The Thrill is Gone

Summary: Logan takes another small step toward intimacy and shares his space. Things get complicated.

Author’s Note: I’ve been away from this story for a while. I hope no one has been thrown too far off track. Thanks for reading and for the reviews, they have made me glow. Also, expect lemon in this chapter.

Milk. That was a no-brainer. Logan grabbed a half-gallon carton of two-percent set it in the basket of his cart.

Eggs. He only ate so many per week, but this time he bought the eighteen-count. Remy liked to cook, so Logan wanted to open up his lover’s options when he came over. Having food to eat was one thing, but having ingredients to cook was a whole different feat.

Bagged salad. Broccoli. Apples. All of these, Logan enjoyed anyway, easy to rinse, cut, dress and eat. Campbell’s chicken. Ragu. Spaghetti. Cereal. Staple foods.

A loaf of honey wheat bread he’d enjoyed on his tuna sandwich the week prior, worth getting again. Ground beef, two pounds for a change instead of one. Ritz crackers. Popcorn. Swiss Miss. He knew it was an addiction of Remy’s; even the box evoked the memory of the night of Scott’s wedding, how Remy’d helped him “unwind.”

“Shit,” Logan muttered. “Listen ta me, I must be whipped.”

He continued to second-guess his selections, wavering over when he had enough.

More disturbing, in his mind, was the cleaning binge that overtook him a few hours prior. It was…like he was nesting.

Every floor was mopped to a shine. He’d even vacuumed beneath the couch cushions, disinfected his refrigerator shelves and cleaned beneath his bed. He couldn’t explain this urge to…what? Impress Remy? Welcome him?

A pack of drumsticks. Brown sugar. Worcestershire sauce. A bulb of garlic. Onions. More odds and ends.

The housewares aisle was next. Sponges. Toilet paper. Kleenex. A couple of cheap food storage containers. Tin foil. Paper towels. Dish soap, since he was down to the last squirt.

Health and beauty aisle. Toothpaste. Mouth wash. Logan came across a bottle of KY and decided, why not?

He rounded off the trip with a six-pack of Molson. Good enough. Now he wasn’t giving Old Mother Hubbard a run for her money.

Logan kept checking his watch over the next two hours. He knew they agreed on six. He half-wondered if he was bringing Rene, and if he should’ve rented a DVD for him. Surely Remy would let him know if their dinner date was going to be family-friendly.

How did Logan feel about that?

To Logan’s credit, Rene liked him. That much he gathered from the car show, if the way he talked his ears off was any indication. It not only was the first time he’d dated someone with kids, but it was a man. How did Remy broach the subject of his friend Logan being “more than a friend?”

Logan gave in and hit the rental store after all, picking up a couple of Disney movies. Worst case scenario, Remy would have a good laugh at his selections if he came alone. He topped the pile with “The Godfather,” remembering that Remy enjoyed that film.

All that was left was to wait. And to pretend it wasn’t killing him.

*


Out of habit, Remy cooked.

Logan was on tap to host dinner at his place, but he hated coming over empty-handed. He packed enough beans and rice for two and decided to bring the whole pot of asparagus, since he’d only cooked one bunch.

Excitement bubbled inside him. Despite the stress of his week, he still felt giddy.

The pragmatic side of him nagged that it was just sex. Did he like him? Certainly. What wasn’t to like? He was easy to be with. Therefore, there wasn’t anything to “figure out” between them. No real questions or games to play. Were there. No.

The biggest obstacles were the charged silences that cropped up between them from time to time. Remy caught Logan watching him sometimes, questions in his eyes, but he resumed his easy banter and lopsided smiles, dispensing with any need for concern.

It made Remy crave. On some level, he wanted to get inside him, know his essence, more than what just “made him tick.”

It wasn’t something he could put into words, it was early days yet, and he was afraid of being rebuffed. Plain and simple.

But in the meantime, dinner. Probably sex, but dinner for now.

There was Rene. It had been a risk, introducing them. Remy liked everything in his son’s life to remain steady and consistent. No guessing games of who would step up to the plate and love him, as well as his son. It took a special person to realize accept that no matter how much they loved Remy, they would play second fiddle to Rene.

And it was awkward. Remy coordinated his schedule of visitation around his love life so that the twain would seldom meet. His son was observant; little rabbits had big ears, too. How could he explain that Daddy was having a sleepover that didn’t involve building a fort in the living room or telling scary stories?

