“I was saying . . .” Liam cuffed his shoulder. “That these are the templates for the shirts.”
Zac studied the templates, trying not to dwell on the fact that Liam’s affectionate punch was the first physical contact they’d had all day, and read the various slogans. They were all clever plays on words or graphics, delivering a subtle eco-warrior message, and the last one was his favourite. The font was made of dying trees and the slogan simply read, think. “Who comes up with the words?”
“The designers, mainly, sometimes our marketing team. This one’s mine though, actually. A vintage one from years ago that we’ve relaunched.”
“It’s awesome.”
“Thank you.”
They grinned at each other for a long moment before a factory worker called Liam’s name and the spell was broken.
A little while later, Liam’s business at the factory was done. They took Hettie to a nearby garage. Whatever she was having done would take a few hours, so they decamped to the pub across the road.
Liam left Zac at a table and went to the bar. He came back with a Pepsi and a pint of ale that he passed across the table.
Zac took a tentative sip. He’d never drunk cask beer before and the concept was something of a mystery to him. Lager had always made more sense, until he tasted the ale and it slid down his throat into his belly like a warm, beery hug. “Wow. I like that. What is it?”
“Fuggle Bunny. They brew it up the road. It’s strong stuff, though, so go easy.”
“Trust me, I can handle it.” Zac took another gulp, ignoring the quizzical frown Liam shot him. “What are we doing now?”
“Not much. I ordered some lunch. Pie and chips okay with you?”
Hell, yeah. Liam had blown his mind with the Thai feast in London, but there was nothing Zac craved more when he was tired and hungry than a heaping plate of pie and chips. Not that he often had the means to indulge. A Pukka Pie from the chippie was as good as it got, and that was rare. And a far cry from the gigantic pie that appeared in front of him ten minutes later. “Fuck me.”
Liam snorted. “Not in here, mate.”
Zac hardly heard him, too caught up in the huge dome of pastry towering over his plate. “What’s in the pie?”
“Lentils and ale.”
“Fuggle Bunny ale?”
“Maybe.” Liam grinned and passed Zac a bottle of ketchup and a fork. “Dig in and see.”
He didn’t have to say it twice. Zac hadn’t eaten since the dodgy sausage roll he’d picked up on the cab ride home that morning. The pie was stuffed full of lentils and onion gravy, and accompanied by a pile of thick-cut chips, but it didn’t take Zac long to devour it. When his plate was clean, he sat back in his seat, rubbing his stomach, and found Liam watching him, amusement lightening his chiselled features.
“Hungry, were we?”
Zac shrugged. “I’m always hungry. My mum used to say I had hollow legs.”
“What does she say now?”
“No idea.”
“No? You’re not close?”
Zac rolled his eyes. “What do you think? I told you before, I haven’t seen her in years.”
Liam stuffed his last chip in his mouth and wiped his hands on a paper napkin. “I think I don’t know the first thing about you, other than how to make you come, so I have no idea how to respond when you say shit like that.”
Zac couldn’t argue with the fact that Liam knew how to make him come, and something about Liam’s evident annoyance was insanely hot. Heat bloomed in his veins and merged with the already entrenched warmth from the second pint of ale Liam had fetched for him. He gazed at Liam, wondering if he felt it too, but Liam’s eyes held nothing but a sad fascination. Oh. Maybe Zac couldn’t make him happy, but he had plenty to ease his curiosity. “I haven’t seen my mum since I was fifteen and her boyfriend kicked me out. The council put me in a foster home, but it was shit, so I sofa-surfed my way to London.”
“What did you do in London?”
“Same thing I do in King’s Lynn.”
Liam took a protracted gulp of Pepsi. “So you’ve been doing . . . this for eight years?”
