“So… the thing?” he urged when the brothers stopped bickering for a second.
Todd’s face got more serious, and he nodded. “We move the drugs tomorrow. I know you need the money, so be there.”
No more cryptology then.
Sweat beaded on Caspian’s neck. “Oh. And the drugs are so heavy that I’m required…?”
Ralph regarded him with a scowl, but Todd laughed out loud.
“Always the joker, eh?” he said. “Dumbass. We need more muscle, just in case.”
In case… what? But Caspian kept the confusion to himself this time. His gaze wandered to the cracked screen again, then to the bulge at the front of his pants, to the strong, tattooed abs, and as Todd muttered something in his low, rumbly voice, the words Bud had said to the real Caspian last night came right back.
My thumb’s longer than his dick!
Caspian’s head pulsed, and his hand trembled around the smartphone. The things he could do with Gunner’s body and the right app… Nobody would ever dare mock Gunner Russo’s size. And nobody would ever complain about the length of his dick.
But no matter how much his knuckles itched, he nodded, unwilling to get hurt over nothing when he could be downloading Grindr. “I’ll be there,” he said to end this worthless conversation. “See you later, gotta go to work.”
Ralph blinked several times. “You got a job?”
Of course scum like Russo would be unemployed.
“Something like that,” Caspian mumbled and rushed back to the trailer with his finger tapping the screen every now and then so he wouldn’t have to guess the PIN again.
But as he shut the door behind him and opened the app store, a new thought appeared in his mind, inflating to a point where both hunger and lust diminished.
If he was in Gunner Russo’s body, then where was Gunner?
Chapter 3 - Gunner
Gunner couldn’t remember ever sleeping this soundly. Instead of the tap of cockroach legs marching over packets of chips, he could hear birds tweeting outside, and Sandy must have done the laundry for once, because the fresh scent of cotton lulled him into keeping his eyes shut for a bit longer.
He was also alone. Sandy didn’t bother him. Fluffer wasn’t meowing for food. No one knocked at his door. He actually enjoyed the furball cuddling up to him in the morning, but it was nice to just enjoy a bit of peace. The one thing that could make this morning better would be the sound of a piano, but he didn’t feel like getting up to attach earbuds to his phone. He stretched and was surprised when neither his knuckles nor toes reached the walls.
But what made him open his eyes was the scent of pancakes coming from somewhere farther away, because it could only mean Sandy had done something so terrible it warranted a cooked breakfast to appease him. What was it this time? Had she stolen his credit card and maxed it out? Gunner was already knee-deep in shit, since he’d only managed to gather half the money he owed Snowman this week. His nerves became tight strings, and he sat up, ready to face another shitty day.
Instead of the formerly-white cupboards at the footboard of his bed, he saw flat concrete blocks attached to the opposite wall and windows hidden behind long black curtains reaching all the way from the ceiling to the floor.
It was bright enough outside that the light peeking in around the dense fabric revealed a large television hung across from the bed, with display cabinets on one side and shelves full of DVDs on the other. Under the screen was a modern-looking media unit boasting at least two game consoles along with some more tech. As Gunner took in the room larger than his entire trailer, he noticed a fitted wardrobe taking up the entirety of the side wall, and above the wooden headboard—a massive painting depicting a sports car racing on a white background.
Where the hell was he, and who had he cheated on Sandy with last night?
He rolled out of bed, already dreading that he might bump into the woman’s husband or boyfriend, but the longer he took in the interior, the more confused he got. Nothing about the space could be considered even remotely feminine.
The lump in Gunner’s throat obstructed his airways when he considered that he might have gotten drunk enough to drive to another town and somehow hook up with a man.
And didn’t remember it.
He opened the curtains in an effort to get in more light and make the search for last night’s clothes a bit easier, but he froze when his gaze fell on the long, slim fingers of his hand.
His tattoos were gone, and the dense dark hair covering his forearms had been replaced by a sparse dusting, barely visible on pale, smooth skin. A garden extended beyond the window with a green lawn while across the street, a house straight out of affluent suburbia blinded him with its white walls and shiny golden gate