The only teas Lucky had grown up drinking were part of the cocimientos his abuelita made for him when he wasn’t feeling well, which although effective, were in Lucky’s opinion, disgusting.

  Naturally Lucky associated all teas with his grandmother’s home remedies. It had taken a bet between Lucky and Ace for Lucky to try Red’s homebrewed sweet tea. Lucky might have lost the bet against his cousin, but he’d gained a new favorite drink.

  “How’s Laz doing?” Lucky asked, refilling his glass and popping a lemon wedge inside before he took a seat at the counter.

  “He’s not talking about it, but I think he just needs some time to process.” Red gathered the ingredients he needed to prepare his homemade chimichurri sauce. Since Ace enjoyed cooking almost as much as Red, it meant the kitchen was stocked with their favorite ingredients, all fresh and organic. “I’m going to try and talk to him after he’s rested, see how he’s feeling.”

  Lucky nodded. He looked around. “It’s too quiet. Where’s Ace?”

  “He went to grab some stuff for me from my place. Colton went with him.” It was sweet how those two were attached at the hip, but then they both had very demanding careers, what with Colton running his family’s worldwide shipping company and Ace being one of the Kings. It would make sense they’d want to spend as much time together when they had the chance.

  “Ah, and how did Colton take the news?” Lucky’s smile was evil, making Red chuckle. These two just loved winding each other up.

  “As well as you think.”

  “Good. I bet Ace tried to play it down so Colton wouldn’t worry. I’m glad Colton doesn’t let him get away with that shit. Ace is always trying to do what he thinks is best for everyone without asking them what they think is best.”

  Red didn’t have to ask. He knew Lucky was still mad at Ace for lying to him about his relationship with Colton during the case. Lucky had forgiven him, but still reserved the right to be annoyed about it for as long as he deemed fit. Mostly it was amusing. The cousins were loud, boisterous, and over-the-top. They certainly kept everyone on their toes. Red wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “So, uh, what’s with you and Laz?”

  Red paused halfway through chopping his oregano to glance up at Lucky. “Why don’t you tell me? You obviously have an idea about it.”

  “You care about him.”

  “I do,” Red said, returning to his chopping. “And?”

  “And nothing.”

  Red peered at him. “Nothing.” Did Lucky really expect him to believe that? He never said anything for the sake of hearing himself talk, and he didn’t mince words unless he was digging for something.

  “What?” Lucky shrugged. “I think if you care about him, and he cares about you—which is obvious he does—then you should go for it. He’s a good guy.”

  Red put down his knife and leaned his hands on the counter. “Wait a minute. You almost had an aneurism when you found out about Colton and Ace, and now you’re telling me to just go for it like it’s no big deal?”

  “That was not the same thing at all, and you know it.”

  “How?”

  “Laz is not a client. He wasn’t then, and he isn’t now. Also, you’re not on the job. You’re here because you care about him. If this was a case, King would have assigned someone else to him.”

  “You’re right. Laz isn’t a client, and I’m not here in an official capacity, but that just means it’s even more important I not let my guard down.”

  Lucky crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. “Eso es un montón de mierda, y tú lo sabes.”

  “Lucky—”

  “Fine. Whatever, bro. It’s none of my business.” He put his hands up, then returned them to the counter, drumming his fingers for several heartbeats before meeting Red’s gaze. “You need to stop running away every time you meet someone you can see yourself falling for.”

  Red couldn’t help his humorless laugh. “Are you kidding me? Do you hear how hypocritical you sound right now?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You do the same thing, Lucky.”

  Lucky’s frown deepened. “No, I don’t.”

  “Yes. You do. You just don’t realize you’re doing it.” Was his friend really that oblivious? How could they all see it except Lucky? Everyone who knew him thought him a player, and Lucky considered himself one as well. He left a trail of bed partners wherever he went. None of those men and women received his name, much less a phone number or second encounter. Repeat performances were not permitted, and although there was absolutely nothing wrong with a healthy sex drive, that’s not what this was. Lucky was running from something.

