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There’s a reason my name is Zeus, and it’s not because I’m a god. Even if I tell people that’s why. I’m not known for monogamy. Or relationships, really. Like everyone says, I fuck anyone who has a heartbeat. All consensually, of course. It’s easy for me to find willing participants, and that’s not being conceited. If anything, it’s kind of sad. Sometimes it feels like how I look is my only personality trait. At least to other people.
All I knew was that I wanted to be in the middle of nowhere. Less chance of being found that way. Only, I think my subconscious took that literally because that’s how I’ve ended up here, in Nevada, working at a cafe off Extraterrestrial Highway, telling tourists about the aliens. If only the aliens would come take me away, then maybe I wouldn’t be constantly looking over my shoulder.
I should probably see a shrink about that, but meh. Why pay for therapy when C4, guns, and a good old game of cat and mouse can be as cathartic?
There’s no other way to keep fighting. To keep running. There’s no other way out other than … I don’t let myself think about that. Not in depth. I’m worried I’d start to like the idea too much. Hell, I have no idea why I haven’t done it already.
“He was cute. Are we allowed to sleep with marks?” I wish. “It’s against the rules. Believe me, I’ve asked.” Though, Atlas slept with a mark. Trav fell for his. Iris slept with someone else on the freaking team. I’m beginning to think Trav’s rules are all bullshit. Or that they only apply to me because … okay, yeah, fair enough.
Of course. Anything for my sugar baby.” I slap his ass. Hard. I just hope he doesn’t like it too much. Then I take out my company credit card and slap it down on the counter. The account name is under Dushay Richard. As in Douchey Dick. It’s a persona we’ve all played at one point or another, and I guess it’s my turn again.
Trav groans. “Just get the job done as fast as you can, and don’t die.” “Aww, you love—” He ends the call. Sounds about right.
When Zeus wraps his arm around the other guy, it’s tender. When he rests his chin on his shoulder, it’s gentle. And I find myself staring at them with longing. That’s what I want. What I miss. The only thing I’ve ever craved from a partner. To be choked in bed but loved outside of it. Is that so much to ask?
I would, though, if it gave me a chance at freedom. To go where, I don’t know. To do what? I’m not qualified for anything other than taking my clothes off.
From what I hear, Florida is about as fucked-up as I am, so it could be fun.
Maybe he could be my do-over. My redemption. Maybe both of our souls won’t be lost forever.
Right. Food. Feed the man. Don’t fuck the man.
But like I’m so good at, I deflect. “You know I’m all for clothing-optional opportunities.” “Yet, you don’t deny being naked tonight?” I tap my chin. “Define naked. In the great words of RuPaul, we’re all born naked, and the rest is drag. So, was I naked, or was I just not in drag?”
“If I get that privilege, I’ll give it a think then.
No one should feel shame for enjoying sex and wanting it as often as possible.
Saving one lost soul and risking losing countless other lives … it’s not worth it. “I’m not worth fighting for,” I whisper. “That’s what you think,” Zeus says. He doesn’t kiss me again, but he does hold me. He lets me bury my head on his wide chest, and he’s so tender and caring with me that seed of hope for more blooms in my gut. Because I’m nothing if not a lonely, pathetic loser. Just like Stephen used to tell me.
Callie’s quickly becoming a habit that I had no intention of picking up. But like any other bad habit, now that I’ve started, I can’t stop.
“Fucking ride me, Callie.”
I squeeze his hip as I pass him to make us both coffees, just needing that physical touch. To remind him that I’m the one who gets to touch him. At least while he’s here.
“I dunno. I’d go nuts for the Mitchell Brothers,” Scout says absentmindedly. “Who?” Atlas asks. “The Mitchell Brothers. They’re married. And hot.” Atlas turns in his seat. “There are brothers who play hockey who are married? To each other?” “They’re not really brothers,” Scout says. “They’re—”
Scout pushes his way through between Iris and Trav. “Dude. You’ve been in a coma for three years.” My eyes widen. “What?” The guys laugh, but Callie scolds them. “It’s not nice to joke with trauma victims.” “Eh. I probably would’ve done the same,” I admit.
Trav tries to walk away, but I grab him and slam into him, wrapping my arms around him in a hug because having Travis West’s respect means everything to me.
“I have something for you.” Please be his dick. Please be his dick.
“Are … are you trying to say you want to date me?” He snaps his fingers. “Yes. That’s the one.”
Whatever the future holds, I’m no longer scared of change. Of growing or letting myself be the real me. I’m still a sarcastic jokester. I’ll still race Iris to the front door of HQ and gloat about winning. I’ll still be slutty, but only slutty with Sam. I’ll also show the real me more often. The guy who cares about his niblings, who struggles to be responsible but is fucking good at it when I get it right. The person who resisted love in fear of ending up broken. But Sam didn’t break me. He made me whole.
