1
Fern “Dare” Darrow
The darknessin my bedroom made me yawn, but I didn’t want to see the enticing sunshine. Everything on earth should fit my shitty fucking mood, including the sky, but it wasn’t cooperating, so I’d closed the blinds and curtains. The spreadsheet open on my computer screen wasn’t acting right, either. I’d have to get up off my ass and go across the hallway to ask Zayden what the hell I was doing wrong. He was way better at this type of stuff.
Biting the corner of my mouth, I tried moving around a few lines on the equation. The screen froze and I jabbed incessantly at the touch pad with my pointer finger.Zilch.I glanced at the door. Z had asked for some privacy with his newest boyfriend, though. Said he had some “big things” to discuss with him.
My stomach churned.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want Zayden to be happy, I just got bad vibes from his new guy. There wasno wayI wanted to burst Z’s bubble by telling him that. I poked forlornly at the keyboard, but no matter how I entered the formula that was supposed to figure out the state taxes for the employee paychecks at Mansfield, Rowell, and Harford—the law firm where we worked—it didn’t happen.
Technically this bullshit was well outside our purview as paralegals but try telling Mr. Mansfield that. He’d more or less pointed and shouted, “You two paralegals. Yeah, you two. What the hell do I pay you for anyway?” Zayden had clutched at my thigh underneath the conference table, fingers digging in until they hurt. Before I could open my mouth, the boss had continued, “Payroll is short-staffed. Help them sort out their shit,” and on he’d moved to the next issue in our weekly Friday afternoon meeting from hell.
Clint Mansfield took no prisoners, bullshit, or excuses, so I was sweating bullets. I shifted as my knees hit the underside of the low wooden table I had in my room to work at instead of a desk and sat straighter on the “boho” meditation pillow Z had bought me, which in no way made me feel more at ease. I stretched my arms upward and arched until my head hit the edge of my mattress as I sighed.
“This. Fucking. Sucks,” I grumped. “I don’t make enough money for this.”
The meeting was yesterday, and now here I was wasting my weekend. I sighed and tried changing up the equation again, but it continued to give me the middle finger. I growled.
Thecrackof a door swinging closed far too hard from across the hallway had me spinning to stare at my own closed door. Zayden didn’t slam, yell, or do anything else rude. He had a fluffy personality, like a baby bunny, and that was half the reason we still lived together. I couldn’t imagine sending him out into the world alone after being best friends with him through school and college. He’d get eaten alive.
Carefully I tugged out my earbuds and stood. Silence greeted me, which wasn’t right. Zayden didn’t rampage, but he also wasn’t a quiet soul. When he was in his element, he was one of the loudest people known to mankind, always chatting, laughing, or even singing to himself. I crept toward the door, listening with every fiber of my being. Maybe the slam was an accident? I opened the door and peeked out. The bright fuchsia Z had slapped onto the walls—“It’s not pink, silly. Say it with me, fuchsia!” “Okay,” I’d groaned, but I’d repeated the damned word.—almost blinded me after the purposeful darkness of my lair of work woe.
Eyeing up Z’s closed bedroom door, I went right along the hallway to the stairs and down into the living room. Z’s touches were everywhere, and he’d had his paintbrush out here as well. The brick walls had all been coated with metallic silver. The effect was jarring, but I’d sworn on my life I loved it. Our patched leather couch was fourth-hand when we bought it in college, and though we could replace it now, we hadn’t bothered. Z was proud of his multicolored attempts at keeping it together, and even I had to admit it had character. Serge, Z’s boyfriend, perched on the leather cushions, and he was a carbon copy of every single pretty-boy, Abercrombie-and-Fitch-model wannabe Z had ever dragged home. And they were allexactlythe same. I wasn’t sure why he insisted on going for the same type of too polished asshole each and every time he dated someone.
Serge spread out and took up space on the couch with a candy jar in his hand. My skin crawled as he tipped the jar up and actually put his mouth on the rim to fill his face with jelly beans—Z’s overpriced Jelly Belly candies that I’d bought for him because he had a sweet tooth. I’d even picked out all the yellow ones because he hated them. Scowling, I eased farther into the living room.
