“No,” Miki said, making a face. “I didn’t know. Dude, I told you. I don’t cook. I boil water on the stove and make scrambled eggs. I’ve got a rice cooker, a coffee machine that makes me hot water, and a microwave. What else do I need?”
“No wonder you’re scrawny.” Kane put his hands on Miki’s waist and moved him out of the way. The young man’s thin cotton pants and loose T-shirt did nothing to mask the heat coming up from Miki’s skin, and Kane’s hands burned from the contact. “Go sit down someplace.”
Miki nodded and hitched himself up onto the counter, leaning back on his hands to watch Kane cook. “Okay.”
“Really? On the counter?” Kane gave him an annoyed look. “Your ass is on a place you’re going to put food.”
“My ass. My counter,” Miki replied, shrugging. “And I’ve never put food here. Too far away from the stove and everything.”
“Raised by fucking wolves,” the cop muttered. “Stay there, and keep out of the way.”
Miki was quiet as Kane heated the grill for the steaks, but his hazel eyes watched the cop’s every move. Once in a while, Kane looked up to find the young man studying him intently, especially when Kane pulled a few potatoes out of the microwave and began to mash them with butter and milk.
“I was wondering what that thing was,” Miki said softly. “I knew what the egg beater was, but that thing was all kinds of fucked up.”
“You can mash parsnips with it too,” Kane replied.
“What’s a parsnip?” Miki cocked his head, his wet hair falling to the side. “Is that like a vegetable? Don’t like those much.”
“You don’t like beans or vegetables?” Kane tsked. “What the hell do you eat? Never mind. Don’t answer that. I’ve seen what you eat. I’m surprised you’re still alive.”
“I eat.” Miki pointed to the pantry. “There’s food in there.”
“There’s a salt lick and artificial preservatives in there,” Kane shot back. “I’m surprised you’re not a giant, salty Cheeto. Here, taste this and tell me what you think.”
Kane held out a spoonful of potatoes for Miki to taste. The man closed his eyes and leaned forward, opening his mouth into an O and waiting for Kane to slide the spoon in. Swallowing at the erotic sight, Kane braced his trembling hand by the wrist, then slid the potatoes through Miki’s parted lips and into his mouth.
“Tastes good. Like KFC’s.” Miki opened his eyes and mumbled around the mouthful. “It’s really good.”
“Really? Kentucky Fried Chicken?” Kane scoffed. “Fucking hell.”
“What? KFC makes the best potatoes. Better than Denny’s. I like their gravy too. Lots of pepper.” Miki nodded. “Their coleslaw rocks. It’s like the only salad I like.”
“I don’t even… don’t say shit like that around my mother. You’ll give her a heart attack,” he said, checking on the steaks. “Then she’ll beat the crap out of me for not feeding you actual food.”
“Yeah, don’t think that’ll happen. I don’t do so good with parents.” Miki leaned forward. “Most of them think I’m crap. Johnny and Dave’s parents are okay. They e-mail once in a while, but Damien’s probably wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire.”
“You don’t get along with them?” Kane tested the steaks with his finger, feeling the meat bounce back.
“They hate my guts.” Another shrug, but Miki’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s okay, really. I mean, now it is. I guess I figured since Damien and I were close, we’d… have a connection or something. They just don’t feel that way.”
“Were they assholes to you?” Kane flipped the steaks on the grill.
“They’re still assholes,” Miki replied. “I lost him too. Fuckers keep coming after me for shit like merchandising rights and stuff. Last week, they wanted to use Blind Crossing for a car commercial. I told them no… well, I told Edie no. I don’t talk to them directly. Lawyers think it’s better that way.”
“So no commercials?” Kane grinned. “Don’t want to sell instant coffee?”
“Hey, I don’t care.” He wrinkled his nose. “It’d pay the rent, but Damien hated that kind of shit. Said it would be over his dead body. So now… even over his dead body, I’m going to say no.”
“You and he ever….” Kane refused to look over his shoulder at the singer. “You know, ever hook up?”
“With Damie? Hell no,” Miki said, shuddering. His heels set a beat against the cabinet door as he swung his legs. “It’d be like you hooking up with… what’s your older brother’s name? Connor? D was the one who… I don’t know… it was like he got me. I never had to explain what I was thinking or what I wanted to do. He just knew. We could write stuff together, and it was easy. Everything just was… easy. Now, everything’s kind of fucked up, and I don’t know what to do without him. Especially with the band stuff. He took care of all of that. I only had to write music and sing.”