Tourist season was always a dodgy time for a rentboy in Norfolk, or, at least, Zac Payne assumed it was. He hadn’t really been in town long enough to tell. In the city he’d left behind, every day had been dicey . . . and dirty. Even in high summer, the temperate British sun was no match for the noise and smog of the Big Smoke.
King’s Lynn, Norfolk, was different—quieter, cleaner, and conversely less predictable. In London, he wouldn’t have thought twice about approaching the miserable-looking hottie leaning against the front wall of the town’s only gay bar, because one protracted stare would’ve told him all he needed to know: that the blond bloke was rich, lonely, and lost, and easy pickings for the faceless good time Zac had to offer. Here in King’s Lynn though, Zac couldn’t be sure the man was even gay, much less willing to put his hand in his pocket for the privilege of having Zac in his bed. Or that he didn’t have a bunch of mates waiting around the corner, ready to give an audacious poof a kicking.
Not that Zac particularly minded a good kicking. In the right context, that shit was fun and the sick side of him enjoyed it.
Focus. Are you marking him, or not?
It was a fair question, because King’s Lynn was a town that had a respectable bedtime. If he didn’t pick up a job soon, he would be done for the night. Fuck it. Zac ducked behind a lamppost and lit up his last weed pipe. He sucked down a lungful of herbal smoke and closed his eyes as it filtered into his bloodstream, dulling what remained of his inhibitions and lighting his senses with a subtle fire. Reborn, he opened his eyes. Colours brightened, the stars sparkled, and across the street, the blond was more alluring than ever. With his high cheekbones, shaggy hair, and broad shoulders, all wrapped up in ripped jeans and a designer T-shirt, he was the kind of dude Zac dreamed of when he went to bed alone.
Zac crossed the road, weaving through the late-night revellers who were spilling from the club, searching for taxis to take them home. The blond saw him coming. His previously empty stare turned curious, and Zac’s confidence took a boost. Perhaps he’d struck gold. “All right, mate?”
The blond smiled slightly, showing Zac a beautiful set of teeth. “Yes, thanks. You?”
Zac shrugged. “I’m bored. This club is shite.”
The blond’s grin widened. “That why you’ve been loitering outside all night?”
“How do you know what I’ve been doing all night?”
“Because I’ve seen you every time I’ve come out for a fag. Looked like you were waiting for someone.”
Not someone. Anyone. But this bloke didn’t need to know that. “Maybe I got stood up.”
“Maybe we both did.”
“Yeah?” Now Zac was the curious one. “What happened?”
“My mate dragged me out. Thinks I need to get laid.”
“And do you?”
The blond shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone?”
Zac couldn’t argue with that. Fucking was like breathing to him, especially when he had a good partner, something he’d yet to find in the rural monotony of eastern England. Shoulda gone to Newquay.
“What’s so funny?”
“Hmm?”
The blond raised an eyebrow. “You’re smirking.”
“Speculating, actually.”
“Yeah? About what?”
“About how you need to get laid.” It was a reckless move, but Zac didn’t care. It had been a long night with no work, like the night before, and the night before that. No work tonight meant no food tomorrow, and he needed to eat almost as much as he needed to get fucked.
If the blond was taken aback by the bluntness, he didn’t let it show. He took a moment to consider his response, before he treated Zac to another lopsided half grin. “If you’d said that a few hours ago, I’d have said I could live without it, but I’ve drunk my body weight in Jäger since then, and I reckon it might be the only thing that will sober me up.”
It was as good a reason as any. “What’s your name?”
“Liam. What’s yours?”
“Zac. Wanna come back to mine?”
“Where do you live?”
“In town. The new flats on the high street.”
