Page 67 of Five

“No privacy anymore! Stop looking at me like I’m a bug you’re thinking of stepping on.” He fidgets, but holds his ground when I take a step toward him.

“Why are you so unsettled around me?” When he hit the glass door a few hours ago, he turned rigid hearing my voice.

He grits his teeth and straightens his spine. “I’m not. Can’t you see what I’m dealing with here? I need to be out tomorrow, even though by law, I have fourteen days after the writ is given.”

Hearing him use legal terminology makes my dick twitch inside my boxer briefs.

You’re a fucking freak, Gabe. I love it!Bez snorts.

Quiet! He’s talking.

“…I’d file a motion with the court to prolong it, but…”

“There’s no written contract, is there?”

“What give that away? The group of candy men outside the building or the sound of Mary Magdalene shagging per hour on the second floor?” he sarcastically counters, positioning his hands on his hips challengingly.

“Do you have your landlord’s phone number?” I ask him.

He moves to his mattress and grabs his sparkly phone, bending down and offering me an almost obscene view of the lower curve of his rear. Those jockstraps he wears are damn tempting, and paired with the fishnet thighs they absurdly work on him. Only on him.

After a couple of seconds, a beep on my phone lets me know I’ve received the contact.

“Keep packing,” I tell him, as I pull my cell out of my jacket.

“I’m not going to move in with Ollague. They have a lot on their plates as it is.”

“Ollague?”

“Rami’s power couple name for Ollie and Rague,” he explains.

I’ll say it again, your bros are idiots, Bez feels the need to repeat himself.

“Is that blood on your shoes?” Lori suddenly asks, frowning at the small crimson spots on my Oxford leather shoes. It must be from the dealer, I might have kicked his head a bit too hard.

Bez disagrees,or too light.

I ignore his question and state, “You’re not moving in with…Ollague. Now pack!”

“Bugger, you’re so bloody bossy! We are not in the office. I don’t have to do what you order.”

“Like you ever do that.” My brow kicks up.

He pouts. “Where am I moving th?—?”

I interrupt him, “What’s the name of your landlord?”

He puckers his lips—that dip in the middle and the little mole on his upper lip keep catching my eye. “Uhm, he’s Octopus Prime to me. Maybe Jerry? Gerald? Joseph? Steve?”

“I’ll find out. Just?—”

A loud knock cuts off my sentence.

“Sod off!” Lori yells.

“Open the door, sweet thing. It’s Carlton,” a deep voice says on the other side of the flimsy door. There’s a menacing note in every word.

I send a questioning look Lori’s way, and he starts…dancing like a lunatic.