then shrugged. “Don’t have one. Thanks for the food, but—”

  “But bullshit.” Eli cut him off. “I get it. You’re a total badass. You don’t need anyone. Now that we’re clear on that, explain why Jamie found you living in your car.”

  Scott tightened his jaw and stared at his empty plate.

  Eli sighed. “Silver, Marco, and I were all thrown out by our families for being queer.”

  “Yeah, well, my mom left before I even knew what my dick was for, let alone how I wanted to use it,” Scott found himself saying.

  “Okay.” Eli leaned back in his chair and sucked down some coffee. “But that wasn’t this week. Jamie said you work as a mechanic.”

  “Yeah. I did. All the good it did me.” What the fuck. They wanted to hear it, fine. “About four years ago, some lawyer guy tracks me down. He says he’s bringing a lawsuit about this placement for kids I was at until I ran away at sixteen. The lawyer says he’s got a couple other dudes that were there to join in.”

  “Suing for what?” Quinn said.

  “Abuse, neglect, living conditions.”

  “Sexual abuse?” Eli leaned forward.

  “Nah. Improper restraints. Mostly it was about these punishment lockdown rooms. So anyway, it was me and five other guys who had been at St. Bennie’s. The lawyer said we’d be getting millions.”

  Scott’s mocking laugh at how stupid he’d been burned his throat, and he tossed off the last of his lukewarm second cup.

  “Whatever. I got thirty grand.”

  “And you bought the Mustang.” Jamie sounded like he’d just lined up all the pieces.

  “Yup. Of course, the next time someone tracked me down, it was the fucking IRS. How the fuck did I know I had to pay taxes on it? Bastards garnish half my paychecks with the penalties and shit. Last time I switched jobs, I got behind in rent and I just couldn’t catch up. Course, being fired didn’t help.” Scott shrugged. “So then I got evicted and didn’t want to wait for the sheriff.”

  Jamie leaned his arms on the table. “When was that? What did the notice say?”

  “That I owed more’n I make in two months when I do have a job. So I left. It wasn’t that great of an apartment.”

  “Why the fuck didn’t you call me?” Jamie demanded. “I’d have told you to stay put. Evictions aren’t that easy.”

  “So he can just go back?” Eli said.

  Jamie shook his head. “Not once he abandoned the place. They’ll have changed the locks, sold anything he left behind.”

  “Just a half-dead coffee maker and a chair I grabbed off a curb. Had a Murphy bed.” The Mustang was all Scott had that mattered anyway.

  “You find another job yet?” The way Jamie was looking at Scott turned his full stomach sour.

  Like Jamie wasn’t the kind to mouth off to some asshole. Of course, he had a badge to back him up. “Been looking.” Scott shoved another piece of toast in his mouth.

  “Why were you fired?”

  “Difference of opinion,” Scott said through his mouthful.

  “Yeah, I bet.” Jamie snorted.

  Eli drummed fingers tipped with black-painted nails on the table. “So what we need is a cash-only job, preferably with minimal human contact, and a bed until you can get caught up.”

  “I’m not crawling back to that shitty apartment.”

  “So don’t,” Eli snapped back.

  “What do you care?” Because Scott knew damned well there was always an angle.

  “You got some better plan?”

  Scott didn’t so he shut his mouth, but sooner or later they’d want something.

  “The shelter?” Quinn suggested.

  Eli rolled his eyes. Again. “He’s gotta be almost thirty.”

  “I’m twenty-seven.”

  “See?” Eli said as Jamie talked over him. “Shelter isn’t close to being cleared for habitation. Shit-ton of interior work to do still.”

  “What do you think of modeling?” Eli turned to Scott.

  Here it was. “And all I have to do is take my clothes off?”

  “Well, just your shirt.” Eli studied Scott’s tattoo sleeve. “One of my online friends is a writer. Wants a tattooed cover model for his next book.” He flashed a grin. “Elijah married a senator’s kid or something. He can afford us both.” Eli tapped his chin. “Six hundred for an hour or so sound good?”

  “Just my shirt off?”

