Forgive and Forget(32)

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.”

Joe was uninspired. “Thanks, professor. I’ll make sure to brush up on my history lesson before the next costume party.” He’d started to open his mouth when he heard a gaggle of laughter and titters erupt from the corner of the roof. Craning his neck around Ken, his jaw nearly unhinged at the sight of the Brooklyn Brats all over Tom. “When the hell did he become such a social butterfly?”

“Hmm?” Ken casually turned to see what Joe was scowling at. “Looks like he’s quite the catch. They’re practically throwing themselves at his feet.”

“Among other things,” Joe grunted, his eyes narrowing at the spectacle. “Those little hussies! Look at them. They’re shameless.” One blond Adonis was hanging on to Tom’s left bicep. Another was tugging at the hem of his tunic. A third was running his fingers through the helmet’s plumes and giggling. The fourth was wrapping himself in Tom’s cape, and the fifth wasn’t bothering with any subtlety at all as he ran his finger slowly down the faux sword attached to Tom’s belt. The man himself seemed to be completely unawares, standing there chatting away. My God, he couldn’t be that oblivious. Could he? “Someone should save him.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want saving,” Gordon mused. “Most men don’t when caught in their clutches. After all, they’re very picky about their prey. Everyone knows they only sink their teeth into the best meat.”

Joe shot him a glare. “Tom’s not meat, and he’s not interested in becoming their prey, either. Besides,” he purred, fluttering his lashes, “he’s crazy about me.”

“Maybe he’s tired of waiting for you to reciprocate?” Ken countered most nonchalantly, his eyes everywhere but on Joe.

“What do you mean?” Joe asked, feeling the blood drain from his face.

“Well, I mean, the man might not remember who he is, but surely you don’t expect him to wait around for you forever, do you? He might meet someone else who doesn’t find his lack of identity a problem and steal him from you.”