Diversion 1 - Diversion (9 page)

A mushroom caught him upside the head, sliding down toward the floor. Lucky grabbed it, unwilling to waste tasty food.
“For being an insufferable prick, you can clean up the kitchen!” Bo stood, polishing off one glass of wine and taking the other with him. “Good night! And dont you dare keep me up tonight snoring.” Nearly out the kitchen door, he tossed over his shoulder, “And if you put even a toe into my room tonight, youre a dead man.”
Lucky sat at the table, raising the wine bottle to his lips.
Dinner went well.
He turned up the mushroom bowl onto his plate and licked his lips, enjoying the first vegetarian meal hed ever had…and trying to figure out how to work the cheese grater.
Wheres Jeeves when you need him?
After years of fast food and microwave meals, eating tasty fare had him ready to drop to his knees and propose on the spot. That is, if it werent for the cook being an unmitigated asshole.
Pot calling the kettle black, aint it?
After washing the dishes and putting the few leftovers in the refrigerator, Lucky climbed on a chair to de-sauce the ceiling. He made the rounds, locking up the house and turning off the lights. He found Bo asleep on the couch, T-shirt riding up to display a flat belly. The empty wineglass perched precariously on the edge of the coffee table.
The man appeared too peaceful to wake, young and carefree. Lucky enjoyed the view for a few minutes, unaccustomed guilt niggling his spine for being so hard on the poor guy, remembering how difficult it was to be in a new situation, not knowing what to expect. On the other hand, if Bo wasnt cut out for the job, best to learn now and cut his losses early.
Whatmade a man like Bo sign on for an outfit like Walters anyway? Why wasnt he at some large pharmacy chain, working nine to five? If he was hell-bent and determined to work against the criminal element, why not DEA? Or even FDA or Board of Pharmacy? Why join a motley crew of shadow dwellers like the Southeastern Narcotics Bureau? Especially the unsung Department of Diversion Prevention and Control. Whenever a raid made headlines, Luckys ilk were the ones who had a sleeve in the picture, or an elbow; they never commanded a place front and center, shaking hands with some politician. To his knowledge, no eager kid had ever pointed at him or Walter and exclaimed, “I wanna be like him when I grow up!”
His bed calling, Lucky trudged down the hall, thinking,
Im gonna sleep good tonight.
When he crawled between the sheets in the strange room, for some odd reason he imagined Bo curled up beside him, hair breaking free of its too-precise styling to fan out on the pillowcase.
He punched a pillow a few times, hugging it to his chest. Bos light snores drifted through his open bedroom door and he wondered what they would sound like next to him. No stranger to “disappear before morning” one-night stands, he hadnt woken up with someone in his bed in years, hadnt wanted to, actually. Why start thinking about bed buddies now?
Patting his comfortably full belly, he passed off the ludicrous whim as food-related, and rolled to his side. Within two minutes hed flopped to his back. Shortly after that he gave his other side a try, uncomfortable squirmy feelings in his arms and legs robbing him of rest once again.
Three hours later he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wanting to beat the crap out of the asshole peacefully snoring in the living room.

The scent of coffee woke Lucky the next morning, and he staggered into the kitchen in his boxers, surprised to find Bo slaving over a sizzling pan.

He ambled over to the refrigerator, scratching his lightly furred belly, and flung the door open wide to peer inside. It was too early in the morning for the sudden onslaught of cold air to faze him. Finding what he wanted, he twisted the top off a half-gallon jug, turning it up and gulping down ice-cold milk.

