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“I’m a psychopath,” Atticus blurted. The stranger leaned forward, his whisper conspiratorial. “I’m a Scorpio. I still like banging dudes.”
Jericho placed a soft kiss on his lips. “Come back.”
He turned away only to find himself spun back around and pushed against the brick wall, Jericho’s lips millimeters from his. “That’s not how you say goodbye to me.”
“That’s the problem. Have you ever met somebody who you just let…take you over?” “You getting laid, Sunshine, or demonically possessed?” Calliope teased. “Though, if the sex is good enough, it could feel like a little bit of both.” “A demon would be easier to get rid of.” Because he would actually want a demon expelled from his body. But not Jericho. And that was a big problem.
That was fine with Jericho. He would happily let Atticus play pillow princess if that made him happy.
Mutually assured destruction guaranteed loyalty. At least in the Mulvaney household.
Atticus, the psychopath, had made Jericho feel a little bit better after a super shitty day. That shouldn’t have made him feel good but it did.
“I don’t mind babying you, Freckles. I don’t mind all those big feelings you pretend you don’t have. I like taking care of you.”
I found broken boys who needed a purpose and taught them how to utilize their evolutionary advantage to help the greater good.”
“That’s the first time you’ve lied to me,” Atticus said. “Don’t do it again.”
“But mostly, I believe it because I’m pretty sure you’re in love with me.”
“Yeah, having our own private doctor on staff rocks. What else do you have in your magical tackle box?”
“Goddammit. I need a bigger fucking target,” Atticus growled, frustration leaching into his tone. Atticus watched Jericho’s shoulders rise, heard him take a huge breath, heard him let it out, his shoulders falling. That was for Atticus. Somehow, Atticus knew that was Jericho calming him down.
