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“We should head home,” Ocean says.
Although seriously, right now he’s being an ass, so I grab my goddamn glass back from him. “Chill, Shun. I’m not driving. And it’s still early.”
“Early morning, you mean.”
Christ, forget about liking this shit. Changed my mind. “You go, man. Go home to your girl and calm your tits. I’ll grab a cab.”
“R. Come on. You work tomorrow.”
“Or one of the guys will drive me.” I nod at Zane who’s returning from the bar, carrying two beers. “Zane’s cool. He’s already said he’d take me, since he doesn’t drink.”
Ocean shakes his head, stares at something behind me, and sighs. “Why can’t you listen to me for once, kid?”
What the hell, right? I glance around at the others. They look as confused by all this as I feel.
“What the fuck, man?” Shane mutters, tucking long dark hair behind his ear where a silver dreamcatcher is dangling. “It’s our night out, and it’s his goddamn birthday. What just crawled up your ass and died?”
There. Couldn’t have phrased it better.
I lean back in my chair and level a glare at my brother. His blue hair is ruffled as if he’s been tugging on it. He’s been kinda stressed lately, with the wedding coming up and the new baby, but he’s happy. I know it. I see it on his face every single day.
He’s amazed and thrilled and grateful for his girl and his baby and his friends, and maybe, I hope, even a tiny fucking bit for me—so why does he look like someone pissed in his drink?
He sighs again, puts his glass down on the table and glances again behind me. Okay, what is back there that has him hooked like that?
I turn to look over my shoulder, and I see him. Jason. The sight is a punch to my solar plexus, and I let out an involuntary gasp.
Okay, it’s also not every day you see the man you can’t stop thinking about in front of you, the man you can’t stop dreaming about.
With another man.
That why my brother wanted me gone?
“I won’t pick a fight with Jason,” I say quietly, “if that’s what’s worrying you.”
“I’m not worried,” Ocean lies.
At least, I think he does. There’s a faraway look in his eyes I don’t recognize.
Jason Vega and me, we’ve crossed paths a few times. He’s friends with my brother and with Jesse Lee, one of the inkers of the shop where I work.
But the last time I actually talked to Jason was years ago, three years in fact, and I insulted him. Pretty damn badly. I hadn’t realized at the time, but I was pissed at my brother, pissed at the world, and Jason had happened to be there. An easy target, someone I could shout at instead of my brother, my only real family.
I’ve thought about this a lot since then. Why I called him out on being a hooker. Making it sound like he chose this life. Like he had a choice.
As if I don’t know. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, and that’s the understatement of the year.
I watch him now, deaf to the music and the voices of my friends, as he leads this unknown guy by the hand toward the back, weaving through the people standing by the bar.
I’ve seen him on occasion on the street or in bars over the past three years. He hasn’t changed much since I first met him. My height, but slimmer. Wiry. Strong, with dark lines of ink winding down his forearms and snaking under his too short shirt.
He’s let his bleached hair grow out, and it’s now as dark as mine, dark like his eyes, and the shadows crawling in their depths. In his revealing clothes and gayliner, his nails painted black to match his too-tight top and pants, a touch of silver around his neck, he looks… exotic. Striking.
Hot.
Ocean refills my glass and passes it to me without a word. I take it and sip, choking on the Jack.
I can’t look away. Why the fuck can’t I look away from Jason leading this unremarkable stranger away? Toward the toilets, to suck him off, or to fuck, and the thought shouldn’t get me hard and riled up at the same time. Angry.
