14
Mickey asked Benito to meet him at Bletchley Park. He thought about waiting in his car like a weirdo, but the sun drew him out to a bench outside the grand old house. He tapped at his phone, fudging his way through email drafts he’d check over later. Messages pinged through from the office and from Isha, but they were all signed off with the same instruction:Don’t action this until tomorrow. Enjoy your day off.
It had been months since he’d taken a four-day week, and when he’d checked his phone after Benito had left the day before, Isha had finally rumbled him.
“Self-care days are mandatory. You have no home visits on Monday. Take the day, and I’ll look at the rest of your schedule to make sure you’re not pulling too many hours.”
Mickey sighed. Isha was the best boss in the world, but he didn’t understand that Mickeyneededto be busy. Those hours and hours home alone with nothing and no one to occupy his time sent him crawling back to hell.You’re not alone, though. Benito is coming.
IfBenito came. He’d gone offline before he’d read Mickey’s last message, and Mickey hadn’t looked at WhatsApp since. Sometimes leaving things to chance reset his brain.
Others it sent him round the bend, but today was a good day. Spending eight hours in his bed with Benito simply sleeping and talking had left him feeling oddly zen, and he clung to the sensation like a drowning man.
Or like an addict obsessed with anything that made him feel good.
Becausefuck, Benito made him feel amazing, even when he was asleep, stretched out beside Mickey with his lovely face half hidden by a pillow, his arm flung over Mickey’s belly.
He’s cute.A reach for a self-confessed ex-gangster, but it fit.
Ex-gangster?Mickey frowned at his phone and pushed the creeping suspicion away. He’d wasted enough time on paranoid thoughts lately. Right now, he wanted to walk in the sun with a hot dude and discover things about him that didn’t make his dark eyes flash with pain.I want to know the other stuff.Because whatever Benito said about himself, he was still the kind of man who left groceries on the doorstep of the mother he could barely stand and brought his little sister breakfast every morning before school.
He’s good. I know he is.
“Is that porn?”
Mickey jumped. Benito stood in front of him, bundled up in a North Face jacket and squinting into the winter sun. “You think I’d look at porn outside a museum?”
Benito shrugged. “I’ve never thought about you outside a museum.”
“You don’t think I’m the type?”
“To wank at a museum?”
A grin warmed Mickey from the inside out. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I meant.”
Benito smiled too and rubbed his hands together, blowing on them. “Wanker or not, it’s fuckingcold.”
“Don’t like the great outdoors?”
“I like it well enough. Just figured we’d be spending the day inside.”
“I have you for the whole day?”
“If you like.”
Mickey rose from the bench. “Works for me.”
They set off at a slow amble, meandering past the clusters of buildings that housed various displays of the enigma codebreakers. Benito thrust his hands in his pockets and stared at the ground. “There’s something I should probably tell you.”
Cold dread threatened the easy warmth Benito’s appearance had gifted Mickey. He shot Benito major side eye. “Is it bad?”
“Depends on your definition of bad.”
Mickey smirked. “You know my definition of bad. It’s good, right? Always fucking good.”
Benito’s lips twitched. He licked them, as if it helped simmer down whatever image Mickey had planted in his head. Then he shook his head. “I’m not talking about that.”
“Then what?”