The Fix Is In (Torus Intercession 4)

I leaned into the hug because I wanted it, the closeness, the warmth. Mostly I wanted him all to myself. “I wasn’t gonna do it,” I said under my breath. “I couldn’t. I just said I should if I was smart.”

“Which you’re not,” he teased me.

“Never have been, no.”

He chuckled softly.

“Just don’t hurt me, all right?”

“Don’t worry, Shaw James,” he teased me, whispering in my ear. “I will never break your heart.”

Not on purpose he wouldn’t.

Leaving the baggage claim, I was surprised to find Cooper Davis waiting for us. He wore a baseball cap that had seen far better days, the logo indistinct now, and was propped against a pillar staring off into space. The cap was pulled down low, hitting aviator sunglasses that were ridiculous to be wearing at night, or in this case, early morning. He was layered, because this was Chicago so it was already cold. There was his heavy brown leather jacket and a hoodie under that and what looked like a T-shirt under that. His jeans were faded, and his hiking boots were beat to hell. He would have looked a bit homeless if not, again, for the sunglasses, which I knew had cost him a mint.

“What’re you doing here?” I groused at him.

“Being nice, asshole,” he retorted sharply and then turned to look at Benji and smiled, offering his hand. “I’m Cooper Davis. I work at Torus as well.”

Benji, of course, was enchanted.

I had no idea what it was about Cooper Davis. In a traditional sense, he was not a handsome man. He was not the kind of man, like Rais, who turned heads. No one ever watched him walk by. He was actually sort of plain, with his brown eyes and brown hair that kicked out in the back. His eyes turned down at the corners, so he always looked a bit sad even when he was smiling, his nose was slightly too big for his face, and his ears stuck out, which was why, I suspected, his hair was always a bit shaggy to cover them. Separately, the parts of his face didn’t equal anything special. But when he smiled or laughed, somehow his face transformed, and it was impossible to look away. If he spoke, he was simply riveting. The sound of his voice was so appealing, mellifluous, nearly drugging, that people were drawn like bees to honey. It was hard to say what it was about him, because when I’d tried to set him up in the past, the guys, and girls, I’d shown his picture to always squinted and looked at me sideways like I was nuts. But if we ran into them in person and he offered his hand and smiled and greeted them, just as he had Benji, there was always the same reaction. They would follow him right on home or suggest he follow them.

Cooper took my duffel, the smaller one, and put his arm around Benji’s shoulders as he led him toward the exit. “I came to pick you guys up out of the goodness of my heart, because after one in the morning, it’s very hard to get a cab around here.”

“That’s very kind,” Benji assured him.

“And of course I wanted to meet you, Mr. Grace,” he said, his voice with that sultry quality that made me want to punch him at the moment. He was not allowed to use his charm on Benji.

“Please call me Benji,” he insisted, easing out from under Cooper’s arm to take my hand, bumping me gently before falling into step beside me.

I glanced at Cooper, who gave me an eyebrow waggle in response.

“I’m starving,” I grumbled at my colleague.

“What kind of late-night cuisine are you wanting?”

I whimpered.

“Hot dogs it is,” Cooper announced cheerfully.

“What? No,” Benji replied, clearly horrified. “Shaw, we can go to your place and I’ll make you an omelet or––”

“Nope,” Cooper assured him, cackling. “He wants Italian Beef or a Polish Sausage or hot dogs. They make good fries too.”

“Shaw?”

“I’ll get you a veggie pita,” I comforted him.

“Oh well––” He cleared his throat. “––veggie, you say?”

I grunted.

“Well then, I guess we could eat.”

Cooper’s chuckle made me smile.

I could tell from his sigh when he saw it that Benji was a fan of my townhouse in Lincoln Park. Cooper dropped us off out front, on the sidewalk, and after we both waved, I led him to my wrought-iron gate and unlocked it with the fob in my pocket. The front yard was tiny, dominated by an oak tree on the right and grass on the left. Climbing the stoop, I noted his smile.

“What?”

“Shaw, this is just beautiful.”

I grunted. “It’s only the outside.”

“Yes, but––” He took a breath. “––I’m already understanding what it must be like inside.”

I scoffed. “C’mon, I’m thinking you grew up in a mansion, and the apartment you had in Portland… I bet it was a beautiful place with a doorman.”