When Serge noticed me, which took a shockingly long time, he set the jar down with a clatter on the glass top of the coffee table. I held my breath as he fumbled the lid back on the jar, then sat back with his cheeks puffed out as he chomped.
“Why the hell did I hear a door slam? Zayden hates crap like that.” I glowered, and the time that dragged by turned into an excruciating gauntlet for my patience as he chewed and swallowed.
Serge shrugged, and the even smile he flashed, which displayed oddly bright white teeth, wavered quickly into a pinched, thin-lipped expression. “Zayden’s pissed off with me.”
Stuffing my hands into the pockets of my shorts, I tried not to go over there and smash his face in for him. This wasn’t my business. I’d told myself the same thing a thousand times over the years because Zayden somehow managed to find the most annoying fucking people and thrust them into our lives. “He’s not like that. He talks out his problems. Maybe you should go apologize.”
“Not gonna work.” He shrugged and cupped the back of his head with both hands as he stared at the ceiling. The hem of his T-shirt drifted upward over his hard abs. Okay, maybe the model obsession made sense. I resembled what Zayden had told me once was a “snuggly bear” rather than… whatever the hell gay guys called men like Serge.
“Why?” I asked through gritted teeth. “An apology goes a long way, you know?”
The shift of Serge’s attractive face into mope mode was almost comical.Almost.“I fucked a few people.”
My amusement fled. “Excuse the hell out of me. What?”
With a nervous smile, he lowered his hands to his lap and twisted his fingers together. “He’s mad about it, man. Can you believe it? We’re all guys, even if you don’t fuck them. You get it, right? I never told Z we were gonna do that monogamy bullshit.” I flinched at hearing my nickname for Zayden fall so casually from this asswipe’s mouth. He clearly didn’t deserve to use it.
“Zayden told meyouasked him to go out two months ago. As in, pursue a relationship? That’s fairly clear.” My stomach churned, and all at once the door slamming made more sense. Zayden was likely building a pillow nest as we spoke so he could curl up under the blankets and be miserable. One Z plus one breakup meant I would be on cleanup duty for the next month. Not that I minded because he was my platonic soul mate, but that was a lot of fucking work. My anger shot through the roof. I would mop up tears and tell Z how wonderful he was just in time for the next Serge to appear at my front door, and frankly, I was fucking sick of it.
Serge shrugged and his expensive shirt glimmered in the sunshine spilling through the windows. “We’re not breeders. It’s not like I can knock another guy up. He needs to chill the fuck out. An orgasm is an orgasm is an orgasm.” He laughed, but it slowly died as I didn’t join in. “What does it matter where it comes from?”
Closing my eyes, I made myself count to ten, but then quit somewhere around five and three-quarters because there weren’t enough fucking numbers in the world to bring my rage down. I stomped closer and stopped on the far side of the coffee table. “You know fucking well enough that you left him with the idea you two were only going to be with each other.”
The long groan Serge let out had me flexing my hands into fists as he shook his head sadly. “You’re one of the straights, man. You guys have to assume because women all want that one-man, one-woman shit. It’s not the same with gay guys. You just don’t understand. I’m not conforming to heteronormative standards just to miss out on getting a blow job from the lips of a fucking angel. If you’d seen him…. Well, even you’d have done it. I swear, man.” His eyebrows rose high on his forehead.
“Last I checked, plenty of straight people are poly or ethically non-monogamous. Want to clear up that you’re full of shit right now.” I jabbed a finger at him, and heat crawled up the back of my neck. “The problem here isn’t that you had your dick in someone else’s mouth, and probably elsewhere, it’s that you lied to Z and led him on. I know Z, and he doesn’t care how many people you’ve fucked. He cares about trust. And he fucking trustedyou.”
Serge shrugged. “Not my fault he assumed.” His eyes widened as I hopped the coffee table, which was not easy even at my height, but I was fucking pissed. He flailed as I grabbed his shirt and used it to haul him to his feet. The sound of cloth ripping had him whining out, “Come on, man.” I slammed him against the wall next to the couch, not caring that he hissed out a pained “oof” in the process.
“Leave now or I’m going toassumeyou want me to rearrange your fucking face.”
