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Kid looked like jailbait. Course to a guy pushing two hundred, fifty sometimes felt like jailbait.
This kid definitely looked young, though, early twenties at most, more likely just barely legal.
Not that anything about what he was doing was legal.
Logan had seen him before, on the street near Logan's crash pad, always at night, always in tight jeans, always leaning against a building and trying to look sexy. Selling himself, either to feed a drug habit or simply to survive.
Tonight, though, he was sitting on a low wall, looking tired and defeated, head hung low as he bit his lip.
He was sexy, Logan had to admit.
Before he could think better of it, Logan ambled toward him. He'd been on his way to the diner down the street for a bite before calling it a night, but a quick fuck could be fun too.
Hell, maybe he could do both. Kid looked like he could use a good meal, and Logan wasn't hurting for money. He'd just finished a job and was flush with cash.
The kid looked up, seeming to sense Logan's approach. His eyes were an absolutely heart-stopping blue, wise beyond their years; and his lips, as vivid a red as Logan's last girlfriend's lipstick.
He licked those lips and tried for a smile. It was probably meant to be flirty, but all it was was tired. "Looking for some fun?" he asked, his accent surprisingly upper-class English.
"Maybe," Logan said. "Wanna get some food first though."
The kid's face fell, no doubt thinking Logan was blowing him off.
"Wanna join me? I'm just going to the diner down the street."
Kid glared up at him. "I'm not a charity case."
"Never said ya were. I'm just hungry, thought ya might be too."
The fire faded from the kid's eyes. "Okay."
"C'mon then. I don't wanna take all night."
The kid grimaced and rose, slowly, painfully.
"Sorry, kid. I wouldn't've rushed ya if I'd known ya were hurt."
"Don't call me kid," he snapped. "It's Charles." Then he took a breath and continued more quietly. "And I'm not hurt, at least not recently."
That sounded ominous.
Charles shook his head. "Nothing like that. I shattered my spine when I was fifteen."
Logan hadn't said that out loud. "You're a telepath."
Charles nodded. "A weak one, at least right now. The medication that makes it possible for me to walk damps down my telepathy."
"Tough choice."
"Not as much as you think. I sleep better this way." Charles turned and limped toward the diner.
Logan strolled along beside him. The way Charles walked made Logan's body ache in sympathy, and his progress was halting.
But they got there and slid into a booth. "Order whatever you want," Logan said.
His favorite waitress, Julie, brought over a carafe of coffee for Logan and she asked Charles, "What'cha want to drink, hon? Coffee?"
Charles shuddered. "Tea," he said. "No, wait, how about a chocolate milkshake."
"You got it." Then she looked at Logan. Your usual?"
"Yeah."
Julie bustled off.
Logan watched the kid as he studied the menu. "The pot roast is good. So are the burgers and the breakfast platter."
The ki— Charles lifted his gaze. "Which one are you having?"
Logan grinned. "All three."
Charles' eyes went wide, but before he could say anything more, Julie returned with his shake. "Know what you want yet?" she asked as she set down his glass.
Charles nodded. "Breakfast burger with hash browns."
A slightly awkward silence descended as they waited. That was fine by Logan — he wasn't much for small talk.
The food was good, as always, and Logan finished with a slice of chocolate pie. Charles declined dessert, but Logan got him to try his.
He seemed even less steady on his feet as he rose. "Ya okay?"
"I'll be fine. My meds are just wearing off a little early. I'll take more when we get to your place."
"Okay."
But barely halfway there, Charles let out a soft cry of alarm and dropped to the sidewalk, his head smacking the cement with a dull thud.
He lay there for a minute, then pushed himself halfway to a sitting position before falling back. "Fuck."
Logan dropped to his knees beside him. "What happened?"
"My meds. I should have still had half an hour."
"Can you take them now?"
"Not while my head's swimming this bad, so unless you can carry me, we'll be stuck here for a bit."
"I can carry you."
Charles gaped at him. "You're sure? I'm heavier than I look."
For an answer, Logan rose and scooped Charles into his arms before setting off down the street.
He got him back to his rathole apartment and set him down gently on the bed. An impressive bruise was blooming at his temple, and Logan grabbed a bag of frozen french fries, wrapped it in one of his flannels, and laid it gently against the bruise.
Charles winced.
"Just take it easy for a bit. You'll be safe here."
Charles opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it and let his eyes drift shut.
Logan snagged his chair and settled in to wait. Because of the head injury, Charles would need to be roused periodically, so Logan would keep watch.