The flip-flops were a sartorial choice.
“I know you can.” He stepped away from Neil and touched Alain’s collarbone, then drew a finger slowly downward over smooth skin to where the buttons held the shirt closed. “You look good, little one. Are you ready for our day?”
“Oui, M’sieur, I’s ready to the bone.”
The Cajun French was as sexy as it was adorable, and with Alain, it was hard to separate the two. “Mon petit.” He gave the boy a wink and headed for the foyer. “Let’s go then.”
“Y’all be good now,” Neil called after them. “No naughtiness.”
“That’s your arena! See you at lunch.” Isaac called back. “Did you pack up your goodies for Brandon and Peter?”
“Yes, Sir. I got all the veggie goodness for them, and a whole new, fresh corn bread, and a ’naner pudding.”
Alain had slipped out of bed early to cook for their friends, and Isaac had woken up to the sound of the boy’s lovely rich singing voice drifting down the hallway. He and Neil had laid in bed a few extra minutes soaking in that joy before finally getting up and hitting the shower.
Alain was constantly in motion—head, body, and spirit. It wasn’t unpleasant at all, but Isaac imagined the boy got exhausted. So, in addition to revisiting the discussion of Alain’s art this evening, he would see what it took to make the boy keep still too.
He was looking forward to that.
Neil had a truck because cops needed wheels, but Isaac had never bothered. He stuck a hand out as they reached the curb, got a taxi, and they were on their way downtown.
“How long have you been in the city? I’m sure you told me, but I’ve forgotten.”
“A few years—long enough to feel comfortable, but not long enough to feel like I’m a New Yorker, M’sieur.”
He’d been here over ten years, and he wasn’t sure he felt like a New Yorker either, but he was one. “Oh, you’re a New Yorker. You’ve earned that badge. It’s like getting mugged or robbed or run over by a bicycle messenger…if you live through some shit here and still want to stay? You’re one of us.”
“Yeah? Are you from here, then? I know Chou ain’t. He’s Texan to the bone.”
“No, I’m from up north. Maine. About as far from Texas as you can get.” He chuckled. “How did you end up rooming with Peter? Luck?”
“Yes, Sir. I had a place with another artist. He moved out, and Peter moved in. We ended up being real good friends.” Alain smiled at him, the expression in those dark eyes unreadable.
“I think the universe sends us the people we need in our lives. It seems like both you and Peter have evolved a lot in the last little while. In good ways. Hm?” He wanted to pick up the thread, ask about the art, but not yet. After their visit, or during if it came up, but he wanted to stay on a positive note for now.
“Oui, M’sieur. He’s so happy, and I was real mad at him at first, but that wasn’t a bit nice of me. I wasn’t in a nice place, me. Not at all.” Alain glanced at him, just ever so quickly. “But Peter is a good guy, and he forgave me. No bullshit, no fussing. Just, I understand. It’s okay.”
“Because he’s a real friend, and he cares about you.” Learning who to trust and who not to in this city, in their lifestyle, was hard. Not everyone got burned as badly as Alain had though; that was criminal. “I do too. I know it’s odd, because I started out as your doctor but…” Isaac was the one they’d called when they found Alain. Isaac and Neil, both. He knew more about Alain’s injuries—and exactly how he’d gotten them—than he really wanted to.
“I’m sorry that you had to see me like that. You don’t never want a-an intimate type person to have to meet you when you’re at your worst.” Alain shrugged and sighed softly. “I’ll just have to work to erase that meeting in your mind.”
He shook his head. “No. I don’t think that’s what we need. I think we need to move past that time together, and it will be good for you because so much doesn’t need to be said. We already know.” He rested his hand on Alain’s thigh. “You don’t want to erase memories. You want to look back at them and understand how strong you are now and how far you have come.”
Alain ducked his head. “I hope you’re right, M’sieur, but I don’t know. I didn’t feel so brave.”
“You’re braver now. And stronger. I see it very clearly.” He gave the boy a smile, fingers gliding over Alain’s leg. “We’re almost there.”
“We are. Are they excited to see us?” Alain grinned at him and seemed five years younger, and Isaac wanted to kiss that smiling mouth.
He laughed as they climbed out of the taxi. “I think so. Or they’re excited about the food. You be the judge.” Brandon’s building was stunning—part penthouse, part workshop, and part fetish and BDSM boutique. He reached for the buzzer, knowing it would be a minute before Peter made it down to them.
“Oh, my food is way more interesting than me, that’s for sure.” Alain waggled his eyebrows, playing with him.
“I don’t know about that.” He got a good handful of Alain’s tight ass and gave it a squeeze. Brazen for the sidewalk in broad daylight, and he didn’t care one bit.
“Oooee!” Alain’s sound was foreign and wonderful and wild.
The door opened and Peter welcomed them in. “I’d know that hooting anywhere. Come in, come in, Sir.” Peter nodded to him and kissed Alain on the cheek. “And you.”