Feel My Pain (Curse Bound 1)

He wasn’t the type of guy to feel nervous around men he wanted to bone, so it was beyond annoying that Roach’s cool facade made him so unreasonably tense. Maybe it was due to them being celibate. Roach wouldn’t let Zane see him naked anymore, and came out of the bathroom already dressed after a shower.

And now, after too many days—three to be exact—of them having barely any physical contact, Roach seemed irresistible to Zane as he casually strolled along the rail packed with T-shirts. He’d trimmed his beard, but his hair was the usual bird’s nest that made Zane want to push his fingers in there and yank. Just thinking of Roach’s come-face made Zane need to look away and focus on jackets. Because he would not suck Roach’s dick in the changing room.

Not again. Not today. Not ever.

The store smelled of some kind of detergent used on the clothes, and strong perfume that made Zane’s eyes water. It was sweet, like flowers wrapped in cotton candy, and he knew the culprit when he saw a middle-aged woman dressed monochrome in Barbie pink. Browsing clothes for her husband, perhaps?

It was irrelevant, because the base of Zane’s neck burned, and he knew Roach was watching him as if this shabby store with dull electric light and all kinds of mismatched items on display were a prime cruising spot. He bet the thirsty fucker was equally horny even if he acted as if his dick had frozen off the last few days.

“Come on, we don’t have all day,” Roach said from closer than he should be, but when Zane glanced over his shoulder, he saw the pest on the other side of the nearest rail.

He could smell him now—all sharp from tobacco smoke yet with a hint of sweetness courtesy of the caramel beard oil.

“Choosing clothes is an art. I need to take my time.”

The Pink Lady stifled a snort, but Roach shook his head. “Seriously?”

“Is there a problem?” Zane asked, ready to chase her homophobic ass far away.

She stared back at him, blinking with huge eyelashes as she looked between them in confusion, her skin flush under fake tan. “No, no, I meant no offence. The thing is, I agree. You can’t rush these things. My husband doesn’t understand either.”

Zane had done it again—made someone’s day a little bit worse for no reason other than expecting punches when there were none coming. He mumbled an apology and turned to Roach, grabbing the first hanger in sight—a complete miss. The flamboyantly colorful bomber jacket would be useless against the cold Ohio winter.

Roach leaned against the rail, scowling. “I really don’t care. You’ve got fifty—seventy bucks to spend. Tops. That’s the only ‘art’ you need to focus on.”

Zane stilled and took in the garments hung in a colorful sequence. They were of varying quality, meant for different seasons, and when he checked the label of the one he was holding, he realized he had no idea how to assess which of the many garments could possibly fit into that price range.

Would this money even come from Zane’s own earnings, or was it Roach’s silent charity?

Roach shook his head. “Don’t look at me like that. If you want a fancy jacket, take the weekend waitering job, like I told you.” But he circled the end of the rail to join Zane on the other side. He checked the price tag attached to one of the sleeves, then showed the jacket to Zane. “How about this one? Looks sturdy, and it’s big enough to add layers under it.”

It was also a nice neutral color, a dark gray, like Zane liked, so he tried it on and zipped up, wondering where the nearest mirror was. “Might be a bit too big. I look like a toddler in hand-me-downs,” he said, pulling on the loose fabric at his hips.

“Who are you trying to impress? I thought you wanted to leave Grit as fast as possible.” Roach prodded him to the right, where a long mirror hung from the wall, but a coat someone left on a hanger next to it drew all of Zane’s attention. It was an army green with a ginger fur trim around the hood. And when he touched it, the soft padding made him fantasize about long walks in something that actually kept him warm.

He couldn’t allow himself to stare at Roach for too long, but he glanced at his reflection in the mirror while he removed the first jacket and slid the other one on. Its color went well with his brown hair, and despite being meant for winter, it was light, like one of those fancy modern comforters made of microfiber. He turned around, pulling on the oversized hood.

Roach’s eyes went that bit darker, his lips opened, and Zane knew he’d found the holy grail of winter jackets. “I think it looks decent,” he tried and made a turn. But as he faced away from Roach, the reflection revealed the green gaze sliding down Zane’s back, to his ass. It clearly was a good fit.