Then he turned to Breisi, who didn’t look any more convinced than Dawn was.
“Get off it, Breez. The boss just took some convincing is all. He knows I can handle myself. I’m fit as a fiddle.”
Proving it, he kicked out with a tiny leg. The only sign of back agitation was his tight, smug smile.
“You slept off the last pill?” Breisi asked.
“Of course.” Kiko widened his eyes so his coworkers could peer into them. “See?”
Breisi looked into his gaze, and when Dawn had her turn, she supposed he was focusing well enough.
“We don’t want you to be in any discomfort, Kik,” she said. “That’s all.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
At his casualness, Breisi gave him one last, long glance, then powered out the door. The outside UV lights blared on, swallowing her up.
Dawn started to follow, but Kiko grabbed her jacket, stopping her.
“About earlier,” he said, sheepish.
Her mind rewound. Blur-de-blur-de-whir. Past what she’d done with The Voice, past Kiko telling her off on the way home, past their meeting with the Tomlinsons. Then she fast-forwarded a bit, landing on Kiko saying, “I guess my painkillers are safer than yours any day. So back off, okay?”
“What about it?” she asked, not wanting to go there with him, either.
“I…I wasn’t in the best of moods. Sorry about getting on your case.”
“We just…” She cleared her throat. “I guess we just worry about each other. That’s all. Now let’s—”
“Because you’ve gotten a lot better about sleeping around lately.” Kiko had clearly been rehearsing this speech and he was hell-bent on delivering it. “When I first met you, I couldn’t help reading you because you were putting off such strong, needy vibes.”
Awk. Ward. “But you stopped reading me after that because I’m not the massive ho you fear anymore, so no worries. ’Kay?” Rolling her eyes, she started toward the door.
“No, wait. You’re right.” He got red in the face. “I can tell that you’re doing real good…. I mean, you’re trying real hard to…”
A flash of The Voice inside of her, filling her, made Dawn flush with guilt.
Kiko sighed. “What I’m saying is that I admire how you’ve controlled yourself. And I can do the exact same thing.” He gave her an admiring glance, then looked down as he shuffled his oversized shoes.
Oh. But, ah, hell, she could’ve told him that the only reason she wasn’t going around slammin’ half the town was because she was limited on time. A lot had changed about her, but she doubted she’d ever be able to give up sex. She’d just changed her own prescriptions, that’s all.
Wanting this conversation to be over, she fidgeted. “Thanks” was all she could say without incriminating herself.
“So we’re cool?” he asked.
“We’re cool.”
She offered him a white-flag grin, and he broke into a full-fledged smile, clearly Happy Kiko resurrected.
He headed out the door, leaving a blare of UV lighting in his wake. The chill of it swept into the foyer, bathing the portrait of Fire Woman over the mantel.
She peered straight through Dawn, as if to say, “If only he knew the truth, because I do.”
Impulsively, Dawn flew the bird at her, then left the house, protected by the lights until she reached the SUV.
As they drove into the twilight, Dawn kicked it in the backseat. A shade-wearing Kiko had grabbed the front, which meant he was back to normal. Thank God.
While driving, Breisi said they were heading toward Santa Monica Boulevard, like yesterday, but tonight they’d be stopping in West Hollywood to intercept Sasha Slutskaya at work.
“Did you say we’re going to the eight-thousand block of the boulevard?” Dawn asked.
“Yes.”
Kiko glanced at Dawn in the backseat, and both of them seemed to come to an understanding at the same time.
“Boystown,” they both said.
“Hot dog,” Kiko added. “Mr. Sasha?”
When they finally reached the address, their suspicions were confirmed.
After parking in the street, which wasn’t too challenging during an early weeknight, they stood in front of a bar called Red Five. It was innocent enough on the outside, wedged between a sampling of other gay Boystown bars, but on the inside…
Na-ht so innocent.
Dawn had never seen Kiko shut up so completely as he did when they strolled into the blue-lit building. Happy Hour was advertised on every neon-markered black sign, which explained the unexpected crowd. Oversized golden cages held boy babes in go-go gear. Gargantuan screens played scenes from a cool-attitude movie; Dawn thought it might be The Usual Suspects. Large metal buckets attached to the ceiling near the walls sluiced water over cavorting patrons every few minutes, much to their yelps of delight. It seemed like every man was holding a martini, creating a rainbow of alcohol-drenched streamers. Tight shirts, no shirts—it didn’t matter as they all danced with their arms around each other.