“Oh no, you dont!” Bo stood with hands on his aproned hips, spatula in hand.
Lucky took another healthy swallow for spite, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Its not like youre gonna drink it anyway.” His shiver had less to do with a wide-open refrigerator and more to do with revulsion as he pointed to a cardboard carton on the top shelf. “You drink”—he exaggerated a disgusted face— “soy milk!”
“Doesnt matter. Drinking from the jug is gross.”
“You had younger brothers and sisters, didnt you?” Lucky replaced the milk, leaning against the refrigerator door until it closed.
“Whats that got to do with anything?”
“Answer the question and Ill tell you.”
Several emotions flitted across Bos face, most probably coming equipped with a promise to beat the shit out of Lucky. Finally, resignation won out. “Yes, a brother.”
“Uh-huh, knew it.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The oldest always turns bossy.”
About to make closer acquaintance with whatever Bo cooked, a familiar burble reminded Lucky of the coffeemaker, with a nearly full pot sitting on the counter. “I told you not to buy coffee,” he accused, more than a little grateful Bo hadnt listened.
“If you dont want it, dont drink it.” Nose in the air, Bo turned his back, attending a pan full of eggs on the stove.
A peek into Bos cup showed the thin green brew hed ordered at Starbucks. Ewww…how did he drink that stuff? And why make coffee if he didnt even like it? Choosing not to question—for now—Lucky rummaged through the cabinets, locating a suitable mug, emblazoned with red letters, “I dont do mornings.”
Amen.
Without moving his eyes from whatever he was doing, Bo slid the sugar bowl across the counter. “I still say youd be better off using stevia.”
Lucky let the comment pass unchallenged, determined to arm himself with a good rebuttal later via the Internet. “Good morning to you too,” he said, sarcasm momentarily deserting him in the presence of caffeine gratitude.
“I made you an omelet.” Bo turned around, a perfectly shaped, golden-brown half-moon lying on the plate in his hands. He breathed deeply, letting out his breath in a slow, steady rush. When he spoke again hed apparently calmed. “Pour a little of the sauce from last night over it if you like your eggs with salsa. The saucell be even better. Uh, you didnt throw the mushrooms out, did you? I meant to use some for the eggs but didnt see any in the fridge.”
“I didnt throw them out,” was all Lucky would confess. Hed make damned sure to pick some more up his next trip to the store. Fungus never tasted so good. They probably would have made an appetizing addition to the omelet; though, in his opinion, eggs should come in shells and not in cartons.
“Sit, eat,” Bo instructed, shedding his apron. “I gotta go shower.”
Only then did Lucky notice Bos less than fresh appearance: jogging shorts, a stained T-shirt sweat-plastered to his pecs, depicting a nervous cow and the caption “Eat More Vegetables!” Running shoes completed the outfit.
“Ummm…I got a few miles in this morning while you were asleep,” he stammered apologetically, as though hed done something wrong. “If you want to come with me some morning, I… I wouldnt mind.” Not waiting to for a reply, Bo fled the room.
Hes trying to be friends? After the shit Ive been giving him? Now why the hell would anyone in their right mind be nice to me?
After a “same shit, different day” and another sleepless night, when Lucky dragged himself out of bed and toward the promise of sustenance the next morning, a glass of milk sat waiting for him on the counter.

Lucky tore his gaze from his laptop, wrenching an earbud from one ear. “Cant you see Im working here?”
“Oh, sorry. I asked if you minded if I turned the TV on. Im tired of staring at cars and want to unwind before bed.”
“I said Im working.” Lucky stretched his legs out, resting his heels on the coffee table.
Bo shot him a disdainful glare but didnt say the words Luckyd bet good money that he wanted to.
Cmon out to play, boy, I know you got it in you.
A few moments passed, Bos anger kicking up a notch. “Its eight oclock. I find it hard to believe youre still working at this hour.”
Lucky hid a grin. Bo was more entertaining to mess with than Walter. “Yet, here I am.”
“Youre on a laptop, we have Wi-Fi. Why dont you take it to your room?”
“Because I like the couch.” He wriggled to get more comfortable, dead center of a horrid floral sofa not nearly roomy enough to begin with.
Perching on the edge of a cushion, as far away from Lucky as he could get and still be in the same time zone, Bo swallowed hard. Pride must have gone down, for he dropped his voice considerably. “Ive worked my ass off to be nice to you; wont you at least try to meet me halfway?”
“Now why would I want to go and do a fool thing like that for?”
Bo threw both hands into the air. “I give up!”
Luckyleered. “I do like easy men.” The flippant remark earned him a swat on the shoulder.
“All I want to do is sit back and relax for a bit, watch the Seminoles play. Is a compromise too much to ask?”
If Bo had opened his mouth and spit nails it wouldnt have surprised Lucky a bit. “Whats the magic word?”
“What?”
“You heard me. Whats the magic word?”
“What am I, seven?”
“Um…I was hoping for seven and a half, at least. Inches, that is.”
Bo bolted off the couch. “Now see here, you perverted son of a bitch!”
Damnthe bastard was beautiful when he was angry. “Okay.”
“Okay? Okay what?”
“Okay, you can watch your game.” Lucky popped his earbud back in, restarting a back episode of his favorite addiction,
South Bend Springs
, in time for the results of the paternity test for Lilas baby. The episode ended on a cliffhanger; Lucky punched up the next installment.
At some point he registered a warm body in close proximity, but when the snores began to drown out his show, he finally hit pause and tore his gaze away from a cat fight involving two soap divas. Bo propped between the couch arm and Lucky, head thrown back, dead to the world.
Asleep he appeared peaceful, every trace of animosity gone from his face. He was kind of cute, in a boy-next-door way. In different circumstances, a handsome face, awesome cooking skills, and that whole “nice” thing might have been enough to sway Lucky to be a little nicer himself. But hed promised to teach Bo the job, not sit around bonfires roasting marshmallows and singing “Kum Ba Yah.” Still, he wanted Newbies enticing bubble-butt in his bed in the worst way.
Once, only once, then Ill walk away.
As Lucky watched, Bos head sagged a bit toward the front. Having your head bob like a chickens couldnt be comfortable. Rotating his neck in his sleep, his chin dropped dangerously close to Luckys shoulder.
Lucky might have moved over, he didnt rightly recall, but the next minute that slack face mashed against his chest. Bo sighed, nuzzling in.
What the hell?
So close he could make out a light splash of freckles across a slightly crooked nose, Lucky decided that if this was all the sleeping together that theyd get to do, hed take it. Wrapping an arm around the slumbering man, Lucky pulled him closer. Thinking that wasnt such an uncomfortable position, he settled in and turned his show back on.
A niggling in the back of his brain told him he should shove the guy away—violently. The little part of him that hadnt enjoyed close human contact outside of the occasional casual fuck said,
Let him sleep. What he doesnt know, he cant use against you.
Around two A.M., when Lucky finally felt tired enough to get a little shut eye, he eased Bo down on the couch, covering him with a ratty old throw. With no inkling why, he brushed his lips across Bos freckles. “Night, sunshine.”