  Eli leaned close to whisper in his ear. “Hon, you and I both know why I’m not interested in getting in your pants.” He paused and then, on a barely audible breath, he whispered, “Bottom boy.”

  Scott wished he could hide the heat in his face as Jamie and Quinn stared at him, though he was sure they couldn’t have heard.

  Jamie pushed his chair back with a scrape of iron on stone. “If you’ve got this under control, I’m—”

  “Going to bring Scott home?” Eli finished with a bright smile.

  “What?”

  “We don’t have any more room and you’re always at Gavin’s. Scott can stay at your place.”

  “I am not always at Gavin’s.”

  A thin jingle was the only warning before a little flop-eared brown-and-white dog raced around the corner of the house and vaulted onto Jamie’s lap. It began licking his jaw.

  The sight of Jamie with some scrap of fluffy overbred dog on his lap made Scott laugh. A second later, Gavin followed the path the dog had taken but stopped before landing in Jamie’s lap.

  “Got your text.” He put a hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “Annabelle and I missed you joining us this morning.”

  Eli grinned across the table. “Gavin, has anyone ever told you you have exquisite timing?”

  “DO NOT smoke in my fucking house.” Jamie led the way into the hall.

  “Yeah, I heard it the first thirty times. Like you still don’t have tobacco stains on your ceiling.”

  “I’m getting around to repainting it. Fucking stucco.”

  When Eli had delivered his announcement about where Scott should stay, Jamie had pointed out that Walmart was usually pretty good about letting people sleep in their cars in their lots. But two seconds later, he’d caved with a sigh. The pressure might have come from Quinn’s arched brows or the way Gavin’s thumb rubbed the side of Jamie’s neck, but Scott suspected the deciding factor was the steady stare from Eli, who apparently had everyone’s balls in his pocket.

  “For how long?” Scott had wanted to know after Jamie gave in.

  “Till you find someplace else,” Eli had said before anyone else could get a word in. “Given the company, I’ll bet you want to get on that.” He’d winked at Scott.

  “Fuck you, brat.” But Jamie’s response had sounded like he was only going through the motions.

/>   Now Jamie shoved some towels in Scott’s hands and said, “And for fuck’s sake, shower before you sit on anything. I gotta work again tonight so I’m going to crash. Whatever you do, do it quiet.” He stopped in the doorway to his bedroom. “What garages have you tried?”

  “Jerry’s and the Best Care Auto in Overlea.”

  Jamie frowned and drummed his fingers on the doorframe. “Try Two Bros in Catonsville. How pissed was Dressler?”

  Scott thought of the dark red face under thin wisps of hair, spit flying out with his words. “Kind of foamed at the mouth.”

  Jamie shook his head. “You know how I was saying to pick your battles? Might be a good time to learn.” Jamie punched Scott’s shoulder and disappeared behind the bedroom door.

  TWO BROS wasn’t hiring. They told him to try A-plus Air and Radiators, but they said the summer had been slow and they’d had to let people go. Scott smoked three cigarettes as he took the long way around the city back to Jamie’s place in Dundalk, hating himself for driving outside the loop just so he could cut through Timonium. Like suddenly knowing Liam was there made it home again.

  Scott had made two folded halves of a peanut butter sandwich—Liam style—before realizing it. He didn’t smash up Jamie’s plate, just took the sandwich outside and took two bites before starting to feed the rest to some bold squirrels and sparrows while sitting on Jamie’s back steps and smoking. He’d have helped himself to some scotch too, but Jamie didn’t have anything stronger than light beer.

  Not that Scott needed a drink. He’d lived just fine for years with the hole Liam leaving had made, let it scab over, buried the thought of it, moved the fuck on. Ten minutes spread over two conversations shouldn’t have changed that. Sure as shit shouldn’t have made him feel fucking worse. Liam was old news.

  After one last bite for himself, Scott threw the last hunk of sandwich to the skinniest squirrel lurking at the edge of the driveway, who snatched it and ran up the cement wall of Jamie’s garage and over the roof with three bigger bastards in hot pursuit. Hope you get to laugh in their faces, dude.

  Next morning, Scott lay on an air mattress staring at the yellow ceiling through early light when Jamie banged on the door to the guest room, cop style.