It’s true, now that I think about it. Zion’s not one of those spendy stars you hear about, splashing out on absurd, flashy, ridiculous purchases. From what I’ve seen, he’s pretty frugal, considering he’s one of the richest actors in the country.
“Gives most of it away,” says Grace, something like admiration in her voice.
“Really?”
“He funds hundreds of memberships here every year.”
Grace is nodding. “Yep. Does nonprofits, too.”
“Doesn’t he have a freaking foundation?” asks Max.
“Seriously?” I’m stunned. “I had no idea.” Not that Zion would help people, but that he’s done it so secretly, without splashing it all around the media, like so many people in the spotlight.
“Yep. Helps LGBTQ youth. Runaways. Survivors.” She casts me a look. “He’s not all bad.”
“I never thought he was.” I stop, forcing them to, as well. “I…” I pull my arms from theirs and face them. “IlikedZion, you know? I respected him.”
“That still past tense?” Grace asks, her voice light.
It takes me a second while I try to parse out the complicated ball of feelings I’ve got for him. “I don’twantto like him.”
Max grins. “Can’t help it, though, can you?”
“No,” I say, feeling a little raw at the admission.
“The asshole’s damn likable.”
“Definitely.”
“Come on.” They slide their arms through mine again. “Let’s go see what Lamé’s got up their sleeve for tonight.”
“And maybe see what Zed’s up to while we’re at it.”
“After today, he’ll probably do everything he can to avoid me.” For some silly reason, the thought hurts my feelings.
Grace eyes my top through narrowed eyes and gives one of those secretive, tight-lipped smirks. “Oh, I doubt that.”
We continue on our way, between two little tent villages, past a big cabin, which is blaring vintage rock. A pair of men stumble out the door, wearing nothing but leather straps and body hair. One of them shoves the other against the wall and sinks to his knees. I look away, my own knee-bruising experience from earlier swamping me with a sudden, almost debilitating rush.
“Queer leather night,” says Max, knowingly.
We pass a couple doing naked cartwheels and then a campsite with maybe five retirement-age folks sitting around having a beer, fully clothed. Funny how they’re the odd ones out.
“This place is magical,” I say, accepting a condom from a sparkly, winged fairy and sliding it into the tight, high pocket in my shorts.
“I know,” Max sighs. “I love it here.
Grace just smiles.
We’re almost level with the Hangar when a deep voice rumbles from the dark. “Evening.”
The man is tall, Black, and well-built, shorter than Zion, but just as cleanly-muscled, his skin a dark pattern under a black fishnet top, his bottom half clad in wide-legged linen pants, his feet bare. He’s gorgeous.
“Blade!” Max jumps into his arms for a prolonged hug and a big smack on the lips, before dropping back to the ground.
“Grace.” He nods. Grace, who I’m not pegging as much of a hugger nods back.
Then his attention focuses on me. “You, stranger, are beautiful.” He blinks hard, as if to underscore what he’s saying. “I can’t keep my eyes off you.” He sticks out his hand. “I’m Blade. I apologize for being weird, but…”
