Free Corruption by Eden Winters Page A

keys and his front door opening.
    He eyed the clock. Ten a.m. Surely Bo would be up by now. Hell, he’d probably been for a run already. Cat Lucky slunk into the room from wherever
    he’d disappeared to during the night. He blinked disapproving eyes and roamed out to the living room without even pausing to beg for food. Even
    the cat sensed how badly Lucky’d screwed up.
    He’d choked down his coffee and started on his second cup, a twisty ball of worry in his belly growing rapidly. With shaking hands he texted,
    “R u ok?”
    No immediate answer. He paced. He dampened a cloth and scrubbed down the kitchen counters. Still no answer. He swept the floor, even vacuumed, and yet no
    response came from Bo. In less than an hour, he stared at a spotless house, or as spotless as he ever managed.
    He flopped down on the couch with his Harley brochure, fantasizing about the machine he’d one day own. Every time he pictured himself astride one
    of those sleek bikes, however, a phantom Bo always perched behind him. Oh yeah, to be cruising down the road with his man wrapped around him…
    Only, Bo might not be his man anymore. Was Bo insulted by Lucky’s unwillingness to give him what he asked for? He’d said
    Lucky’s reluctance was okay, but did he mean “okay it doesn’t matter” or “okay, that’s it,
    we’re done”?
    Talk about a wood-wilting moment. With pent-up energy and no outlet, Lucky changed into sweats, secured his iPod, and went for a walk.
    Clop, clop, clop. His shoes hit the pavement. Neither he nor Bo took others to bed. Ever since the first time they’d slung each other against a bathroom wall,
    Lucky hadn’t looked back. Where was the problem?
    With his one other long term relationship, he’d used protection. There’d been no question of commitment. Now, though, with Bo, taking
    the final step seemed… well, final.
    Next they’d be looking at property together and picking out china.
    Yeah, and what’s bad about that? If they did settle in together, the whole issue of what the bureau would have to say came into play. And even if the job turned a blind eye to their
    relationship, what then? Would he and Bo start to fight like his sister Charlotte and her husband had? Would love turn to hate? Would Bo one day have
    enough of Lucky’s ass and walk away? Of course, to his credit, Bo wasn’t a crazy-assed, alcoholic redneck who only wanted someone to
    take care of him so he could go out carousing every night.
    Lucky stopped, selected Pachelbel’s Canon on his iPod, and turned up the volume. Pushing aside all conscious thought except for the pounding
    cadence of his tennis shoes on asphalt and the steady in/out of his breathing, he ran as much as his defective leg allowed.
    ***
    One half-run/half-limp later, his cell phone still yielded no messages from Bo. Lucky’s heart leapt when he found an e-mail on his laptop
    entitled, “What are you doing tomorrow?”
    A quick check showed the e-mail had arrived on Friday at 5:15 p.m., shortly before Bo’s arrival last night. Funny, he hadn’t mentioned
    the message, at least not that Lucky remembered. Lucky read, “I have an appointment with a realtor at two tomorrow, and would like you to come
    with me, if you don’t mind.” The e-mail included a link. Lucky clicked and a house appeared, complete with two car garage, three
    bedrooms, ensuite master bath and walk-in closet. The square footage easily made three of Bo’s cramped apartment. He’d complained often
    enough about needing more room, but one man didn’t need nineteen hundred square feet.
    His and hers sinks and closets. Oh shit. One man didn’t need so much room, but two might. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Was Bo suggesting they live
    together? Lucky flipped back to the picture of the master bedroom, mentally inserting a combination of his and Bo’s furniture. He pictured the
    two of them, curled up in bed. Somehow the darned cat wound up in the image, tucked into the space between Bo’s