Rene put two and two together, despite Remy’s silent wish that he could remain innocent. His mother and father weren’t going to live under the same roof anymore. His mother had grown-up friends who she kissed and hugged and had sleepovers with, so it made sense that Daddy would, too. It didn’t fall to him to question that in both cases, those grown-up friends were men, for both of them.

The hardest part was letting Rene like whomever he brought home. He didn’t know how long someone would stay in his life, but it wounded Remy a little whenever it fell to him to tell Rene that So-and-So “won’t be going to the movies with us anymore.” He’d sooner walk over broken glass than disappoint his son, but it was a fact of life. Relationships involved risk.

Logan had exceeded his hopes. The car show was a great chance to watch them interact and buddy around. It warmed him, but he didn’t want to expect too much, too soon.

Bella was fine with keeping Rene with her that weekend. He squelched guilt about it when she said that they planned to visit her mother; out of the goodness of his heart, Remy traded cars with her and offered to fill up her tank.

Bella had expressed that Julien had kept himself scarce, but Remy’s mind wasn’t put to rest.

He just needed a chance to flesh Logan out. Time alone, he reasoned.

His lecture to himself that he wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it fell on his own deaf ears. He shaved, showered and took pains with his nails, scrubbing, trimming and filing them to rid them of the damage done by motor grease. Sure, he wasn’t anxious, or anything…

And off he went. Remy whistled the last tune he played on Bella’s CD deck on his way upstairs to Logan’s one-bedroom unit. The complex wasn’t fancy, and Remy had no problem following his directions.

He experienced a brief flutter in his stomach as he waited at the door. He knocked louder than he knew he needed to out of nerves.

He knew it was Logan’s apartment by his footfalls; Logan walked heavy.

It sounded like he was in a hurry.

“One sec,” he grumbled from the other side of the door. Remy grinned.

“Hey,” he greeted him easily. He noticed the containers in Remy’s hands. “Whatcha got?”

“A coupla sides. Whaddya have planned?”

“Meat. I’m all about the meat.”

“Den it sounds like we got dinner, mec.”

Right away, Remy felt at home. The apartment was neat as a pin, but still had a lived-in feeling, a certain warmth that reminded him of Logan. The living room was sparely furnished. Logan only had one side table aside from the coffee table, topped with a fat black lamp with a muslin shade. A tall chrome floor lamp stood in the corner, evening out the light balance of the room. The couch was overstuffed and well broken-in, upholstered in forest green plush. Its black throw cushions matched a comfortable-looking recliner. A football blanket was folded and draped over it. There wasn’t much other decoration to the room. Logan had a bookcase loaded with paperbacks and DVDs along the far wall and was lucky enough to have a fireplace.

Logan reached out and took the containers from him, beckoning him inside. Remy grinned once his hands were freed.

“Make yerself at home-mmmph!” Remy pounced, cupping Logan’s nape and dipping down to cover his lips, devouring them. Logan rumbled his approval, almost stumbling back, and he tightened his grip on the dishes. They didn’t come up for air for several long seconds; Remy’s fingers clutched at Logan’s thick hair, enjoying the texture and his warm skin. He let him go, briefly rubbing his jaw with his thumb.

“One-track mind,” Logan muttered, but a grin toyed with the corners of his mouth.

“If Remy’s nice an’ does the dishes, homme…eh?” He winked. Logan laughed and shook his head, leading him into the kitchen.

Logan already had the dishes out of the sink and the counters were immaculate. Like the living room, what you saw in the kitchen was what you got, plain and simple. Logan hung simple green, tab top curtains in the window. A handful of magnets from different stores and restaurants around town decorated his refrigerator. He had a tiny television and radio on his shelf beside the refrigerator, and a box for Logan’s bills was anchored to the wall. His dinette set only had two chairs. Their green cushions matched the curtains and the potholder set hanging over the stove. Logan’s telephone was the kind with large, easy to push buttons, something Rene would approve of, he mused. A Nicks coffee mug filled with pencils sat beside it, along with a rainbow stack of Post-Its.

Logan set the dishes down on the counter and tended to the meat. He rinsed the thawing steaks in cold water and laid them in a metal bowl. Remy watched him cover them in bottled marinade and made a thoughtful sound.

“How ya gonna do ‘em?”

“Grill,” Logan explained. He nodded to a small, indoor gas grill. “Man’s best friend, right here.”

They chatted and joked while Logan prodded and turned the meat. The sizzle and pop of the steaks underscored the football game they enjoyed while Remy made a pitcher of sweet tea.

