Zac snorted quietly. The stupid cards were a bloody joke. Some days, he could hardly believe he’d spent a precious tenner having them printed. It wasn’t like they had anything on them, save the number for the pay-as-you-go budget smartphone he carried. The smartphone he’d checked religiously since he’d impulsively handed Liam his pathetic excuse for a business card. Idiot. He usually saved the cards for johns who looked rich, or desperate enough to want a regular arrangement, then forgot about them until they called, too caught up with the next job, or guarding an empty bed. Despite his designer clothes and surprising willingness to follow Zac home, Liam hadn’t seemed rich or desperate, even with the wad of cash still stashed in his wallet at 3 a.m. Perhaps he’s tight. The innuendo made Zac hot all over, but he didn’t feel like wanking.
Didn’t stop him brooding, though. He closed his eyes and pictured Liam, his strong body, wrapped up in smooth, tanned skin and shaggy blond hair. Arousal crept over Zac, but his mind brought him back to Liam’s eyes. He didn’t often notice the colour of a john’s eyes, but Liam’s chocolate-coloured gaze had been hypnotic, a molten mix of desire and an apathy Zac knew all too well. Liam had wanted Zac, had craved relief from the hurt simmering behind his eyes, but for the most part he’d seemed totally disconnected, like he’d been watching himself turn Zac inside out without giving a flying fuck.
Whether Liam knew it or not, he and Zac had that shit in common.
Zac shut the door of the seafront bungalow behind him and leaned briefly against the peeling paint, absorbing the entrancing sound of the waves hitting the nearby cliffs. The regular john—Frank—had been more work than usual, and Zac was tired and sore, but the cash in his pocket had made the bus ride to Snettisham worthwhile.
His bus home pulled up right on time at the stop across the road. Zac jogged down the driveway and jumped on, finding a seat next to an old lady who was engrossed in her knitting. Yawning, he settled in, closing his eyes as the small towns and villages flew by, and in no time at all, he was back in King’s Lynn. He let himself into the flat and went straight for the whiskey bottle. With a full glass, he kicked off his shoes and tossed his keys on the coffee table while he checked his phone for missed calls and messages. There were none, and his heart sank. Fuck’s sake, Jamie. Where are you? And what about Liam? Zac couldn’t deny he was still holding out hope he’d call. Who wouldn’t after a fuck like that?
He did the fucking, dickhead. You lay there and took it. Zac gave the devil on his shoulder the bird and pictured riding Liam, grinding down on his cock, though admittedly, it was the pounding Liam had given him after that stuck most in his mind. He’d slammed Zac like a pro and not left a mark on him, not a bruise or an ache. Not like Frank the Spanker, who’d rubbed Zac raw, despite his comical micropenis.
Recalling how he’d spent the last few hours was enough to pull Zac out of his Liam obsession. Shame had long ago deserted him, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep without washing every trace of Frank from his skin.
In the windowless bathroom, he undressed and stepped under the puny electric shower. There wasn’t much hot water, but enough to do the job, and with Fairy Liquid doubling as shower gel and shampoo, who could complain? And who’d listen?
Zac got out of the shower and hung his towel over the bathroom door. Though it was late September, the flat was still warm enough for him to walk around nude, something he’d miss when winter came. Yeah, and the rest, because there was no denying the drop-off in tourist trade would fuck with his shaky bottom line. Closeted gay boys passing through King’s Lynn had made up a big part of Zac’s pickups over the summer, leaving the need for regular johns less urgent. If he didn’t find a few more soon, he’d have to join Jamie in Norwich, and that meant . . . No. Fuck that. Over my dead body.
The irony sent Zac back to the whiskey bottle. He took it to bed, craving the cigarettes he’d barely had the willpower not to buy, and passed out, still naked, and slept like a corpse until he woke some time later to cool arms sliding around his waist.
Relief washed over him, tinged with irritation as the smell of dirty clothes invaded his nose. “Fuck’s sake. You stink.”
An absentminded giggle was the only reply. Zac sighed and rolled over and met the bloodshot gaze he’d been searching for all week.
Jamie grinned back at him, pupils constricted, black hair sticking out in every direction. “Okay, mate?”
“Are you?” Stupid question. Jamie was fucked, either high as a kite, or coming down. In the years they’d known each other, Zac had rarely seen him any other way. “Come on. Let’s get in the shower.”
He got up and hauled Jamie to the bathroom, stripping his grubby clothes, and shoved him under the trickling hot spray.
Jamie leaned against the tiles. “Are you coming in?”
“In a minute.” Zac scooped up Jamie’s clothes and took them to the washing machine, loading them in with the wash he’d forgotten to turn on when he’d come home.
Back in the bathroom, he got into the shower with little conscious thought. He was still nude from when he’d gone to bed, and being naked with Jamie was his normal. They had nothing left to hide from each other.
Zac washed Jamie from head to toe, his lanky legs, protruding hips, and scarred back. His scruffy black hair and sharply angled face. “Are you hungry?”
Jamie opened his eyes. “Course I am, but don’t get in a tizz, Zachy. I’ve got it sorted.”
“Yeah?” Zac shut the shower off and reached for the towel he’d hung over the door. “Gonna break into Burger King again and steal all the buns?”
“Better than that.”
Zac rolled his eyes and rubbed the towel over Jamie’s body. High Jamie often had grand and fanciful ideas that came to nothing. Luckily, Zac had saved him a packet of Super Noodles and a few slices of bread, sustenance that, if Jamie’s disappearing frame was anything to go by, he desperately needed.
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
“Believe what?” Zac led Jamie back to his bedroom and found a soft pair of trackies for him to wear. “That you’ve got a master plan to end world hunger?”
Jamie sighed and pulled on Zac’s too-big clothes. “Suit yourself. Guess I get all the pizza, then.”
“Pizza? What pizza?”
“Well, it’s stone-cold now, but we’ve got a microwave—”
Zac yanked his trousers on and pushed past Jamie and darted into the kitchen. On the counter lay two pizza boxes. “Dominos? Where did you twoc that?”
“I didn’t.” Jamie appeared in the kitchen doorway. With the hallway light shining across his face, he looked almost healthy. “I bought it.”
