Tuesday, April 19, 2022

You Belong to Me - 82

 

Corey and Scott were definitely compatible in bed. They proved that twice before falling into an exhausted sleep. So when the alarm went off much too soon on Tuesday morning, Corey smacked it so hard it fell off the nightstand. He told it to shut up when it kept beeping.

 

Scott laughed. “Easy there.”

 

It took Corey a moment to realize the voice didn’t come from next to him. He cracked open one eye enough to see that Scott was dressed already. “Up and at ’em,” Scott told him, coming over to ruffle Corey’s hair.

 

Corey grabbed his wrist, grumbling, “Don’t wanna.”

 

“Tough, little boy. If I have to go to work, so do you, so move it.”

 

With a sigh Corey sat up, muttering, “I’m not a little boy.”

 

Scott grinned. “Then quit acting like one. If you get your butt in gear, I might be persuaded to take you out to breakfast.”

 

“Now there’s an offer I won’t refuse.”

 

Twenty minutes later they were out the door after arranging to meet at a breakfast place close to the shelter, since they were both driving. They arrived virtually at the same time and walked together to the restaurant.

 

As they neared the door, Corey saw the headline of the paper in the news box. Swearing softly, he inserted a quarter in the slot and took one. “Well, I guess I’m getting my fifteen minutes of fame, like it or not.”

 

Folding the paper under his arm, he waited until they were inside and seated before reading the article. “Poor Silas,” he murmured when he finished the story about the capture of the stalker.

 

“Did they mention him by name?” Scott asked.

 

“No. Just Travis… and me.” Corey grimaced. “They even kept your name out of it.”

 

“Better have.”

 

“You’re called ‘Mr. Byrne’s friend, who was targeted by the stalker’ and other words to that effect. They did tie it in to Brad’s killing at my place.” Corey blew out a breath of frustration. “I don’t think I’ll have to tell anyone at the shelter I’m gay. They would just have to read this to know.”

 

Reaching across the booth table, Scott took his hand. “You’ll be fine. I’m betting other than some surprise, no one’s really going to give a damn.”

 

“Please, God, make that true.”

 

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