Page 67 of Bent, Not Broken

He rested his forehead against mine. “Let’s go out tonight to celebrate.”

“I’m game. Can we eat breakfast first?”

He grinned and finally allowed me to wriggle free. “Yeah. I thought maybe we could go back to bed.” He quirked an eyebrow, but I stuck my tongue out at him and hopped several feet away with my arms crossed.

“After that bullshit you just pulled? Nah, I think I’m going to make River go to the gym with me and play racquetball.” I tipped my nose into the air and did my best diva impression, but it didn’t get a rise out of him.

“I’ll go.”

I gasped and my anger disappeared in an excited instant. “You play?”

He shrugged. “Not much, or well, but I’m sure I can still kick your ass.”

Grinning, I nodded. “You’re on. Breakfast first.”

He stood up, and I turned toward the cupboards, thinking Pop-Tarts were disgustingly good and I might eat one myself, then gasped as a sharp, sweet pain exploded on my left asscheek. He was out the kitchen door by the time I spun around to stick my tongue out at him.

My gym was downtown, near my office, and I hadn’t been in an embarrassingly long time. Evan and I went in, got a court to ourselves, and we played. He soundly beat me. I forced him to play three more games and lost them all before I declared, sweat stinging my eyes, “You owe me a coffee.”

He was a thirsty boy’s wet dream in his running shorts and a nearly translucent white tank top, soaked with his sweat. I licked my lips.

“Fine.” He spun his racquet in a lazy circle. “I would like the record to note, Mr. Polunin, Esquire, that I beat you one-handed.”

“Ha… fucking… ha.” I wheezed and held my side, but technically he was right. He couldn’t swing with his bad arm. I flipped him the bird, and laughing we went together to the locker rooms and showered. There were about ten other guys in there, so there was no way we could have any sort of shenanigans.

When we were back in jeans and T-shirts, we walked from the gym, which was south from my office by about a block, to Grounds and Gears. Total, it took us about fifteen minutes to get there, but the day was beautiful, the crowd on the sidewalk was lighter than I expected, and I was still getting used to the fact that Evan was holding my hand in public. I leaned against him and grinned up into his face.

“Hi,” he said quietly, and we nearly bumped into a woman in a gray suit coming toward us from the other direction. She had a Grounds and Gears coffee cup in her hand that wobbled, but she caught it.

“You two are adorable,” she said with a small wave, and Evan flushed a nice rose pink that made me want to lick him from head to toe.

By the time we got to the coffee shop that took up the bottom floor of a high-rise, my stomach was growling, and I bounced next to Evan, ready to get one of those boozed-up mochas, and cookies, and maybe a stack of other treats. But I stopped suddenly at what I saw near the small metal tables outside the shop, my stomach dipping. Several motorcycles gleamed in the parking spots in front of the building, but that didn’t bother me. Oh no. Bad memories swirled to the surface of my mind and I gasped, leaning against Evan.

The kid with the bubblegum-pink faux hawk, who I remembered had the they/them pin, was caught with a black serving tray fluttering nervously against their side. They had a black apron tied around their slim hips, and the kid was trapped—not by a grip, but a smarmy guy who was familiar and stood too close to them, leaning into their space. I could practically see the nerves radiating off the kid. This scene had bad date written all over it. Those horn-rimmed glasses on the older man, who was clearly sniffing around where he shouldn’t be, were familiar. My brain knew him. I stared hard.

“The boy looks uncomfortable, doesn’t he?” Evan whispered into my ear. He was scowling.

“They.”

“What?” Evan leaned back and shot me a confused look.

“The pretty kid is nonbinary. They look uncomfortable.”

Evan rolled his eyes, and I knocked an elbow into his gut.

“Fine. They seem ready to run. You know them?”

“Not really, but… that’s….” My brain ruffled around and a fuzzy, very bad night a couple of months ago popped into my head. Well, a bad night that started something good. I squeezed Evan’s hand. “That’s fucking Greg! The guy who gave me the pill the night we….” I blanched, and Evan let out an irate snarl. He glared harder at the man, and I saw the recognition flash across his face.

“I knew you were messed-up that night.”

“Yeah.”

“He was trying to drug you and fuck you?”

“Yeah, but I mean… I knew what he was up to. I’m not sure they know.” I nodded at the kid.

Evan’s grip on my hand tightened until it was on the brink of painful. Sure enough, as we watched, Greg stuck his hand in his pocket and turned so his back was more toward the street. He dug around in his pocket for a second and then held his hand between himself and the sweetheart who looked like they were about to shake apart. They slowly inched the tray between themself and Greg. The kid finally backed away, and then Greg snagged Pretty in Pink’s arm. Evan almost knocked me over marching himself over there. I pinwheeled and kept my balance.