Logan was contemplative but happy as he began to set the table. It felt good, having Remy in his space. He was so accustomed to being alone, having entertained no one since he’d left Walt, or since Silver Fox left him. Logan was in the habit of meeting flings away from home, visiting their homes so he could leave whenever he wanted. His home was his sanctuary. He watched Remy sprawl in the kitchen chair, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. He fit.

Remy caught him staring. His lips quirked. “What?”

“Nuthin’.”

“C’mon!”

“Nuthin’,” he repeated.

“Why ya lookin’ at me?”

“I ain’t doin’ any such thing, Rem.” Logan shrugged. Remy appraised him.

“Sure ya ain’t, chere.” Remy darted looks at him once in a while; Logan rolled his eyes.

Remy sensed a hint of wariness in him and rose from his seat while Logan cut into a steak with a small kitchen knife to see if it was done.

“Ya like ‘em well done, Rem, or do ya want it ta still moo?” He started with surprise when Remy’s hands snaked around him, relieving him of the knife and tugging him back from the grill. “Hey!”

“Meat I want’s right here, homme,” he murmured into the side of his throat. Logan struggled a moment, pushing back at his hands, but Remy had his way.

“Stubborn cuss,” Logan said. Remy settled his chin into his shoulder and wrapped his arms around Logan’s waist. His chest molded to his hard, broad back and Remy breathed in his scent.

“Smell good,” Remy said. Logan indulged him, letting his nuzzle his ear. His hips rolled back briefly, bumping Remy in response to his slow, easy caresses.

“Had my monthly bath.”

“Caught ya on a good day, den.” Remy continued to lean up against Logan while he went about the rest of his chore, spearing each steak with his long fork and transferring them to the platter. He nibbled his ear and neck while Logan turned off the small grill and wiped his hands on a small dish towel. Logan chuckled at Remy’s insistent grip, then jerked at the brief, sharp nip he gave him.

“Quit it! Brat!” He disengaged himself, almost reluctantly, and selected two dinner plates. “Here. I’ll feed ya so ya don’t keep tryin’ ta snack on me.”

“Ya never objected before, chere.” Remy’s pout was hurt.

“Got good steak that’s gonna get cold,” Logan reminded him, spearing him a tender fillet. The smell of succulent juices and piquant seasonings made Remy’s mouth water, as did the smug quirk of Logan’s lips. “Once the dishes are done, see if yer too full or not ta snack on anything else, Cajun.”

Remy was thoughtful during their meal. He sensed Logan’s arousal, yet he seemed reticent to return his affections. Sure, he was making a nuisance of himself, but if there was one thing Remy hated, it was second-guessing, wondering if he was the one being “clingy.” But there was something about Logan’s “strong, silent type” that brought out Remy’s need to tease and get a rise out of him.

“Yer starin’ at me again.”

“Does it bother ya?”

“Just not used ta that.”

“Like what I see.”

“Yeah?” Logan’s voice sounded uncertain.

“Hell, yeah.” Remy’s red-on-black eyes were full of mischief and heat. They roamed over his dinner partner with clear intent.

Logan felt a stiffening between his legs and his jeans became tight in uncomfortable places, having nothing to do with eating too much. His steak and beans lay half-finished on his plate.

“Ya’ve got interesting taste in men, then.”

“Know what I like.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Like what?” Logan’s face became warm.

He was enjoying this.

“Listenin’ to ya talkin’ in yer sleep. How hard ya feel up against my back. Way ya taste. Way ya smell. Feel of y’ass in my hands, ya cock in my mouth, the way it comes t’life in my hand when-

The scrape of Logan’s chair was sharp and sudden. He was up from the table and filling Remy’s vision, staring down at him like a cat sizing up a mouse.

“Damn,” Remy muttered before Logan gripped his shoulders and hauled him from his seat. Logan shut him up, effectively kissing the grin off his face and making him moan out loud with need. He hated the way his voice broke, right before it mingled with Logan’s low rumble of satisfaction. His hot, velvety tongue stroked his, exploring the confines of his mouth, and this time the men embraced in earnest.

“Ya had ta make this hard,” Logan complained, nipping a path down Remy’s cheek. “I call myself tryin’ ta be good, seein’ how long I can make it without wantin’ ta jump ya. In the back of my mind, I tell myself it ain’t just about the sex, but yer undoin’ my efforts ta prove it when I wanna fuck ya til we both collapse.”

