Free Cole McGinnis 05 - Down and Dirty by Rhys Ford

gathered up to pour into bed definitely did not belong to any kid—not by a long shot. He gave a halfhearted hope Ichiro could walk on his own steam, but a few fumbling tries to get him up onto his feet only showed Bobby how Ichi’s legs could double as overcooked noodles.
    Giving up, Bobby leaned over and slid one arm under Ichiro’s bended knees. Ichiro tumbled backward, and Bobby caught the brunt of his weight with his other arm, lifting him carefully off the ground. His burden muttered something that sounded more Korean than Japanese. Then his head flopped over, resting in the crook of Bobby’s neck.
    “Watch your teeth there, Sunshine,” Bobby scolded when he felt Ichi’s mouth moving against his throat. “Jae told your brother I took you home after you fucked up your phone. I don’t want a hickey when we go into the ring tomorrow. I like my teeth.”
    “You smell good.” A flick of Ichi’s tongue on his skin shocked Bobby, and he nearly dropped the man. “God, I wanted to bite into you the first time I saw you, but then Cole—he says you’re an asshole. And no… no touching Bobby. No licking Bobby. No everything Bobby.”
    “Don’t talk like that, Ichi. Just… out of your head, okay? Probably the tequila—” His words were buried under a loud, burbling snore, and Ichiro went slack, becoming dead weight in Bobby’s arms. “Shit, no—no. Don’t do this right now. Christ, you’re too skinny to weigh this much.”
    The bed was unmade, but he was pretty sure the sheets were at least clean. He dumped Ichi onto the mattress, then stared down at the unconscious man for a second, wondering if he should strip him so he could sleep more comfortably.
    “Hungry.” A slow, simmering murmur escaped Ichi’s parted lips, making Bobby’s decision for him.
    “Okay, let’s talk about what we don’t say when we’re drunk tomorrow, okay? Or better yet, let’s just not do this again.” He patted Cole’s younger brother on the head, then grabbed a pillow. Taking one last look at Ichiro’s sprawled body nestled into his sheets, Bobby sighed. “Fuck, I wonder how much tequila is left? Could use a damned drink.”

Chapter 5

     
    A WEEK after his disastrous encounter with a tequila bottle and his brother’s muscular, older best friend, Ichiro found himself on a wild goose chase to find Bobby’s loft. He didn’t remember much about the neighborhood Bobby lived in other than brick warehouses, golden stone buildings, and the smell of old city clinging to the sidewalks when he’d stumbled out to the street and caught a cab back to Cole and Jae’s home. Ichi hadn’t taken the time to explore the long streets filled with street vendors and colorful streams of people. Instead, he’d woken up groggy, hungover, and horny—a sure sign he and Dawson hadn’t done more than sleep during the night.
    It kind of pissed him off—kind of.
    The Fashion District in Los Angeles wasn’t the glittering press it was in New York—at least certainly not with the Big Apple’s reputation. Sprawled out in the shadow of Downtown’s towering skyscrapers, the area gave up fighting off the harsh sun and sweltering grit and packed itself in tight, dedicating long stretches of alley and reclaimed buildings to selling cheaply made goods and wholesale flowers.
    With the sun flirting with the horizon, the sidewalk buzzed with activity, and the air hung heavy with the scents of cooking meats and aging bouquets. A wave of powdery carnation slapped Ichiro when he made a U-turn onto a side street. A splash of lime and carnitas chased off the florals as he waited for a round Hispanic woman to hustle her brood across an alley entrance so he could turn back the way he’d come. He’d become an unwary victim of Los Angeles’s tangled one-way and truncated streets, suddenly discovering a building in the middle of an up-till-then reasonable grid pattern.
    The area resembled an enormous swap meet, cheap, glittering goods meant to entice