Page 4 of Praised
I looked up with a wicked smile.
Me: Let’s bring Owen’s friend. Really show him the sights.
Rob: You’re a menace.
Me: Is that a yes?
Rob: It’s a public club. I can’t stop you.
I didn’t bother to read anything after that, sliding my phone back into my pocket with a victorious smile.
“Hey, Frankie, you want to go to church tonight?”
“Not especially.”
Owen chuckled and scratched the back of his neck, turning to his friend. “It’s not really a church, it’s a…shit.”
“Don’t be shy, Owen. Frankie was just telling me how close the two of you were.”
“Sex club,” Archie said, taking the air fryer out of Owen’s hands and carrying it into the kitchen. “And considering the history between you two, if we go, all of the dicks are staying in the pants.”
“Speak for yourself,” I muttered.
“I’m just…you know what I mean.”
“I assure you, Archie, my interest in sleeping with Owen has been gone for longer than it ever existed.” He made an X across his heart. “Boy scout’s honor.”
“Dicks in the pants is fine,” Owen said, sliding his arm around Frankie’s shoulder and pulling him toward the guest room. “Let’s find you something to wear.”
“No turtles then?” I asked.
“I love the turtles.” Grayson smiled at something on his phone, then looked to me and Archie. “But if that’s the last of it, I’m taking off. I want to go home and freshen up before Rob’s off work.”
Archie stretched out his arms and gave Grayson a quick hug. The two of them had gotten close since Grayson and Rob became involved, which I really loved. Archie was the youngest of our friends and I worried that sometimes he was too alienated from us because of life and experience, but Grayson, for as outlandish as he could be sometimes, had been a surprisingly steady anchor for Archie.
Or maybe it was the other way around.
Either way.
* * *
Five hours later, I found myself at Rapture, elbows resting on a cocktail table on the main floor. It was a change from the comfort and quiet of the loft, but Frankie hadn’t even bothered to dial down his patronization in the slightest from the afternoon and I didn’t want to say something I’d later regret.
But the tables had turned, and Frankie apparently derived some sick pleasure in pushing my buttons because he found himself at the table beside me, warm shoulder pressed against mine.
“I didn’t peg you as a quitter,” he said, taking a sip of his gin.
“You didn’t peg me at all.”
That earned a low laugh, and he turned toward me, mouth twisted into a challenging smile.
“I have a deal for you.”
“That’s not going to end well for you.” I shifted so we faced each other. “I make deals for a living.”
“Good thing you don’t know what winning looks like for me.”
“Touché.” I took a swallow of my scotch. “By all means then, go on.”
