“Oh?” Tom asked.
“You should know that Joe has never, and I do mean never, brought anyone to any of our parties. Ever. I really didn’t expect him to come, much less ask for two costumes. That says a lot, believe me. Tell me. What’s Joe said to you?”
“This is Joe we’re talking about, remember?” Tom mumbled. “He’s just….”
“Stubborn? Pigheaded? Wouldn’t know love if it came shimmying down the drainpipe with neon signs and trumpets blaring? If he did actually recognize it, would then think he didn’t deserve it and try to run from here to Timbuktu?”
“Wow, you really do know him well. I think he cares about me. He’s been amazing. It feels right, being with him. But if I get too close, he bolts.”
“Wow.” Ken whistled. “He has got it bad.”
“So… running away is a good thing?” If that was the case, then Joe was nuts about him.
“Joe has a habit of letting his emotions run away with him, but he’s good at covering it up when it happens. It’s all part of that goofy charm of his. The idea of being in love scares the hell out of him, which is understandable, but someone has to teach him that if he doesn’t take a risk, he’ll never get what he wants. Everyone’s got buttons. Even Joe. We just need to find the right one and push it.”
Tom studied Ken warily. The look on his face made him a little nervous. He looked like a cat ready to pounce. “Oh?”
“Don’t you worry, handsome. I know Joe better than Joe knows himself.” He spotted Joe still chatting to Gordon, then looked toward the other end of the roof. “Tom, I’d like to introduce you to someone. Well, someones.” He grabbed Tom’s hand and led him across the roof to a group of young men, flirting and tasting each other’s cocktails.
“Boys,” Ken purred, getting the attention of the five pretty young men—all of whom looked to be in their twenties. They were dressed in Greek togas. “Tom, meet the Brooklyn Brats.”
“Hello,” Tom said nervously as five blond heads and five pairs of sparkling blue eyes all turned simultaneously toward him, their pink lips smiling widely.
“They’re brothers,” Ken whispered. “They’re also scandalous, hell on earth, notoriously flirty, and love a good soldier. Have fun.”
Before Tom could utter a word, Ken was gone and the five blonds were devouring him with their eyes before slowly circling him.
So, this is what it feels like to be thrown to the lions.
JOE finished telling Ken and Gordon about the circumstances surrounding Tom’s sudden appearance in his life, making sure to leave out the parts with the men looking for Tom. He trusted his friends wholeheartedly. Not only were they good people, but they fussed over him as much as Bea and the kids, if not more so. Joe felt guilty for not keeping in touch as much as he wanted. He had a habit of hiding away in his own little world.
“If I were you, I’d take that as a sign,” Ken said with a grin. He took another sip of his cocktail, a mischievous look in his eyes.
“Yeah, a sign that you need help,” Joe grumbled, tightening his hands around the whip. He was grateful for the prop. He wouldn’t have known what to do with his hands otherwise, seeing as his pants had no pockets. Well, fake pockets. What was it with clothes and fake pockets? What was the point? They were deceptive, and evil. “You’re suggesting I shack up with a guy I found outside my doorstep because he’s good-looking.” Not that he’d been doing less scandalous things with Tom already, but his friends certainly didn’t have to know that.
Ken waved his concerns away. “Don’t be silly. He’s not just a gorgeous man you found on your doorstep. He’s Tom. You’ve been living with him for a few weeks now, spending all day and night with him. So what if you don’t know where he’s from or what his job is? What’s it matter compared to having someone completely crazy about you?”
Joe choked on his drink, then murmured, “Thank you,” to Gordon for the napkin to wipe the dribble off his chin. Classy. “Who said he’s crazy about me?”
Ken shrugged.
“No, Ken, no—” He mimicked Ken’s shrug. “Use words. Words that make sense to normal people like me and Gordon.” That got a snort from Ken.
“Normal? Honey, normal people don’t stick their heads in household appliances. Besides, who wants to be normal when you can have a Roman centurion?”
“When did everyone become such an expert in Roman history?” Joe frowned. At the puzzled expressions he sighed. “I thought he was a gladiator.”
Gordon shook his head. “Gladiators were combatants. Centurion’s had the helmets with the plumes. They were officers of the Roman armies.”