“Remy was never all dat cooperative ‘bout dat kinda thing,” he admitted, shuddering as Logan laved the warm column of his throat. His fingers scraped at the back of Logan’s shirt, clawing it up out of his waistband. He stumbled back against the kitchen counter as he closed in on him. He groaned at the luscious weight and hardness of Logan’s erection, pushing against him and Remy reached for his ass, molding it in his hands.

He wanted to howl in protest as Logan broke their kiss again and grinned at him.

“Here.” He shoved something soft into his hand. Remy looked down in disbelief at a dish sponge.

“What de hell…?”

“Or ya can dry if ya want. I hate leaving stuff out on the counter overnight,” Logan shrugged. His black eyes were wicked. “Sooner ya help me get this all washed up and put away, sooner I tuck ya in and feed ya dessert, Rem. Take yer pick.”

“Dere’s somethin’ seriously wrong wit’ dis. C’mon, homme, Remy’s beggin’ ya! Look at dis!” He nodded to his bulge, sore and stiff. Logan shrugged again.

“Better get washin’ and be quick about it. Damn, that looks like it hurts,” he said, leaning in and biting Remy’s shoulder through his shirt. He gave Remy’s crotch one covetous, firm stroke, cupping him. Remy groaned. He let him go, however, and moved away to start putting the food back into Tupperware.

“Dat’s just wrong,” Remy grumbled, muttering profanities under his breath in French. He filled the sink with lemon-scented suds. Logan expected him to touch him with dishpan hands? Then so be it. He began scraping dishes and utensils into the trash, plunging them fiercely into the warm water, not caring about the drops that splashed up onto his shirt. If he behaved himself, Logan would be taking it off of him, eventually…

He absorbed himself in his task as the phone rang. Logan paused as he dumped the fat scraps from the steak into the trash bin, sighing as he picked up.

“H’lo?” He grunted in annoyance. “Nah. I don’t wanna take a survey. Uh-uh. No, I really don’t. Got my hands kinda full…yeah. Bet I am missin’ out on a sweet deal, but no thanks. Yeah. Got it. Fuck off. G’night!” he offered cheerfully as he hung up. Remy chuckled.

“Telemarketer?”

“Just wanted ta take a brief, friendly survey of my current credit debt.”

“Nice of ‘em ta think of ya.”

“Fuckers. Always call when I’m in the middle of dinner.”

“Dinner’s over,” Remy argued, “but yeah, them, and the ones who call wantin’ ta sell Remy magazines he ain’t gonna read rank pretty high up on my shit list.” Logan tried to put the containers in the refrigerator when the phone rang again. He sighed heavily.

“Should I even bother?”

“Up t’you.”

“Hello?” he droned. His face changed, closing down. Remy was surprised and curious, but he turned back to the sink. “Hey. Yeah, I wasn’t expectin’ ta hear from ya. Busy. Pretty much. Nah, I don’t think ya ever left that here. Because I just did the laundry. I didn’t wear it myself, it was too damned big. Nah, don’t come by today. I can already tell ya it ain’t here, bub.”

Remy felt odd, burning with something that felt…what? Like…jealousy?

Who else left their clothes at a man’s apartment and called to check up on them but an ex? Logan’s back was turned. He paced the kitchen and ran his hand through the back of his hair, rumpling it.

“I’m kinda occupied. I don’t wanna be rude, but…it don’t matter. I ain’t gonna have this talk with ya. I gotta go. No, I really gotta go.” Remy’s ears picked up a few muffled words in a deep voice from the other end of the line, barely audible from where he stood.

Logan’s sigh was more ragged this time as he hung up. “Third time’s the charm if it rings again and it’s actually anyone I wanna hear from,” he grumbled. “Don’t ask,” he added quickly.

“Wasn’t gonna go dat route, chere,” Remy flipped back as he dried a large cutting board. He wasn’t facing Logan yet, but he continued to speak. “He t’ought he left somethin’ here, eh?”

“Shirt. One I don’t even remember him wearin’ the last time he was here.” Remy appreciated his honesty, even if he didn’t want details of “the last time he was here.”

“Don’t t’ink it got mixed up in yer own stuff?”

“Not likely. I’d know. Walt’s huge. Almost seven feet tall, built like a Mack truck. His style was different from mine.”

“No jeans and flannels?”

“Not even when he was headed ta the post office or supermarket.” Logan suddenly felt guilty talking about him. Bad form, bub, talkin’ about the old to the new…

“Wouldn’t hurt t’check the laundry later when ya have a sec, homme.”