  “When do I do this?” Lucky demanded.

  Fine. If Lucky needed Red to spell it out for him, then he would. “You do it every time you talk to Mason Cooper.”

  Lucky stilled, his eyes widening. He looked like he was about to pass out. “What?”

  “Come on, Lucky. The way you two look at each other, the flirting, how he can’t keep his hands off you? He’s always manhandling you, growling at you about your damn motorcycle and how dangerous it is, and you’re always poking him, winding him up. There’s something there, but anytime he gets too close, you act the player, knowing he’ll back off.”

  “No, no, no. This is not true.”

  “Really? Tell me what Mason said to you in the car on the way to the station. He did or said something that made you panic and had you flirting with the first person you saw to push him away. Except this time, it blew up in your face, didn’t it? Because Mason didn’t back off; he got pissed and called you out on it, which means you’re getting to him, and that terrifies you.”

  “Nothing happened,” Lucky replied through his teeth. “As for the flirting? I flirt with everyone. Mason is nothing special. I don’t want a relationship, and neither does he. The guy couldn’t even trust Ace. You think he’s going to trust me?”

  “Why are you so worked up?”

  “I’m not,” Lucky spat out, jumping from his seat. “Mind your own fucking business.”

  Red froze. Not because Lucky was telling him to fuck off—they cursed each other out all the time, gave each other a hard time, got in one another’s business, because that’s what family did—Red was stunned because seeing Lucky this upset confirmed Red was right. It took a lot to upset Lucky. Sure, he ranted, bitched, and moaned. He cursed them out, got pissy, but truly upset? His face was flushed, his eyes dark, and he held himself rigid, fists at his sides.

  “I had no idea,” Red said softly.

  “You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about,” Lucky growled, spinning on his heels and storming off. Red watched him go, flinching when the front door slammed. Shit. This was bad, and of course now Mason was the lead detective on this investigation, which meant they’d be seeing more of him.

  “Is everything okay?” Laz asked with a yawn as he walked into the kitchen, the disheveled hair falling over his brow, and just-woke-up look momentarily distracting Red. “I heard yelling. Did Ace scare Colton again?”

  “It was Lucky. He was just dropping off your stuff. It’s in the hall. I’ll help you take it upstairs soon as I’m done here.”

  “Thanks. What are you making?” Laz took a seat at the counter across from Red.

  “I just finished marinating some flank steak, and now I’m making some Chimichurri sauce for the tacos. It’s Tuesday, so you know what that means.”

  Laz nodded, his eyes going slightly wide. “I have never met anyone as committed to Taco Tuesday as Ace.”

  “Yeah, he has a thing about food, and when it doesn’t happen, he gets… intense.”

  “And pouty,” Laz added with a chuckle. “Hey, do you mind if I do some work on my laptop while you work your magic? I know Colton said I could use his office, but I’d rather keep you company if that’s okay.”

  “Of course. I’d like that.”

  “Be right back.” Laz hopped off the chair, and Red continued to chop and mince. His mind went back to Lucky, and he tried not to worry about it. Ace hadn’t given any indication he was worried about his cousin, so Red would leave it for now. Either way, there was more going on than Lucky was willing to admit.

  Laz returned with his MacBook and got to work while Red finished up. The marinated flank steak was in the fridge, and now he was stirring the Chimichurri sauce before placing it in the fridge. As soon as it was time for dinner, he’d chop some radishes up, and the rest of the toppings. It was funny how just a few months ago he hadn’t even known Colton, and now Red moved around his kitchen as if it were his own.

  The house had become another home away from home for the Kings. They shared meals together every week, lounged by the pool, went to the beach, and had game nights in the game room. At first Red felt as though they were intruding on Colton’s privacy, but the invitation had come from Colton himself. He’d confided in Red that he’d gotten used to having the Kings around and enjoyed their company. Being an only child, Colton liked the idea of having several annoying big brothers meddling in his life.

