My vision blurs. Fuck, I’m wasted.
“Sit your ass down, Liev,” Lamé’s voice cuts through thewhomp whompof blood pounding in my veins. I blink at a chair and sink into it, faster than I meant to. My strength’s just gone.
Vaguely, I hear Lamé telling the customer that the Overlord’s indisposed at the moment. The person gives me a wide berth as they scoot up to the coffee counter.
“Mm-mm-mm.” Lamé swings over on their crutches and settles in the seat beside me. I look up expecting one of their signature smirks, but all I see is fondness. And maybe a little pity. Or a lot.
“I’m fucking up.”
Lamé—or Kris in this moment—throws their head back and laughs, the sound deep and rich. It brings back nights up at the house with Helen and Zion and a handful of other friends. Helen always at the center of it all, always playing, always joyous and open and full of life. So happy to spread it around—all that love she had in her heart.
Where the hell did it all go when she died?
Skin prickling hot and cold, I turn a wild look on Lamé. They’re shaking their head, an affectionate smile on their face. “You’ve come a long way since Helen died, Liev. You may not see it yet, but you’re not the guy we found drunk and half-starved in his studio.”
I know this to be true, but there are still moments of guilt. Of feeling like I don’t deserve whatever goodness comes my way.
“Cut yourself some slack.”
“I just…shit, Lamé. I’m pretty fucking rusty at this.” It comes out more snarl than actual language.
“Then listen to Lamé, old man. Step one.” Leaning close, Lamé grips my chin in three long-nailed fingers. “Is wake up and smell the pussy.”
I snort. The person waiting for their coffee doubles over with laughter.
“Fuck.” I shake my head and look back the way Grace went, fighting the urge to hunt her down and lick the bite mark on her neck. “I’m so tired, Kris. So damn tired.”
“Step two: get your ass to bed.”
I drop my head on one hand. “And then?”
“Then you go get your girl.”
“That sounds backwards.”
She flicks her fingers towards the door. “Go.”
21
Grace
Okay.That happened.
I’m literally shaking as I walk down the path back to the Thunderdome, and not just because I haven’t eaten a thing today—of which my stomach reminds me loudly.
Did it even happen? I mean all of it, from the fall, to the clench, to the weird-ass conversation, could have come straight from my fantasies. The Overlord. Liev, the Barbarian.
But my fantasy men were never real in my mind. They were amorphous. An idea. A desire.
That man is the opposite. He’s…a rock. A solid mass. An impenetrable force.
Liev. I try out his name as a whisper. It’s short and skates across my tongue. It’s a good name and it suits him much better than Overlord, which is pretentious and kind of absurd and also remote. There’s nothing remote about him. At all.
Shit. I’ve got to calm down, wrestle my libido into submission and get myself a damn snack. And maybe a shower.
That just makes me think of him again.
So, maybe a wank in that shower.
