Sloe Ride by Rhys Ford Read Free Book Online Page B

complete with cherrywood wainscoting, antique furniture, and a large expanse of a bar dedicated to brewing teas and rich-bodied coffees. Small intimate alcoves were set up along the walls, cordoned off by old Asian screens or half walls of wood and frosted glass. Behind the bar, a bald, nearly cadaverous man with a curled-up mustache the color of bright pennies steamed milk, and he looked up to nod at Quinn as they passed.
    “Two of the same, Professor Morgan?” A young woman in a black shirtwaist dress fell into step between them, and Rafe found himself frowning at the pretty, flirtatious smile she gave Quinn.
    “Are lattes okay, Rafe?” Quinn got tangled in the young girl’s path when he turned back. He stumbled, sidestepping her again as she moved into his way. “Damn. Pardon me.”
    “I’m sorry, is he with you?”
    Rafe caught the slight assessing look the elfin-faced brunette shot his way. He also saw Quinn stiffen slightly when her hand drifted across the small of Quinn’s back.
    “Yeah, sugar. He’s with me.” Rafe glided up into Quinn’s space, neatly paring her off of him. “We order off the menu here or up at the bar? I’d like something besides sugar and cop in my stomach right now.”
    “Menus are on the tables. We’ll be at the back, Jeanine,” Quinn called out as Rafe shuffled behind him toward a corner of the wedge-shaped shop. “By the bookcases.”
    Rafe could see why Quinn chose the spot he had. Chances were it was a favorite, familiar niche in Q’s life, a square carved out by a pair of heavy shelves and up against one of the half-curtained windows looking out into the street. A couple of wingback chairs, worn sage velvet and nearly black wood, sat abreast of a round tea table in the same dark wood—a matched set from someone’s purloined estate, Rafe guessed. With the shelves on either side of them, it was a cozy nook, large enough to move about in yet intimate and warm for conversation.
    Or in Quinn’s case, a space to breathe and get away from the noisy rush of people around him.
    It hadn’t been that long since Rafe’d been with the green-eyed apple of Donal’s eye. He’d not forgotten the nearly panicky need Quinn had at times to get away—to not be touched—to seek out some quiet from the simmering bustle of his family and the rest of the world.
    Or at least that’s what Rafe was sure pissed him off about the brunette nearly putting her hand on Quinn’s ass.
    “Nice place.” Rafe slid into the chair, keeping an eye on the ever-helpful Jeanine as she bustled about gathering their coffees. “One of the guys you work with owns it, you said?”
    “He’s a professor. Really brilliant. A linguist—a damned good one. Speaks thirteen languages. Reads more. His husband’s an investigator. I like them.” Quinn passed over a sheet of paper with the coffee shop’s food selections. “They’re in Egypt right now.”
    “What’re they doing there?”
    “Chasing mummies. Or being chased by mummies. One of the two.” Quinn’s eyes sparkled when Rafe looked up at him. “The pastrami’s good, but avoid the vegan grilled cheese.”
    “I barely like vegetables there, Q. I’m not going to eat cheese made out of them.” Rafe could almost taste the foul on his tongue. “Pass.”
    “They’re not made from vegetables. And I’ve had some really good ones, but those are made out of tree nut milk. I think they’re using something cheddar-like for the grilled cheese—”
    “What the fucking hell is a tree nut? Like almonds? Why not just tell you it’s almonds?” He cut Quinn off, mostly to see the light hit Quinn’s face as he geared up to answer. Rafe didn’t realize how much he missed hearing Quinn talk . How he got lost in the labyrinth of his brain, pulling out pieces of floss and brightly hued scraps of information Rafe adored listening to.
    Mostly, he missed the soft smile Quinn got when he began to share the brilliant slivers of things he’d gathered along the