  “What happens after you get the photos you need?” Red asked as he washed up the cutting board and knives.

  Laz motioned him over, and Red quickly finished washing his hands and drying them before joining Laz at his computer. His laptop screen displayed photo-editing software and several images Red recognized from that morning’s photo shoot.

  “Now I go through all the images to narrow them down, selecting which ones I think will work best. The magazine editor who hired me for this job has a very specific look in mind, so now I need to make sure she gets what she wants.”

  “What if the client wants something you know won’t work?”

  “That happens more often than you’d think, which is why I also provide an alternative. Most of the time, once they’ve seen the two options, they tend to pick my sets. Even if I know their concept won’t work, I’ll try my best to give them what they ask for. In the end, all I can do is give it my all and hope I get paid for it.”

  Red frowned at that. “What do you mean hope you get paid for it?”

  “When you’re a freelance artist, especially at an entry-level, a lot of clients view payment as optional. You’re lucky if you get paid on time, much less at all. You spend a good deal of time chasing up invoices, and sadly, sometimes you have to take the loss.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  Laz shrugged. “Unfortunately, when it comes to the creative industry, there are people who believe art should be free, whether it’s music, art, books, movies, or photography. If you can afford to give away your art for free, hey, that’s awesome, but for the majority of us, although we’re fortunate that we’ve been able to turn our passion into a career, our creativity is what pays the bills. It pays for food, rent, medical expenses, much needed equipment. For some it’s the chance to use their passion and talent to forge a better future for themselves, to be able to put their kids through college, or pay for a much-needed medical procedure. In no other industry, do we expect people to work for free.

  “And, yeah, to some what we do might be considered frivolous, or simply a way to pass the time, but where would the world be without the stories that transport us to another world? Without the music that inspires passion or lifts our mood, or the movies that make us feel like anything is possible. Art doesn’t just happen, it’s a part of us, a part we carve out of ourselves to share with others.” Laz cleared his throat, his cheeks flushed pink from embarrassment. “Sorry, I get a little carried away sometimes. I’ve got a lot of friends who are part of the creative industry in some way. They struggle with this all the time.”

  Red smiled warmly at him. “No need to apologize. I love how passionate you are about your work, and I agree with you.” He pointed to one of the images, and Laz enlarged it. Red recognized the model. The young man had been kneeling on the shore when Red arrived at the beach that morning, the waves crashing against him. Like the rest of the young men and women at the shoot, the model appeared flawless, with a slender, sinewy frame, sharp cheekbones, and perfectly pouting lips. “What’s it like? Being surrounded by beautiful people all the time?”

  “Exhausting.”

  Red chuckled. “Really?”

  “It’s all an illusion. Just minutes after this was taken, they were at each other’s throats. You saw it yourself. Not that all models are like that. I know several who are amazing, but you don’t often get a choice of who you work with. Each shoot involves several creatives with different personalities, and they don’t always get along. Then you add ego and pressure into the mix, and it can get a little scary.”

  “So why do you do it?”

  Laz clicked away at his laptop and an image opened, leaving Red speechless. He’d never seen anything so captivating. Most of the photograph was taken up by a stunning young man with pale pink hair, dark skin, and bright green eyes. Freckles were strewn across his nose and cheeks, his full pouty lips sporting glossy pink lipstick. The dress he wore had a white bodice that transitioned into a pale pink down into layers and layers of flouncy skirt. The top of the bodice was cut off, so it began beneath two prominent scars denoting where his breasts had been before his transition. He was draped on a white chaise lounge, one arm raised above his head, and although the contrasting colors and lighting made the image striking, it was the emotion in the model’s face that had Red entranced. The running mascara, the one tear that had trailed down his cheek…. It was the look of heartbreak, but there was also hope, a sense of peace, and a light in his eyes that exuded inner strength.

