Prodigal (Lost and Found Book 1) by TA Moore

Author:TA Moore [Moore, TA]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance
ISBN: 9781644058008
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2020-02-10T18:30:00+00:00

THE SMART thing to do would be to go to Shay and pick his brain. He was Sammy’s brother, and he knew everything Morgan needed to run this con. It wasn’t as though Morgan would even have to lie. Shay wanted this to play out smoothly just as much as Morgan did.

So why was he slouched against Boyd’s door? He hadn’t even known if Boyd was home when he climbed the stairs until the muffled “Hold on” from inside.

If he were honest, Morgan already knew the answer. He had—what, a week?—left of Boyd’s pretty-as-fuck eyes and sweet mouth. Then he’d be out of here, and Shay would have Boyd and his justice all to himself.

That thought made Morgan taste bile in the back of his throat. He shrugged it off because that sort of answer would make a smart man—whose freedom and twenty grand had been bet on his ability to fuck people over—get out of here. Sentiment and second thoughts were the sort of thing that got you sent to jail, and no matter what they promised, no one actually waited on the outside. Luckily Morgan wasn’t really all that honest.

Shay might tell Morgan everything he thought Morgan needed to know, but he was a mechanic with an axe to grind, not a con artist. A lie lived or died on the details, and Morgan didn’t trust Shay to know what details mattered.

See? It wasn’t a lie, but it was a truth he could live with.

He thumped the door again with the flat of his hand. “Are you dead?”

“Nope.” The door opened from under his shoulders, and Morgan caught his balance as he turned. Boyd, hair messy and skin greasy pale, smirked at him as he propped himself against the jamb. “Maybe I’m getting laid.”

He smelled like sweat, sleep, and the sour bite of whiskey that had sweated out through his pores and soaked into his rumpled T-shirt. It made Morgan’s lip curl, the back of his throat raw as his temper scraped at it.

“And they had to get you drunk first?” he asked.

Boyd rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I did that myself,” he said. “Bad day.”

“Bet mine was worse.”

“I got fired.”

“I went to see your friend, and he called me a con artist,” Morgan said. “I guess it’s lucky you didn’t feel like you had to boast that we’d hooked up, or he’d have probably called me worse.”

Boyd squinted at him for a moment and then pushed himself off the door jamb with a groan. He left the door open as he padded back into the dimly lit apartment. Sweatpants hung low around his hips, the cuffs folded under his heels. “You know what? It’s too early for you.”

“It’s midafternoon.”

“Shit,” Boyd said as he folded himself over the breakfast bar and laced his hands together at the back of his neck. His voice was muffled between his elbows as he groaned, “This may be another bad day.”

If he wanted sympathy, Morgan was out. He’d

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