“Wouldn’t, huh?” Logan closed in on him, and Remy felt his solid heat at his back. He shivered at Logan’s breath steaming his shoulder through his sleeve.

Logan’s strong, thick fingers crept up the line of his spine to his neck, kneading it. Remy only then realized how tense he’d become, and he relaxed by degrees, lolling his head forward and closing his eyes. “Laundry can wait til tomorrow, Remy.” Remy halfheartedly plunged his sponge into a drinking glass while Logan adopted Remy’s earlier position, touching him and making himself a pleasant nuisance.

“Thought ya wanted everyt’in’ put away.”

“Yer makin’ progress,” Logan said easily. His hands crept around Remy’s waist, stroking him before he reached into the sink from around him, handing him a dripping fork. He kissed a sensitive spot between Remy’s shoulder blades and pressed his groin against his ass. Remy swallowed. He was rock-hard and rubbing up against the edge of the kitchen sink with Logan pressed against him from the back, distracting him from finishing his chore. He gave a couple of spoons and a spatula a lick and a promise the sponge, rinsing them under the stream of warm water.

He nearly dropped a glass back into the sink as his zipped was groped and yanked down in a loud, staccato rip. “Shit,” he hissed, “dis yer idea of finishin’ up?”

“Thought ya’d recognize when I’m just gettin’ started, bub. Damn, impatient much?” Remy’s mouth dropped open in pleasure as Logan found him, stroking him through his cotton briefs. He ground back against him and arched into his touch as Logan groped and cupped him. “But feel free ta keep at it, sooner ya get it done…” his voice trailed off as Remy began to thrust himself into his hand.

Logan was hard, too, listening to the arousal in his voice and feeling his ass jut back against him in response. “Damn, Remy,” he told him, “one-track mind, one-track mind…”

“Aw, God,” Remy breathed, covering the back of Logan’s other hand as it stroked his muscular, smooth abdomen. He guided it up to his chest, encouraging him to reach for his nipple. Logan obeyed, toying with the turgid little morsel.

“Yer so fuckin’ hot, Remy,” he admitted, voice gritty, needy. Hungry…

He peeled Remy’s jeans down his thighs, yanking down the snug briefs just as hastily. He was treated to the sight of that ass, quivering, firm and round. Flawless. Logan ran his index finger along the crease, probing him and finding the silky little pucker hidden there. Remy’s cock bobbed and bounced against the cool wood of the counter. He was already dripping from the tip. Logan’s teeth worried the place where Remy’s neck connected to his shoulder. “Nice,” Logan muttered. “Damn, that’s fuckin’ sweet. Ya didn’t think I’d make ya wait that long, didja?”

“Had me pretty convinced,” Remy grated out. Logan’s finger was driving him crazy, drilling inside him now, pushing inside his snug sheath, and it felt so damned good. If it was awkward to him to be so exposed in the middle of Logan’s kitchen, he made no complaint.

“Ain’t makin’s ya wait now, am I?” Logan’s voice and lips descended in a ragged path down Remy’s spine. His eyes snapped open as he felt hot breath steaming his crease. He almost lost his balance as his legs were tugged away from the counter a few inches and his feet were nudged apart. He choked back a shout when he felt the liquid spear of Logan’s tongue opening him, spreading apart his cheeks for better access.

Remy’s voice didn’t obey him. He moaned and gasped a litany of want, approving the way Logan teased his hole and taint. Logan made low grunts of contentment of how smooth and silky he felt, sliding his tongue over him, swiveling his way inside. His voice resonated through his flesh, raising goosebumps over his cheeks. Remy clutched the counter for balance, completely unable to compose himself. Logan’s palm cradled his balls, gently stroking them with his thumb, and Remy joined in, ringing his cock in his shaky grip. He jerked himself in an urgent rhythm, loving the way Logan felt taking him so thoroughly, but needing to come so badly…

Remy was still dripping, throbbing an angry red. He dipped his fingers into the warm water and stroked himself more quickly, making himself slick. Sensations swamped him, drawing his balls up into a tight, leathery knot. His abdominal muscles tensed, drawn tight as a drum, and Remy’s breath was coming out in short, harsh pants. He felt Logan’s breathing quicken, too, growing lost in his task of making love to him. It was never this good before, this intense and thorough. Remy had never felt so craved. Logan’s tongue spiraled and drilled its way inside, opening him for a more meaningful joining. It strained him to wait, but he wanted him ready, begging and crying for him. Logan heard Remy’s keening in his throat, desperate for him to continue or to fuck him, Logan still wasn’t sure. Damn it, he was hot…

“Been wantin’ ta bend ya over as soon as ya set foot in the door.”

