Page 5 of Not Even A Mouse
Mister man
Myron
“Where are you going, mister man?” Light and sweet, the lilting voice of a child came from behind him, and Myron turned with a jerk, surprised into dropping one of his boots. It hit the hallway floor with a thud, bouncing off the leg of the entryway table and tumbling to come to rest at the feet of the cutest little girl Myron had ever seen.
“Ihave to go to work.” A harmless excuse, and one even a child would likely accept at face value. She’d wave himaway,and he’d walk out the door, safely escaped with no one the wiser.
“Papa says I can’t get up until a grownup is awake.” Her lips pulled to the side as she chewed on a thought. “You’re awake.” She tipped her head towards a shoulder, the motion endearing. Her features were all seriousnesswhen she said, “Grownups make breakfast in the morning. Can you help me? Can you make pancakes? I want pancakes.”
Myron shook his head, and her bottom lip had started trembling before he even got the refusal out. “I can’t, sweetness. I have to go.”
Lip still quivering, she stared at him.
He stared at her.Shhhh, he thought.I just wanna get out of here.
When her nose scrunched up—which wasadorable,but also telegraphed an audible version of the unsteady lip—he winked and then stuck out his tongue. It was instinctive and silly, something he remembered doing with his baby sister back when times were better, but it had the desired response. She giggled, and Myron was lost. He could no more deny this tiny princess her demand for pancakes than he could stop the world from turning, andhe suddenly realized he didn’t want to.
“Pancakes it is.”
This little princess was named Natalya. He knew because the plaque on her door announced it. On the way to the kitchen, he glanced inside and saw an explosion of pinks and purples, décor clearly organized by a little girl who had a love of unicorns and hippos, mostly clad in tutus, because that was reflected in her plushie collection.Adorable. Myron smiled as he followed Natalya to the kitchen. That expression died as he thought about the discovery of a master bedroom last night, all the way down at the end of the hall.
Andy had told him to make himself at home. That had been right before the man had fallen asleep, worn out and boneless from an orgasm he’d drunkenly declared “the best I’ve ever had.” Myron had taken him athis word and explored the house a little after he’d cleaned up, finding things he knew his brain would puzzle over for weeks to come.
That bedroom was huge, decorated with a tasteful mix of grays and browns. The headboard of dark wood paired with dressers, plural, were offset with more muted accents tucked in amidst artwork and bedding. Plush bedding on a huge king-size bed in a room that lookedentirely unused. He’d studied the space for a long time, turning over all reasons he could think of why Andy would choose to sleep in what was clearly a guest room.
Maybe he just takes his hookups there. Myron’s nose wrinkled like Natalya’s at the thought, notlikinghow that felt.
He’d curtailed his explorations there with a headful of questions, showering quickly before returning to the doublebed in Andy’s room. It had been a rare moment of selfishness, but instead of leaving like he should have, Myron had granted himself permission to slide back between the sheets, tucked close along Andy’s back and wrapped his arms around the sturdy body in front of him. He’d echoed Andy’s contented, sleepy sigh, dropped akiss onthe back of his neck, and burrowed his nose underneath curly hairas he breathed in deeply.
When he’d woken, it was disoriented and wary, because sleepovers were not something Myron did. Hell, none of this, not a bit of it jibed with his normal routine. He didn’t date, didn’t hook up, didn’t dare aim at so lofty a goal as a boyfriend. He had the club, andMason,and his goalwasmaking sure he lived up to the trust the man had put in him so long ago.
As heand Natalya—who preened every time he said her name—worked to mix up a batch of pancakes, Myron kept most of his attention on her, but his mind often drifted back over the previous night.
After the call came in, he’d gotten to the bar in record time to find Brute’s girl, Bexley, already settled at the bar, but thankfully embedded in a group of regulars. She’d been roofied here once, which explainedwhy Brute was so wary. The guy had been someone traveling through, and once the incident was brought to the attention of the bar’s employees and regulars, they’d joined forces with the Rebels in keeping Bex safe. Knowing there were always eyes looking out for her didn’t change their brother’s concern, so any Rebel available to take the call was more than willing.Familyfirst.
Myron had tuckedinto a corner, settled himself at a table and waited. Behind the bar had been empty, which wasn’t unusual if the bartender was working alone. On his previous trip, he’d seen her disappearing into the backroom to quickly change out kegs or find a replacement bottle of booze, so Myron expected his wait for an unwanted beer wouldn’tbe long. He’d been distracted by his phone, responding to a seriesof text questions from a member when he’d heard someone clear their throat nearby.
Myron had looked up into the clearest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen. An ice-blue that should have looked cold, but didn’t, the tanned skin surrounding them lending warmth. Circled by ridiculously long lashes those eyes stared back at him, and Myron felt heat curl in his chest, climbing his neck to his cheeks.
“What’llyou have?” The lyrical, deep voice had seemed to come from a far distance away, wrapping around him like flannel sheets, dragging at his skin in a way that made every nerve ending come alive. He ignored the question, focused instead on those damned eyes, watching as they darkened. “You see something you like, honey?” That same voice, but it had developed a distinct flirty tone, and recognitionhad jolted Myron out of the daze those damned eyes had put him in.
“What?” God, he’d hated how he sounded. His voice had been soft and startled, and so at odds with the persona he had to present to the world all the time, he had hardly recognized it.
“To drink. Do you know what you want?” Myron’s gaze had dropped to the man’s lips, watching them move and stretch as he smiled, seeing the danceof a clever tongue behind lips and teeth.Inthat moment he’d known all this man would have to do was ask and Myron would do anything...anything at all, just to have those eyes and that smile directed his way again.
That need had slipped past his guard, opening up wounds he didn’t know he still carried. Standing in Mouse’s kitchen, Myron flinched at the painful memory.Andy, he thought, rememberingthe request as they’d fumbled off their clothes last night.“Mouse is the guy who works the bar. Here, I’m just Andy.”
“Mister man, what’s your name?” Here was a question he could answer finally, having dodged all her others about why he was there, and why Papa was such a sleepyhead.
“Myron, sweetness. My name is Myron.”
“Myron is Papa’s good friend,babygirl. I hope you haven’t been too biga pest.” Myron and Natalya both jerked around to look at the doorway. Myron let his gaze take in Andy’s casual, rumpled at-home Sunday-morning look, hair a mess and lips still swollen from their kisses last night. “Morning.” That rumbled greeting paired with a salacious wink had Myron’s dick perking up, pulsing with a renewed desire that sent a thrill through him. A strange look swept across Andy’sfeatures for a moment and then he seemed to shake it off, strolling towards where Myron stood next to Natalya. “You look good in my kitchen.” He got close and reached out to place a hand on Myron’s waist, giving a squeeze as he bent to press a kiss to Natalya’s head. “What’s for breakfast, little Talya?”
Andy straightened and was so close Myron feltheatfrom his body all along his front. Andygave him another squeeze that sizzled along Myron’s nerves. Then, as if he knew his effect on Myron, one corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk as he stepped to the side, leaving Myron weaving drunkenly in his wake. That’s what had happened last night, too; Myron had gotten drunk. Not on booze, he’d only had one beer at the bar, but on the heady knowledge that a man like Andy had sensed his attractionand then acted on it, making it clear that he liked Myron’s attention, and more—returned it.
“Pancakes!” Talya crowed, throwing her arms in the air as if having pancakes for breakfast were a lifelong dream finally being realized.
“Then let’s get busy.” As easily as that Andy had accepted Myron’s invasion of his home, working alongside him until they finished preparing the simple meal and followedTalya into the dining room,plateof pancakes in hand.
That was the moment things began to go bad.
