Page 20 of A Handsome Devil

He shrugged. “It’s okay. I stole it.”

I couldn’t argue with that, so we were back on the highway. I said, “I checked on your Les Paul.” His guitar was in my trunk. “It’s doing fine.” I didn’t mention there were two Les Pauls. One was the thing I hadn’t touched in years, hiding in my own closet.

“Good, good.” He slapped his thigh rhythmically, as though keeping time to an orchestra in his head.

I wondered if he was jonesing. “You’re doing a good job, Alessio. Don’t go back to using. You’re emotionally resilient. The best thing that contributes to that is social connection, support. You’ve got that now, especially with me and Gunning.”

Alessio’s words spilled out, bursting like thunder in a downpour. “Well, you know, the people against drug use are denying their own chemistry. It’s a natural part of humanity to want to numb the pain.”

I dared to pat his thigh. “That’s why we have alternatives. After you see this guy, we’ll stop by a marijuana dispensary. Get you some gummies.” I had to glance sideways at his face to see if he was grimacing at such a childish idea. He wasn’t.

But I wasn’t expecting his answer. “Already done. Denmark and I robbed a dispensary.”

I actually had to chuckle at how he’d ripped off a dispensary, but was elite enough to say “Denmark and I.” “Did you like them?”

“I don’t know if it was my thalamus or my amygdala, but the pain gummies seemed to work on my hip.”

“Good, good. We’ve got to get you a job so you don’t need to keep robbing people. Unless,” I said warily, “you like doing it.”

“No no no,” he said with determination. “I don’t like it at all. I’d like to get back into composing.”

I smiled. “That’s one of the few fields where having a dodgy background could actually help and not hinder your job search. You’re still in contact with those folks?”

“Yeah, yeah. A few of them want some music from me. But I have nowhere to work. I’d need a piano, and space.”

I’d actually thought about that, how he could live at my house. But there was really no room for a piano.

Maybe Alessio read my mind, because he blurted, “Hey, I don’t want to be a burden on you, Truman. I shouldn’t have even asked you along on this ride. I’ve got to tell you.” But it seemed he didn’t have to, because he stuttered and licked his lips, swallowing with what seemed like nerves for the first time since knowing him. “I’ve really developed feelings for you, Truman. The last thing I want to do is piss you off, or irritate you. After I molly whop this asshole we’ll go back to normal, hide out, get back in the cut. I swear like a preacher’s son, this was never the life for me.” Exhaling, he fell back into his seat, almost talking to himself. “I just don’t know what is the life anymore.”

“Hey.” Now I was the assertive, aggressive one. It was as though we took turns, like boxers exchanging blows and landing shots. Was I a switch? I’d heard men call them that, when they could easily slip into each role, the Dom and the sub. “You’ll get your life back. But it won’t be the same life.”

I dropped him off at Leonard Skinner’s curb. As I’d imagined, it wasn’t in the best neighborhood, speckled with homeless tents. Those always riled me. Those people should be in institutions, not on the street. Denmark pulled up in front of us, Gunning behind. Gunning made sure to rev his engine with a flourish.

“Do you want me to come in?” We hadn’t discussed that.

Alessio’s reaction was immediate. “No, no! I shouldn’t have even fucking asked you to come along.” He rubbed his face with his palm as though wishing to erase it. And his hand trembled. “I just did because…you’re a calming influence, Tru. I need someone stable like you.”

Although it sure didn’t prove any stability, I took his chin in my fingertips, my thumb parting his lips above the soul patch. “And I…need someone brilliant and intoxicating like you.”

I kissed him, sucking his lower lip between my teeth. He fell right into it, no holds barred, sinking his fingers into my hair at the skull. I threaded mine between the black vest and his ribs, thumbing the silken arrow of down that led to his navel and beyond. We kissed like the sloppy, hungry bears that we were, Alessio snorting hot breaths against my face. My fingers nearly scorched when I stroked the hairline that led to his jeans button.

A sharp knock on the window ripped us apart.

Denmark’s breath fogged the passenger glass. “Hate to tell you. But I just saw the curtains in them windows moving. We best get in there before he makes a break for it.”

Alessio breathed deeply to reorient himself, stuffing a nonexistent shirt into his pants. “Or it’s another abused kid dying for us to save him.”

“Good luck,” I said.

He said, “I’m going to fuck you in your cherry ass when I’m done here,” and left my car.

I hadn’t noticed he had a handgun in his back pocket.

CHAPTER 8

Alessio

I had to leave Truman sitting frustrated in his car. I had no choice. He would try to be diplomatic and noble. I wanted to be self-confident, forceful, all the ways I never was when I lived in that dump because I thought everyone on the planet hated me. That’s how I was trained. Alone with no blood relatives, just other foster kids equally if not more fucked-up than I was. Than I was taught to be.