The woman returned. She handed Zac a drink with a pretty smile. “They didn’t have any WKD left, so I got you a Jäger bomb.”
Zac took the drink, noting that she’d got herself a coke. Good. He wanted a punter who knew their own mind, not one who came to their senses at the last minute and kicked him to the kerb.
It was harder with women, though. A mile off, Zac could spot a closeted gay, a married man desperate for a bit of cock, but the kind of woman willing to pay for sex wasn’t like that. They craved conversation rather than an orgasm, and Zac often found that more arduous. At least with sex he was certain of his role. Huddled in the corner of the bar, hoping the woman was enjoying his company enough to pay for more of it, he felt a little lost. And bored. Picking up women was a long game, and he found himself perversely wishing he’d simply turned a trick on the streets and gone home.
But you don’t do that anymore. And fuck if that didn’t feel like a burden tonight. He’d come out scouting for women on purpose, but despite being miles away from the gay bar where he’d met Liam last month, he still caught himself looking for him around every corner, searching for the broad shoulders and shaggy blond hair that weren’t there.
Hmm. Perhaps that explained why he’d zeroed in on the pale-skinned, dark-haired woman who was a world away from everything he was missing. He swirled the ice in his drink. It had been two weeks since his London encounter with Liam and he hadn’t heard a thing—despite checking his phone every ten seconds—and the silence had left him antsy. He’d serviced all his usual johns, and picked up a few on top, but he couldn’t get Liam out of his mind. Getting fucked by strangers had always felt perverse, but he’d been hooking so long he’d perfected the art of disconnection—even without the junk. But Liam had undone that. Zac had turned a dozen tricks since his trip to London, but each one had proved more difficult than the last. He’d never had any trouble getting—or staying—hard, but the last few days had been . . . awkward, and it seemed Zac’s dick was craving Liam’s touch as much as Zac was.
“Um . . .” The woman laid a hand on Zac’s arm. “Do you want to get a drink at my house?”
Bingo. Zac raised a smile from somewhere and plastered it on his face. “Sure. Let’s go.”
The taxi ride to the woman’s house provided the ideal opportunity for Zac to spin his usual sales pitch. He moved closer to the woman as she fumbled in her purse for the cab fare. Her debit card popped up—Emily Pines. Zac filed the information and put his hand on her leg. “So, Emily . . . after we’ve had that drink, is there anything else I can help you with?”
It was almost too easy. The woman—Emily—didn’t even seem that surprised when Zac revealed his motives.
“Should’ve known,” she said. “I knew you were too fit for the likes of me.”
He felt bad then. Emily was pretty—pale and alluring—but more than that, despite Zac’s preoccupation with the phone call that would likely never come, she was actually rather nice and he felt comfortable in her presence, and in her bed. He flipped her over onto her belly and took her from behind, gentle and slow, almost sweet, resolving to give her the attention she deserved, and push all thoughts of Liam aside, which, with Emily’s soft, rounded body, wasn’t as hard as it might’ve been if he’d picked up a bloke.
He left her sleeping in the early hours, creeping down the stairs and letting himself out. Halfway down her drive, he spun on his heel and jogged to the front door, and impulsively posted the money she’d given him back through her letterbox.
What the fuck are you doing? He had no idea, but was gone and away before he could give it much thought.
At the flat, he plugged his phone in to charge, then searched for any sign Jamie had been home. But he found none. There was no mess or trail of destruction, and, more importantly, Zac’s wad of cash was still safe in the back of the toilet.
He took a shower, washing with the bodywash he’d bought with the money left over from paying the rent. It smelled like Liam—like mint and the sea, though it was nothing like the expensive toiletries he’d had in his bathroom—and it wasn’t long before Zac’s hand drifted to his cock. He closed his eyes and fought the images of Liam that bombarded him, picturing Jamie, and Emily, and even a few johns who hadn’t been as vile as most of the others, anything to stop his obsession with Liam bleeding into every private moment of his life.
But it was no good. He’d enjoyed his time with Emily, and he always enjoyed fucking Jamie—teasing his familiar body, baiting him until they both tumbled over the edge—but none of it had anything on the crazy heat he’d found with Liam. It had been two weeks since they’d laid a hand on each other, and despite all that had happened since, Zac could still feel the burn of his cock digging inside him, and the sting of teeth sinking into his back.
“Fuck!” Zac pushed his swollen dick aside and slapped the wet tiles, growling in frustration. Couldn’t he have a wank without his obsession with Liam spoiling it? Idiot. Like he needed a fucking wank. Like he even wanted one.
Grumbling, he turned off the shower and dried himself with the towel that was still damp from before he’d gone out. Perhaps Jamie had been right and it was time to turn the central heating on after all. At least then he wouldn’t have to put clothes on to walk around the flat—clothes it took him a while to find, as it had been a week since he’d done any washing. For the first time in days, he checked his phone as an afterthought instead of the manic compulsion he’d developed over the past fortnight. A message flashed up, and his first thought was Jamie. Two weeks was a long time, even for him.
But it wasn’t Jamie, it was Liam, and his short, ten-word message warmed Zac’s soul from the inside out.
Call me in the morning. Got something to ask you. — L
“I’ve got to take the van up to Sheffield for the day and it doesn’t go faster than fifty miles an hour, so I could use the company.” Liam drummed his fingers on the van’s bonnet as he waited for Zac to reply. He’d sent the text in the early hours after a maudlin night on the beer, half expecting Zac not to respond, so the 9 a.m. phone call had caught him on the hop.
“What’s in Sheffield?” Zac asked.
“Work, and a specialist garage for the van. She needs some TLC.”
“‘She’?” Zac sounded amused. “Don’t tell me your van has a name?”
“Hettie. Don’t take the piss. It’ll make sense when you see her.”
Zac said nothing. Liam wondered if he was calculating how much a day trip would earn him and if it was worth the hassle. “I’ll pay you five hundred again.”
“Five hundred? How long are we going for? A week?”
Liam chuckled. “No, just the day, but I reckon you’ll have earned it by the time you’ve spent a day bouncing around in Hettie.”
Another dose of silence, then Zac sighed. “I didn’t think I was going to hear from you.”
“Why not?” Liam pushed himself off the van and wandered to the cliff edge, lighting his first cigarette in weeks and peering over the barrier to the crashing sea below. “Wasn’t that bad in London, was it?”
