It sure felt like it. “Don’t pretend you give a rat’s arse.”
Jamie shut the fridge and stood up. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No. I might be a deadbeat junkie, Zac, but I’m still your mate. What’s going on? Have you slipped?”
“No.”
Zac turned on his heel and stomped to the living room, unwilling to let Jamie see how close to the mark he was. To let him smell his weakness. He threw himself onto the couch, only dimly aware of Jamie standing over him, until Jamie grabbed hold of him and yanked him upright again.
“If it’s not the junk, what is it? A bad trick? Come on, mate. You can tell me. It can’t be anything I haven’t ballsed up myself.”
Zac snorted, though he had no idea if Jamie had ever felt about anyone the way he’d felt—still felt—about Liam. They were the closest to a best friend either one of them had ever had, but Jamie endured a life of his own away from the flat, a life Zac spent most of his time trying to hide from. For all he knew, Jamie had a junkie lover out there waiting on him right now.
’Cause you and Liam were lovers? Zac snorted again, though there was no humour in it. He’d never been sure what love was, but he knew enough to know that Liam was more than a naïve infatuation for him.
“Zac.”
“What?”
Jamie sighed, for a moment assuming the air of an overworked mental health nurse. “Have you got a quid? I think you need a bag of chips.”
“I’m not giving you money.”
“Suit yourself.” Jamie dug around in his pockets and came up with some loose change. “Might have enough anyway.”
He got up and left the flat. Zac didn’t expect to see him again, so he was a little taken aback when Jamie reappeared ten minutes later, brandishing a bag of chips from the greasy spoon down the road, a tub of gravy, and a wide grin even Zac couldn’t ignore.
“I found a two-pound coin outside the post office.”
“Bonza. And you bought gravy with it? Looks like you’re the one on the turn.”
Jamie held out his bounty. “I got it for you.”
Zac could’ve cried, but he didn’t. He sat up and took the chips, scooting over to make room for Jamie on the couch. “Share them?”
“If you want.”
In answer, Zac unwrapped the chips and shoved a handful in Jamie’s mouth, and then his own, realising for the first time in days how hungry he was. The chips were good, the gravy better, and he and Jamie made short work of both.
Zac contemplated dashing out for some more, but the ache in his back kept him still. In his hurry to answer the front door, he’d forgotten about his war wounds.
Jamie noticed him shifting and raised an eyebrow. “Wanna shower?”
“Me? You’re the one who stinks.” Zac couldn’t remember a time when Jamie hadn’t smelt of dirty pavements and unwashed clothes.
“So come with me.”
Jamie stood and held out his hand. After a brief second of deliberation, Zac found himself powerless to refuse. This was his role in life, right? Get fucked by the johns and keep Jamie from rotting? What else was there?
A few minutes later, Jamie turned the shower on in the windowless bathroom. The extractor fan whirred to life and he reached for the light.
“Don’t,” Zac said. “Leave it off.”
Jamie left it off, leaving them at the mercy of the bare lightbulb in the hallway. Steam filled the room. Zac leaned against the tiled wall and closed his eyes, recalling the last time he’d shared a shower with someone, and then steeling himself against the tidal wave of Liam-fuelled arousal that swept over him.
The sound of Jamie’s clothes hitting the floor stirred him. Damn. Zac usually did that bit, because Jamie was often so strung out he forgot. But not today. Today, Jamie ditched his own clothes, then came to Zac, his gaze curious and more heated than Zac had seen it in a very long while.
