Show Me Your Lips (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 3)

At Ease, Soldier!

"Your bikie is a wanker," Frank said behind Lauren who was unnecessarily faffing around the kitchen.

She jolted and glared at him. "Yeah, you mentioned."

"I don't mean in the shower; although I stand by my previous statement," Frank continued. "But yeah, he's a first rate prick and obviously a homophobe."

He picked up her kettle from a hob with an irked grunt and turned to the sink.

"What did he do?" Lauren asked, grabbed the kettle out of Frank's hands, and took over.

"He didn't need to do anything, Laur. I've seen enough blokes like him to know. You're just spoiled by how liberal Fleckney is, but outside our county people are still pretty nasty towards the queers."

Lauren almost retorted that he was hardly any more worldly than her; but she wasn't going to 'hetero-splain' homophobia to her gay drag queen of a brother. Her family might have routinely mentioned that she tended to put her foot in; but even she wasn't that much of a berk.

"His body language and how he kept glaring at my hands was enough," Frank added and wiggled his manicured fingers in the air.

Lauren recalled the one called Hinch making a similar gesture.

"And you're planning to feed him our Ma's battenberg," Frank grumbled and jerked his chin in the direction of the cake she'd sliced and arranged on the kitchen table.

Lauren moved the kettle onto the stove and turned the hob on.

"Well, firstly, you don't actually know if he's a homophobe," she muttered. "You're just assuming. And like you said, that's normal. Most people are a tad racist and homophobes. That's just how they grew up. Also, why are you still here, Frank?" she threw to him in irritation.

"The question is why he is here," Frank hissed and jabbed his index finger towards the door - and then they both stared at the man standing in the door frame.

"Oh, all done?" Lauren asked in a tiny voice.

The man gave her a small smile, walked into the kitchen, and for some reason leaned to her microwave. He studied it, and then turned to her and tapped his injured wrist.

"What's he saying?" Frank asked Lauren. "Is his arm hurting?"

Lauren swallowed her sarcastic remark - why does he expect her to be able to decode this, exactly? - and muttered, "I think he's asking the time."

She picked up her mobile from the phone and showed its screen to the biker. He nodded and gestured towards the hallway behind him.

"Oh it's fine," she exclaimed, sussing out that he meant to note the time for the wash. "It'll beep when it's— Oh bugger," she breathed out, realising how daft that was.

"Really, Lauren?" Frank scoffed and turned to the man. "Just a mo, I've got a couple things to say," he said and pulled out his mobile.

"Oh bother, Frank! Get over yourself!" Lauren grabbed her brother's sleeve and dragged him out of the kitchen, waving her other hand at the biker and pointing at the table. "Sit please! I'll be right back!"

Frank was still protesting, but there was a reason why Lauren had habitually been told to 'scale it down a tad.' She was a Harris through and through - and that meant power. No matter how much Frank resisted, he was already in the hall now.

"You can't just have him lodge with you!" He was droning while Lauren switched from pulling to nudging him into his back. "Seriously, Laur, you of all people should be more cautious of men, considering your history with—"