Chapter 28

He practically cried, leaving the cradle of his bed and pulling on clothes. When he dragged himself into the restaurant kitchen, Kat was already there. She hadn’t done anything yet, but she was there, which had to count for something. She glanced at him, then poured a cup of coffee. And then she poured a Five-Hour Energy into the coffee and shoved it at him.

Which counted for everything

“God, Kat, you have to marry me,” he said, draining the mug in one long pull. It was disgusting but he’d be grateful for it later.

“I am not marrying you,” Kat said, pointing a finger at him. “And do you know why that is?”

“I am positive you’re about to tell me.”

“Because you are an idiot. Epic. The biggest idiot ever. Even Jason did not need to be whacked upside the head so hard with the clue-by-four.” Liar. Of course, Jason’s one awkward attempt to ask Kat out had been painfully awful. Ever since, Kat just informed Jason what their plans were. It worked out for them.

“I’m not clueless,” Scooter protested. “I’m focused.”

There were exactly zero words in the English language to describe the dubious look she gave him. It was a masterpiece. It should be hung in a museum. Scooter held up his fingers to make a frame around her face. Yep. Hyper-realism, right there.

“I am going to make you eat those words,” Kat threatened. “But first, breakfast. We’re going to need it.”

Jason was already at the grill. He had at least two dozen burgers cooking; they’d stay warm and moist on the side of the grill, and even with that head-start, he’d be cramming them on with no space between to keep up with the orders once things got into full swing. Kat handed him a carton of eggs, and he cracked them all onto the griddle, one after the other. He fried them up and then slid them onto a plate, yolks still runny, for the quick protein jump.

“Where’s Andy?” Jason asked.

Scooter glanced at the clock. “Walking Trick, I expect.”

“Good. There’s a tiramisu and some gifts out in the car. Get ‘em upstairs at your place, before he gets back,” Jason said.

Something to look forward to, after they’d closed up tonight. Just a handful of people, really, but Scooter didn’t think Andy would want them to go all out anyway. He was still a little cagey around strangers. Scooter took Jason’s keys and made with the smuggling. The gifts were in a bag that he slung over his arm so he could use two hands for the cake-thing in Jason’s good crystal trifle bowl. It smelled like coffee and liqueur and cream and made Scooter’s mouth water immediately.

The smell of coffee hit harder when he opened the door. Shit, he’d forgotten to turn the auto-brew off. Oh well, Andy hadn’t had his first cup yet anyway. He stashed the cake and the gifts, then poured the coffee and headed back outside to wait for Andy, just like always. He was halfway through his second cup before Andy got back, and Scooter could already feel his heart racing and his brain vibrating from dumping that on top of Kat’s concoction.

“Happy Memorial Day,” Scooter said, offering over Andy’s mug. “How are you feeling? I had a bit of a Walking Deadvibe this morning myself. But today’s gonna be profitable, I can smell it.”

Andy all but curled around the cup with a grunt—so apparently, he was still a little bit zombie-fied. But he downed the coffee in three large gulps, and then shuffled his way into the restaurant to start the cleanup they’d skipped last night.

Three hours later, they were ready, and had about an hour to go before the crowds would start—Memorial Day brunch was popular. Everyone gathered around the staff table and Scooter put down a large jar of O’Keefe’s on the table. “Gimme your hands, Andy,” he said, straddling the bench.

Andy held out his hands warily, eyeing the jar.

Scooter turned Andy’s hands, inspecting them. His fingers were long and graceful, the nails bitten to the quick. The skin was chapped in places, and his forearms were dotted with bruises; nothing unusual for the kind of work he was doing, but today was going to be murder. Scooter scooped a double-fingerful of the hand cream out of the jar and started rubbing Andy’s right hand, working the cream into the skin and massaging out pain and stiffness.

“You know that’s just going to wash right off the instantooooooohhhhh God that feels good.” Andy half-slumped in bliss.

The rub-downs had been part of Memorial Day prep since Scooter had been a boy. Kat had already rucked her shirt up so Jason could spread the cream down her back. She was groaning almost as sensually as Andy. It was just part of the routine, Scooter told himself, but the fact that he was breathing harder just from getting to touch Andy—that was notroutine, not at all, and he probably should have shuffled Andy over to Kat’s care because fuuuuuuuck, he was going to die, hearing those groans and watching the faces that Andy was making.