Guarding January Read Free Page A

lettuce, and sliced turkey breast out of the fridge, along with the mayo and mustard.
    “I’m going to take a shower. I’m cold.”
    “We can go back upstairs when I’m done with the sandwiches.” Sandwiches were totally portable. And he wanted to keep LJ out of the bedroom he was hiding in as much as possible.
    “This is my house. I don’t need fucking permission to take a shower.”
    Rye put the sandwiches together, not pointing out that LJ hadn’t made a single move to actually get up off the stool he was sitting on.
    Finally, LJ got up and headed for the fridge and got a bottle of water, towel dropping away.
    Pale-as-milk skin broken by dark tattoos Rye wanted a closer look at, and so fucking skinny. Definitely a grown man, though. Wait. “Is that metal in your prick?” It was amazing he hadn’t noticed earlier, but then he’d been trying not to notice anything.
    “Yeah. Double PA, got a dydoe, a frenum, and a hafada. It’s a thing.”
    A fucking sexy thing.
    Rye pushed that thought away, along with the sudden thought that all that pale skin would bruise amazingly.
    “They let you keep ’em during rehab?”
    “They’re not made of uppers. They weren’t concerned about my prick.”
    “Yeah, that makes sense. I didn’t know if they wanted you to eschew all the trappings of the lifestyle that you were in while hooked or what.” He put the sandwiches on a couple of plates. “How about we go sit out in the sun while we eat?”
    “I’m a vampire, remember? No sun.”
    Look at them, having a conversation. “We’ll slather you with SPF 1000.”
    “I tell you what, I’ll go shower, dress, and then I’ll meet you outside, okay?”
    “It’s a deal.” It was far more than he’d expected, actually.
    “Cool.” LJ disappeared, sliding out of the room like smoke.
    They’d had an actual conversation; LJ had not only been downstairs, but promised to come back; and there was the potential for getting food into that too-skinny body.
    And all Rye’d had to do was throw the guy into the pool.
     
     
    J EFF TOOK a long shower, luxuriating in spray battering at him from all sides, the scent of his soap—roses and sandalwood. He’d showered in rehab, of course, and it had been luxurious, but this was home. This was his shower.
    He cleaned himself over and over, touching himself, letting himself feel something good.
    Letting himself feel.
    Maybe he could just stay in here. Would the giant allow it?
    Probably not. He needed to call Donna, have her back the big guy off a few notches. Hell, she gave him a day off, right?
    He kept touching himself, tempting fate.
    Finally, though, the promise of music and warm clothes drew him out. He dried off, found a pair of huge sweats and an even bigger shirt, his ubiquitous hoodie, socks, stompy boots, and full makeup.
    Not January’s costume, but some hybrid between Jeff and January.
    To his credit, Rye was sitting out on the deck, looking unconcerned about where he was. And the man was in the shade instead of the sun too.
    Jeff headed out, hiding in his hoodie, burrowing deep in the shadows.
    Rye gave him a smile that made him look really handsome. “Got your armor on, I see.”
    “There are cameras everywhere.”
    “You’ve got a nine-foot privacy fence and nothing behind the house….”
    Jeff shrugged. There were pictures online of everything, even a few of rehab. Those people were clever, crafty.
    “It’s got to be hard, wearing the bad boy facade all the time.” Rye handed over a plate with a sandwich on it.
    “Yeah, it totally sucks having groupies and money.” He winked, putting the sandwich on the table. Honestly, he didn’t care about that. He wanted the music, wanted the lights and the pulse of the crowd. He loved that, being everything Jefferson Smart wasn’t.
    “So why’d you turn to drugs?” Rye handed the plate with the sandwich back.
    “I like them.” It was as simple as that. They were everywhere, they made life faster, made him better,