“Den get on wit’ it, mec,” he pleaded, tightening his own grip. He was so close, but he wanted to be filled and pounded raw.

Logan stopped only to pull his from the sink, spinning him until he reeled up against the kitchen table instead. Logan took his shoulder and shoved him over roughly until he was bent over the cleanly wiped pine. He inserted two fingers, pushing and thrusting inside him, kneading the sheath of muscle. Remy flexed around him, biting his knuckles and shuddering, raising his ass a notch in response. He heard Logan unzip himself, and his cock bobbed free and slapped him in the ass.

“Ya like that? Like how that feels? Ya know how much I want ya, Rem?” He thrust and pistoned his fingers, twisting them. His other hand jerked himself until precum welled in the tip of his swollen head. Logan’s jeans sagged around his knees as he kept priming him, now rubbing the swollen head of his cock against Remy’s opening, teasing it. “Tell me ya want me like I want you, Rem. Tell me how much ya want it.”

“Please,” Remy begged, jutting his hips up from the edge of the table. Logan ran his hand down the length of his beautiful back, stroking it greedily before clutching a fistful of Remy’s hair.

“Ya want me ta fuck ya?”

“Aw, man, Logan…chere, please! Do it now! Need ya now!” he cried. Logan was already breaching him, pushing his plump head inside in short, teasing strokes. Remy dragged his lower lip through his teeth at the sensation of being stretched and stuffed full.

“Aw, yeah, Rem, that’s it,” Logan urged, gripping Remy’s narrow hips and thrusting inside him in a slow rhythm. “Wanted this as soon as I saw ya. Ya know I love how this feels. Just…damn it, pushin’ up in you like this…” Remy felt a hot flush of tingles wash over him as Logan sped up and began pounding into him. He felt split open yet more whole than he ever had before. Pressure built up against his prostate, pulsing and throbbing, threatening to push him over the edge.

“Logan,” Remy moaned.

“Say my name again, darlin’,” Logan pleaded. “C’mon…I like hearin’ it comin’ outta yer mouth…love that mouth of yers, darlin’…”

“Logan, Logan,” Remy obliged, fingers knotting against the cool wood. His toes curled as his climax crept up on him, consuming him. “Hnnngggghh! Hnnngh! Shit!” He jerked and spasmed, mouth gaping in a silent scream of pleasure. He whipped back and forth and Logan clung to him, covering his back as he, too, found his fulfillment moments later with Remy’s walls shuddering and clenching around his length. He filled Remy in hot spurts, leaving him weak in the knees.

He slumped forward against him, covering his back. His embrace was all-encompassing, making Remy feel coveted, and again, craved. A pleasant laxness was creeping into his limbs.

“Aw, man,” Logan murmured between pants. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

“Dishes still ain’t done.” Remy was cramped from his vantage point of being pressed against the table, but he didn’t care. Logan’s lips traced the crown of his cheek.

“Close enough.”


*

Downtown:

The lock on the shop door was as stubborn as he remembered. He wiggled it, making three attempts before he turned it just the right way and jerked it open. The scent of rubber tires and other metallic car accessories tickled his nose as he made his way inside.

The shop was dark except for a small light above the register. The “Closed” sign added to the dim glow from the front window.

The register dinged as he hit the “No Sale” button. It was empty. He cursed and fumbled his way to the back office. He tested the knob. Locked, too.

He worked his way through the ring of keys, trying each one. He didn’t believe his luck as the lock gave way with a sharp click. He crept inside and shut the door behind him. Taking a small mag light out of his pocket, he lit his way to the desk, grateful the small window was close to the ceiling and covered with a curtain.

He rifled through the top drawer, finding what he was looking for. He opened the small aluminum lock box and wrapped his hand around the thick pile of velvety bills, bundled together with a wide rubber band. He eyed the pile of credit card receipts. The card numbers weren’t truncated, even showing up with expiration dates. His pulse quickened with excitement. He’d found the mother lode.

Everything found its way into his knapsack. He turned off the mag light and tucked it inside, too, zipping it shut. He closed the box and tucked it back into the drawer. One by one, he covered his tracks by locking every door behind him again. No forced entry. That was what anyone finding anything missing would say when they came to investigate.

Naturally, the first person they’d ask was the only other employee of Philippe’s who had a key.

Julien climbed into his brother-in-law’s car and drove off, craving a donut.