Squat, press hands to floor, kick legs back, pushup, pushup, squat, jump up
…
“What the fuck are you doing? Tearing the house down?” Lucky dropped to the floor, keeping his rhythm and breathing

even.
Pushup,pushup…
“What does it look like Im doing? And didnt your mother teach you to knock before coming in someone elses room? What if youd caught me choking the chicken?”
Squat, jump up
…

Bo leaned in the doorway, arms across his chest and eyes following every move. After two more reps he took a step forward, toeing off his tennis shoes.

Completing his set, Lucky collapsed onto the floor, sucking in great lungfuls of air and wiping sweaty palms on his shorts. Bo quietly eased down beside him. Ignoring his unwelcome audience, Lucky turned onto his left side, assumed a standard plank position with hand tucked behind his head, adding a little extra posturing to show off his shirtless physique. He raised his left knee, touching it to his bent elbow and lowering it back to the floor.

After the second rep Bo assumed a similar pose, far enough away not to foul each others movements. He brought his leg up. “Oh!” he exclaimed, repeating the motion and the “Oh!” of surprise. A grin lit up his face. “Man, what a burn!”

They switched sides, Lucky counting reps out load. At the third switch and call of “Ten!” they both sagged onto their backs, a few scant feet separating them.

“Dang! Thats a pretty decent routine you got going,” Bo remarked on panted breaths.
“Prison workout, baybee,” Lucky panted back. “Limited space, lots of bigger guys. A cellmate taught me how to stay fit while avoiding the meathead bashers hanging out in the gym.” A white-collar cellmate content with the occasional friendly blow job from a hard-ass country boy whod watch his back. Of course, the adamantly straight corporate embezzler hadnt minded returning the favor either.
“Will you show me that pushup routine you were doing when I walked in?”
Lucky sighed, draping an arm across his face. “You strike me as more of a gym rat type.”
“I tried to find a local gym that didnt require a years membership, but all the decent ones do. I dont wanna get all fat and flabby parking my ass in a car every day doing nothing. And I havent had much time lately to run.”
Lucky first reaction was to say, “Get the hell out.” Upon further reflection, he changed his answer to “Okay” if for no other reason than to see the bane of his existence sweating like a pig and falling down. Burpees took a lot out of a man.
Climbing to his feet, he held out a hand. “Stand up.” Bo pulled up, watching expectantly. “The pros on the fitness shows call it a burpee. The men in orange called it pain.” Lucky stepped beside Bo, dropping into a squat, then thrust his legs back. “Try it. Ummm…Id take my shirt off first if I were you, and maybe trade those blue jeans for shorts.”
Bo shot out the door and Lucky relaxed, asking himself why the hell he let the man horn in on his private time. A practically nude vision appeared in his doorway.
Oh yeah, thats why. A shaved chest and a tight ass hiding under a layer of thin nylon.
Without a sound Bo dropped into the squat-thrust position.
“No, your stance isnt stable,” Lucky admonished. “Stretch out again.” He placed a hand on Bos calf, dragging his leg over a few inches. “There. Try it now.”
Over the next few minutes he found various reasons to touch his new student, until he wondered if a) he was inventing the reasons or b) Bo screwed up on purpose, hoping for a groping.
Lucky assumed a cross-legged pose, taking on the role of supervisor to hide his rising boner. Bo grunted, pushing up against the floor, and Luckys warped imagination added erotic details while subtracting both their shorts. He squirmed, his cock getting friendly with his shorts inseam.
When it became too much to bear, he blurted, “I need to use the john!” and shot into the bathroom, slamming the door with one hand while sliding his cock out of his shorts with the other. He turned on the sink taps, letting the rushing water mask the sounds of his groans. In less than a minute he spilled his load into the sink.
Any time Bo wanted to work out together, hed need to add a new sequence to his warm-ups—the one-handed pipe pull.