“No, it’s wrong of me.” Tripp willed his erection away, breathing deeply to think cold thoughts.
“I’m flattered. Especially since you’re being polite about it. But if it gets in the way, it’s getting a piercing.” Dray’s chuckle of a voice halted Tripp’s libido like a car crash.
But then again…the thought of Dray leaned over his cock, needle in hand—no, instant boner kill. Then again, his gloved hand on Tripp’s cock—the thought made his cock swell then shrink again. Dray halted his work once more.
Tripp opened one eye tentatively and caught Dray’s gaze going that direction. “What?”
“That is the most confused erection I have ever witnessed.” Dray shook his head and bowed back down, silence occupying the space between them.
It stretched on that way for almost an hour before a grumble rose above the tattoo gun and Tripp eyed the clock. “Haven’t eaten dinner yet?”
“Nah.” Dray continued on with his inking.
“Want to stop here for the night oooorrrr?” Tripp pulled out his phone and thumbed through the map application to see what was nearby. “Fiesta Panda Palace?”
“They have these cream cheese fried things with jalapenos that are amazing.” Dray sucked on a lick of drool pooling underhis tongue. “But I need to finish the outline in one sitting at least.”
Tripp nodded. “So, taking a break it is. Wontons and what else for you? My treat.”
“I can pay for my own.” Dray rolled his eyes.
“If I thought twenty bucks’ worth of Chinese food would buy you, you wouldn’t be worth it.” Tripp raised a brow. “Now, tell me what’s good and I’ll order a little of everything to try. Family style.”
“Chinese-Mexican fusion. The wontons. I always say you can judge a place by its General Tso’s, but the secret for really good Chinese food is the egg foo young.” Dray daubed at Tripp’s chest a little and set things up to take a break.
“Fusion? And what’s their egg foo young like?” Tripp scrunched his face up.
“Oh, it’s awful. It’s like egg foo young, but they swapped the bean sprouts for nopales…”
Tripp barely contained a laugh. “I’m game for anything once. Tell me what to order.”
“Okay, order the General Ts’acos, the juan-tons, the taquito eggrolls, and…” Dray tapped his lower lip, thinking. “You like spicy?”
“Love it.”
“The Kung Paulo chicken nachos.” Dray gave him a wink, and Tripp ordered through an app.
“I need to go grab it in ten minutes.”
“Let me do it. I don’t want you to move or risk messing up the work.” Dray waved him off as he tidied up a little and disposed of some trash. Blood and ink mingled over paper towels, mostly.
The way Dray held himself was confident and perky, like he had fun and hope for life, but the loneliness underneath it all made Tripp’s heart ache. Snakes weren’t exactly commonshifters, and in a way, Dray was one of his own. Pregnant, tattooed, and pierced all to heaven—Tripp’s father would blow. A. Gasket. His father was all determined to keep the family line going.
Tripp thought back to his drunken lust-fueled rampage through the club, the omega with the tattooed scales, the way his body writhed. Snakes were often alt-styled, so it wasn’t an uncommon aesthetic, but Tripp had been trained from birth to uphold Standards™. Tack on the little trademark symbol there because those standards pretty much meant hot, straight, well-connected, reptile, and classy. Dray was two of those things.
He wasn’t that omega that got away, though. Tripp’s thoughts scattered the moment the text came through saying the food was ready, and he returned with the most ethnically questionable food in existence.
And it wasn’t bad.
So, when Dray’s bifurcated tongue slid from the corner of his mouth to lap away an errant drop of sauce, the rattlesnake was done for.
Chapter Four
Dray
As their dinner settled, Dray finished up the outline and idly bantered back and forth about what Tripp’s plans were, his company, which compounded metadata from ad reels on social media sites in a new way that made it easier to compound keywords and target audiences.
“Boring? Yeah. Big-time. But it pays the bills.” Tripp waved a hand, downplaying the worth of his effort. Dray liked it. The male’s clothes were neat and tidy, but not expensive. He was frugal without being slovenly, could do with a wee bit of a makeover, but who couldn’t?
