“I’ll be taking that for rent.” He was getting the sense that he’d better handle Zane’s money—period—if he was to collect any cash for necessities. “What’s with these random tips? Did you grow up rich, or can you just not count?”

Zane’s gaze turned from melancholically soft to frosty, and he pulled away, so Roach’s hand slid out of his back pocket, rejected. “None of your business. If you want to buy your own damn drink, be my guest.”

Roach raised his hands. “Jesus, no reason to get so worked up. And that’s the cash you took from that pretend-medium, isn’t it? Half of it is mine anyway.”

Zane huffed so hard he reminded Roach of a bull about to charge. “I’m not wasting my time counting out half of it! Here, have all of it, for your stupid rent!” He pulled two fistfuls of cash out of his pockets and dumped them onto the counter. “I can make more money whenever I want to.”

Roach hid the money in his jacket, because they were attracting an audience, but something clicked for him. If counting really was a problem for Zane, he would never admit to it.

He laughed it off. “Okay, I get it, you’re just feeling loaded after your raid at Karla’s.” He leaned in and kissed Zane’s ear, breathing in the erotic aroma of his shampoo. “You’re gonna be my sugar daddy for the night.”

Zane huffed, still bristled up like a porcupine, but when the bartender placed their beers on the counter, Zane took both glasses and led the way to a small table in the corner. Someone must have left it not that long ago, because there were tissues and empty bottles in the middle, but Zane just moved the trash to the floor and sat in one of the chairs, gathering his lush hair over one shoulder.

“To your first visit in a gay bar,” he said, picking up his glass.

Roach clinked their beers, desperate to down his and lower his inhibitions, because the sense of otherness he was experiencing needed to go. “If you had a beloved pet, would you stuff it?” He started gulping down the alcohol.

Zane snorted, blowing bubbles in his beer. “That was so weird, right? It was some Psycho shit!”

“Fucking creepy, but then again, she is a medium. You think she organizes pet séances too?” Roach bumped Zane’s foot with his.

The hair rising on his neck told him everyone was looking at them, but he ignored all the other men, all those potential sexual partners in favor of Zane, who grinned at him, poking his pink tongue at the chipped tooth. “Wouldn’t be surprised if that made her better money than pretending to communicate with ghosts of people.”

Roach downed his beer, already wishing for another. “Just imagine, Karla von Ecker, on all fours, barking like a dog and humping someone’s leg like good old Fido used to when he was alive.”

“Wow. I do not want that visual in my head.” Zane chuckled, throwing his head back as if he hadn’t heard anything funnier in ages. He moved his leg so their calves aligned under the table, and this way they touched without making a spectacle of themselves. Roach liked that. Nobody needed to know how hot he was for Zane. No one but Zane himself.

Because there was no point trying to play cat and mouse at this point. Roach had made it abundantly clear just how much he wanted Zane when he’d bent over for him. He didn’t care about being called a cumrag if that meant Zane’s dick in him.

“I’ll get us more drinks?” Roach wasn’t even so tired anymore.

Zane rested his elbows on the edge of the sticky table and leaned closer, his eyes like a storm coming Roach’s way again. “Sure, it’s your turn to buy a round.”

“Good that I have your money then.” Roach dared wink at Zane and walked off, high on the attention of the best-looking guy at the venue. So maybe Zane would rather be surrounded by three guys who complimented him, got him drinks, and wanted to lead him straight into their beds, but for now Roach was the only one. And if they couldn’t lift the curse then… maybe it would stay that way?

Confused how he felt about that possibility, Roach leaned against the counter, waiting for the bartender to finish taking care of another customer.

Someone tapped his shoulder from behind. “Roach? Fuck! It is you.”

Roach turned to face the person with lead in his feet, and was surprised to see a familiar face. Out of his uniform, Officer Michael Mole looked like the most average straight guy who’d ever entered a sports bar. He wore jeans, a blue plaid shirt and had a bit of scruff on his cheeks. He’d lost some hair since they’d last seen each other, but Michael was easy enough to recognize.

Tags: K.A. Merikan Curse Bound Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net