Page 11 of Hot Chicken
“Uh. Okay.” Gage frowned, confused. “But we’ve lived here almost four years.”
“Which is why it’s a surprise,” Hawk said without missing a beat. He gestured proudly to the rooster. “This is Sir Pecksworth, the Cock of Good Fortune.”
“I really wish you wouldn’t call it that,” I muttered.
Gage glanced at the ceramic chicken, and to my utter shock, instead of politely trying to hide his horror, his face broke into a genuine smile.
“Aw, what a cutie!” He moved closer, actually admiring the thing. “His eyes are so lifelike.”
“Lifelike?” I sputtered. “Have youseenan actual chicken, Goodman? How can you be convinced that cows are out tokill you but say ‘aw, cute’ when presented with five pounds of homicidal intent covered in lead paint?” I thrust a hand toward the chicken, lost for words. “It’s not cute. It’s… it’s…”
“A Cock of Good Fortune?” Jack supplied, trying not to laugh.
I glared. “No.”
“I don’t know,” Gage said tightly. “I guess I have really questionable taste in what I find cute, don’t I?”
I opened my mouth, then shut it again.
“I knewyou’dappreciate him, Gage,” Hawk went on. “I was just explaining to Knox that Pecky is all kinds of lucky?—”
“Eh. Mostlyonekind of lucky, to be honest,” Jack murmured.
“—and that I feel like he’s meant for you,” Hawk finished.
“Too bad because Goodman and I don’t want useless dust collectors,” I said firmly.
Gage’s head whipped toward me, and he set his hands on his hips—his nearlynakedhips, given the dangerous way those shorts were riding down.
“Oh,wedon’t?” Gage tilted his head. “How do you know, Knox? How can either of us know how many dust catchers the other needs when we don’ttalkabout it?”
I loved Gage’s snark and—although I might pretend otherwise—his penchant for saying silly things. But this wasn’t snark or silliness. There was a thread of worry and possibly hurt beneath his words that was absolutely unacceptable.
“Okay, that’s it. Hawk, Jack, thanks for coming,” I said. “Though I remind you that you weren’t invited, and you really could have texted first. Now, grab your rooster and go. Goodman and I need to?—”
“Oh, hell no.” Gage grabbed the rooster and cradled it to his chest lovingly. “You’re not getting rid of my Cock of Good Fortune, Knox Sunday. Hawk gave him tome.”
“Well, really, he’s for both—” Hawk began.
Gage cut him off. “If you want to have adiscussionabout this, Knox, you let me know. ButIthink he’s delightful and full of character, andIthink he should sit on our mantel forever. And if you have a problem with that, you need to fucking express it.”
He picked up the bird, crossed to the fireplace in five quick strides—shooting a glare at the disheveled sofa where I’d spent the night as he passed it—and set it in pride of place among the framed photos clustered atop it. Then he folded his arms over his chest, which only emphasized his bare torso.
I liked to think I was an intelligent man, generally speaking. Certainly, I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut, even though the fucking rooster was glaring at me over Gage’s naked shoulder.
“Sure,” I agreed. “Whatever you want.”
“WhateverIwant?” Gage fumed, casting his eyes to the ceiling. “See? This is exactly my point!”
Hawk shot me big eyes that screamedFix this, dumbass, but how the fuck was I supposed to do that when I had no idea what was happening?
In four years together, nothing like this had ever happened to Gage and me.
I had no idea where this was coming from.
Hawk cleared his throat. “Well! Would you look at the time? We’d love to stay, but we need to get home right away so we can…” He hesitated and looked meaningfully at Jack.
“Er… deadhead the dahlias,” Jack supplied.
