Zac couldn’t deny it, though he didn’t see how Jamie could be so certain. They’d hardly seen each other in recent months. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore. He’s gone.”
“Gone where?”
“Nowhere. I meant figuratively.”
“Oh. Don’t use big words like that. You know they confuse me.”
“Liar.” Jamie was fiercely intelligent and more articulate than Zac could ever dream of being. “I only know what it means because you told me.”
“Whatever. Okay, so what happened to Hot Stuff? Did he get a better offer?”
“No, he found one of your syringes in my pocket and threw me out of his house.”
Silence. Jamie bit his lip and guilt like Zac had never seen in him before softened his sharp features. “He thought it was yours?”
“I reckon so. He didn’t really say much apart from ‘get the fuck out.’”
“Why didn’t you tell him it was mine?”
“Because it didn’t matter by then. He’d already come to his senses.”
Jamie frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Zac recounted the whole sorry turn of events, filling Jamie in on all he’d missed, right up until the moment Liam had stormed out of his own house, slamming the front door so hard behind him that the whole building had shaken.
“Why didn’t you wait for him to come back?” Jamie asked. “Or follow him out?”
Zac sighed. He’d asked himself that a few times over the last ten days. “Because it wouldn’t have changed anything. I saw his face, Jay . . . when he was holding the rig. It was like he’d finally remembered what I was, and what a fucking idiot he’d been to ever forget. I might’ve convinced him I wasn’t shooting up in his bathroom, but I’ll always be a whore.”
“And what’s wrong with that? We’re not killing anyone, mate.”
Zac didn’t entirely agree, but kept the sentiment to himself. Who was he to lecture Jamie? “Just forget it. It’s over now, anyway.”
“Doesn’t mean you didn’t deserve it, whatever it was. I can’t stop you blaming yourself, but don’t start believing it’s because he’s better than you, because that’s bollocks, Zac. He was the one using hookers for kicks.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Then what was it like? This ain’t no Pretty Woman fable. Johns are johns.”
Zac shook his head and sat up, letting the duvet fall away. “Not Liam. He’s not like that. He never made me feel like a whore. He’s just—”
“What? A rich dude with more money than sense?”
“No, he was lonely. His husband died and he was lonely, Jay. He was so fucking lonely.”
“You’ve said it three times, Zac. I get the point.” Jamie sat up too, eyeing Zac warily. “But being lonely doesn’t make him nice. Rich twats are never nice. How do you think they make their money?”
“No.” Zac shook his head so hard it was a wonder it didn’t fall off. “He didn’t mean to make so much money. He gives most of his profits back to the company to run their eco festivals.”
“Eco festivals? Thought you said he was a surfer?”
“He used to surf. He makes T-shirts now . . . or, at least, his company does.”
Jamie frowned. “What did you say his name was?”
“Liam.”
“Liam what?”