  “This is breathtaking, Laz. Who is he?”

  “Thank you. Ky’s a friend from college. He’d been struggling with his identity for a very long time, and his family didn’t make it any easier for him. When he decided he couldn’t hide who he was any longer, that he couldn’t keep suffering to please others, he started to see a therapist, then socially transitioned before starting hormonal transition. His family insisted it was just a phase, but soon Ky was in for top surgery, and his family turned their backs on him completely. My friends and I were there to support him every step of the way.

  “I was in the hospital with him when he woke up after surgery.” Laz wiped a stray tear from his cheek. “The look on his face was something I’ll never forget. His heart was broken because his family wasn’t there, but when he cried, it was because he was finally beginning to feel like the person he was meant to be. I was so happy for him. One day we were talking, and I told him how I wanted to do high concept fashion photography, but I wanted more than beautiful people wearing beautiful clothing. I wanted to create gorgeous art with real people, people who had a powerful story to tell. He asked me if he could be my first model, and I was so honored he entrusted me to tell his story through my images. This is actually the final piece. It’s a series.”

  “Where’s Ky now?” Red asked, still riveted by the stunning photo.

  “Getting ready for next year’s Fashion Week in Paris. He’s a highly sought-after model now, so I don’t get to see him very often, but we keep in touch.” Laz smiled softly at the image in front of him. “He says he has me to thank for launching his career, but I just provided the tools for him to share his story in a unique way. His success is all him, and everything he sacrificed to get where he is now.”

  “Is he happy?”

  Laz nodded, smiling. “He finally has the life he always dreamed of.”

  Red was glad to hear it. He wondered what kind of life Laz dreamed of? What else outside of his career did he have his heart set on? “Thank you for sharing this with me,” Red said sincerely. “I hope I can meet Ky one day.”

  “I hope so too.”

  It was only when Red turned his face away from the screen, did he realize how close he was to Laz. Their lips were inches apart, and he could feel Laz’s warm breath on his skin. Red dug his fingers into the chair’s polished wood backrest, his body seeking Laz’s when Ace’s voice boomed from the hall.

  “Are you decent?”

  Red let his head hang with a chuckle before straightening. “Yes,” he called out. “Unlike you.” With a wink at Laz, Red went to the fridge and pulled out the pitcher of tea, knowing exactly what Ace was going to say.

  “Ooh, pour me a glass.” Ace dropped down into a chair next to Laz and motioned toward the living room. “Your bag’s on the couch.”

  “Thanks.” Red placed the glass of cold tea in front of Ace. “Where’s Colton?”

  “He’s taking a shower before dinner.” Ace gulped down his tea in record time before jumping out of his chair. “And now I’m going to join him.”

  “Thanks, Ace. I did not need to know that,” Laz informed him, shaking his head.

  Ace laughed as he hurried off, and Red decided now was a good time to start the Mexican rice he’d be serving with dinner, along with some black beans. He removed a couple of cans from the pantry, chuckling at Laz’s puzzled expression.

  “Not that there’s anything wrong with canned beans, I’m just surprised.”

  “Believe me, it’s not my idea. Ace prefers the canned beans. He says he likes the taste better for some reason. I don’t know. His Cuban family members think he’s weird, and they’re not wrong.”

  “Can I help with anything?” Laz asked, closing his laptop.

  “Would you mind setting the table while I finish making dinner? Ace and Colton should be down by the time everything’s done.”

  “No problem.”

  Laz moved around the kitchen as Red cooked the rice, removed everything he needed from the fridge to cook the steaks, and pulled the tortilla warmers from the cabinet. It was a little silly, but being in the kitchen with Laz felt… comforting. They moved around each other naturally, like they’d done it a hundred times.

  “Have you always enjoyed cooking?” Laz asked as he removed dishes from the cabinets, and cutlery from the drawers. Tonight, it was just the four of them, though Red didn’t anticipate it would be any less lively, what with Ace being here.