Devin couldn’t hide his disgust. “What happened to her boobs?”
“Magnificent, aren’t they? Latest craze in the biodomes. I don’t know exactly how the effect is achieved, but it heightens sensitivity for her and gives a man something to really sink his teeth into. Shall I pull the curtain to give you some privacy?”
“Oh, God, no way in hell.” Devin swallowed and tried to cover his mistake. “I’m, um, freshly fucked, but thanks.” He winced. Joe would tell him he was being crass or some such shit.
The manager deflated a bit. “Very well. I can show you...”
Another customer came in, a rangy man with actual chaps covering his sil-fab micro-shorts. His dick was already half out, and he headed straight for the caged women. Balls away.
“Mr. Dalton,” the manager said, “always a pleasure.” He was already halfway toward Mr. Dalton when he glanced back at Devin. “Whatever you’d like, Mr. Goodknight. Oh, and” — the man gave a small sniff and pointed toward a plain black door — “complimentary showers are located in the lavatory.”
Devin all but stumbled into the lavatory and stripped off his clothes in a haze. He had a last name, a family. Devin Goodknight. Tanner Goodknight. Beryl and Holling. The man had said something about grandparents. They were probably long-dead, of course, just like his mom and dad and his sister Mattie, just like Tanner. But he’d belonged to someone.
He turned on the shower spray and stepped in. Warm water beat against his shoulders with more pressure than he’d ever felt in the bathrooms at Flights of Fantasy. His tension loosened under the water. The headache he’d grown accustomed to since the explosion in Purcell eased, too, and for a moment, he wished he could stay here under the shower spray forever and let the water work its magic.
But he had a world to discover, a home somewhere. Even if his closest relatives were dead, maybe he had aunts and uncles, cousins. Family. He needed to find out. The man had said Pittsburgh. Joe had mentioned something about that place once. They could visit there after Minneapolis.
Using way too much of the provided shampoo, he lathered up his hair and body and rinsed off quickly. Outside the shower stall, Devin dried himself with a fluffy white towel he found on a table. His clothes...ew. They were filthy, coated in that never-ending red Oklahoma dirt. He wrapped the towel around his waist and went to find the manager.
After he tracked the guy down, bought some new clothes, and changed, Devin jogged out of the store, wincing when his healing ankle twinged.
Peter jumped up from where he’d been sitting on the edge of the porch and fell into step beside him. “Where have you been? I almost went to find Joe to tell him there was a problem. No fair, you got to get cleaned up!”
“Hush, Petey.” Devin patted Peter’s head idly, at least until Peter jerked out of range. “You know anything about Pittsburgh?”
Peter grumbled. “I hate you treating me like I’m a child. I already told Joe about Pittsburgh. Can I get cleaned up?”
Devin spotted the others on the road, farther away than he’d expected. They must have gotten restless. He’d been gone longer than he meant to be. Joe and Flix had their backs turned, standing side by side. The rifle hung from Joe’s hand, but otherwise he and Flix looked remarkably similar. Sweat-soaked gray shirts clinging to their backs. Navy running shorts. Long, lean legs. Matching shoes. Same height. Curly black hair hanging halfway down their necks. Bony elbows. The shoulders, though. The way Joe had his thrown back. How high he held his head. Their skin was different, of course; Joe’s was paler. But Devin didn’t give a shit about that.
Joe looked Devin’s way as he got close, some expression crossing his face that Devin didn’t understand. “You changed.”
“The old clothes were dirty. Listen —”
“You smell better,” Aria said. “A lot better.”
Devin got the feeling it wasn’t a compliment. He cupped Joe’s elbow. “Can we talk? I have great news.”
Joe stepped out of Devin’s grasp. He glanced around the road, then motioned to a small group of trees. “Do you want Flix and Peter to organize the backpacks? We can go in there and talk while they do.”
Joe’s behavior didn’t add up. Joe didn’t ask questions like that. Joe led. Devin nodded curtly and walked into the treed area. The trees were dead, but they were the kind that should have been green even in the winter. The thin branches hung dense enough to make a little hiding spot. Devin plopped onto the soft carpet of needles that littered the ground. Joe sat facing him with his legs crossed.
Devin leaned forward for a kiss and was surprised as all fuck when Joe shied away. “What the hell is wrong with you? I got good news and I want to touch you.”
“You’re clean, and I’m... I didn’t want to get your new clothes dirty.”
Joe’s melted-chocolate eyes, warm and dark, seemed to ache with sadness. Devin slipped his fingers into Joe’s hair, caressing his scalp, and dragged him in for a kiss. Chapped lips. Soft, heavy breaths. Joe was holding back, Devin knew, so he kept his touch light and tender. When it ended, Devin rested his forehead against Joe’s.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
Joe sighed. “I lost the VICE-shot.”
Devin jerked back and gave Joe some space. “What do you mean, you lost it?”
As Joe filled him in, Devin put his hands to his face and squeezed tight. The pressure helped keep him calm. He couldn’t decide if he was more pissed at Joe for letting it happen or at the guards for taking advantage of the situation. He stood up. “I’ll go back there and get the manager to give back our gun. Assholes.”
“Hey.” Joe shot to his feet and
