Page 10 of Give Me What You Will

Because Frankie was fuckin’ good at fixing things. And he was determined to fix this.

“I noticed Papi’s house was sold,” Frankie commented.

“Yeah, finally did,” Sammy replied. “I ended up hiring Mikey.”

“Mikey?” he asked incredulously. “Blue-balls-Mikey-Fuckin’-Shaw?”

“The one and only.”

Mikey got that unfortunate name, dubbed by Frankie, because every time Sammy was around, Mikey pined after him like a boy at prom, and Sammy never showed the slightest interest. Everyone in town knew Mikey had a crush but was too cowardly to do anything about it.

“You two…?” Frankie asked slowly.

“Hook up? Jesus, Frankie, no. He helped me with Papi’s house ‘cause I wasn’t living in Boston anymore. I didn’t have the time.”

He nodded, leaning back and drumming his fingers on the top of the leather booth, looking unconvinced.

“Just because he and I happen to be gay doesn’t mean we fucked,” Sammy remarked irritably. “Not all gay people fuck each other, asshole.”

“I didn’t say that,” he countered flippantly.

“You didn’t have to,” Sammy challenged. “I know how you think.”

Frankie frowned, deciding not to be baited into a fight. He knew how Sammy thought, too—how he operated when it came to conflict. Bait, switch, fight. Just like his crazy fuckin’ mom.

“My best friend here is gay,” Sammy said, tone still defensive.

Frankie tilted his head back as though Sammy clipped him beneath the jaw. “Best friend?”

Sammy swallowed another swig of beer, throat bobbing, the dim light of the bar revealing the stubble inching down his tanned skin and sharp jawline… And fuck, why did he keep looking at his fucking neck?

“Yeah,” Sammy retorted, eyes fixed with his. It was clearly a taunt—a challenge—a gauntlet thrown at his feet to get a reaction out of him. Because what else could it be?

“Yeah,” Frankie started to nod, anger flaring in his gut.

“You’re nodding,” Sammy drawled, lips dancing up in that dark, mad smile of his, looking a little too pleased.

“So?”

“It’s the nod of wrath. You only do it right before you're about to knock someone's teeth in.”

“I’m about to knock your fuckin’ teeth in, and that stupid stash, too,” he grumbled fiercely. His lips pursed into a sneer, “So I ain’t your fuckin’ best friend anymore?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You just did, asshole.”

Sammy shot him a hard, leveled look across the table, unfazed by his brewing anger.

Frankie abruptly leaned forward, nearly knocking their beer glasses over. “I’m your best goddamned friend, Sammy.”

Sammy bit back a sigh, finishing his beer. He looked impatiently toward the bar door, as though wanting to get up and walk out of the bar and out of Frankie’s life again.

“Nothin’s changed,” Frankie insisted.

If only that were true.

“Everything’s changed.” Sammy’s face fell, cold and emotionless.