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“We will be here when you are finished, ma petite. Hopefully with the bed in better order.” He was standing looking down at it, as if he wasn’t sure it could really be fixed.
“Why not use your room?” Richard asked.
“Asher is in my bed. Now he is dead, andma petite finds that disturbing. If he woke in the middle of the feeding, I think you, Richard, would find it disturbing.”
Richard stood and just huddled in his jean jacket. “Disturbing. You could call it that.” He didn’t sound happy, and I wondered if there was some incident between him and Asher I should know about.
Probably not. None of my business.
I had to walk back to the bed and hunt for my holstered gun underneath the pillows. I sort of waved it at them both. “I wouldn’t want this thrown down the laundry chute.”
Jean-Claude waved me toward the bathroom. “Go, shower, ma petite, we will be ready if you are not too quick.”
“We” will be ready, he’d said. Didn’t I have enough “wes” in my life? I went for the shower and left them debating on whether the bed would hold, or whether it would be safer to simply remove the frame entirely. It wasn’t until I closed the door behind me that I thought to wonder why we needed the bed. Jean-Claude could feed on Richard kneeling on the floor, couldn’t he? If this was my first chance to touch both men at the same time in months, then I preferred not to be covered in drying goop. But once I was clean, we could still all do it on the floor. We didn’t need the bed.
I thought about going back out and telling them that, but didn’t.
No matter what else, they were both still men, and men feel better when they have something to do. They could straighten the bed and sheets and get everything all neat and tidy. It would keep them from having any more of those awkward silences. Or, that was the hope.