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He looks at me like he thinks I’m lying. It pisses me off.
“For your information, it was an intended booty call since he owes me for fucking up the other night with Frankie?—”
“Frankie, who you haven’t been with for close to a year and said you were done with after his little admission that he might get married when he’s fifty to a trophy wife?”
“You know I don’t believe everyone is going to fall in love and end up?—”
“Don’t stick up for that shitbag. You don’t say shit like that to a woman you’re laying next to, even if it is?—”
“Well”—I throw my hands in the air—“he said he was sorry and said he may want more with me just the other night in a text, so?—”
“The fact you think that’s your only option is ludicrous, York.”
“I don’t even want the fucking money. You know that.”
“And I told you that we don’t need it; we’re doing real fucking good.”
“I know, I know, but?—”
“We can look into investors.”
“No way does anyone get to tell us we need to do less or more or?—”
“Well, fuck you, and I can get married.”
I giggle. “You just turned green at the idea. You’re going to be an awesome husband and father one day. I’m not going to be the rain delay on your love story. The minute you, Zane Marks, come face-to-face with the woman you know is for you, you’re going to Kool-Aid man through your walls and scoop her up before she even sees you coming.”
His pause in response makes me wonder.
“Have you?—”
“No, York. Now go get some damn sleep to recharge your bitch.” He looks at me like I’m a disease. “This emotional version of you will not do.”
“It’s hard not to think about when it can change lives, and not just ours. We help people get justice, Marks.” I hold up my hand to stop him from saying whatever is going to come out of his mouth. “I won’t think about it until he’s in custody or in the ground.”
“Good. Now go to fucking bed.”
“I slept?—”
“It’s only two in the damn morning, and I’m still on California time. Go.”
“Will do.” I salute him and head for the stairs.
“York, you may want to wash your nasty ass feet before you slide into bed.”
I look down at them and realize I left my fucking slides at Locke’s.
* * *
After a shower, I slide into bed, plug in my phone, and receive a text. I grab my glasses, put them on, and grab my phone, expecting it to be Marks, but it’s not.
Locke:
Tried to get your attention while you were fleeing in fear of my cock. I have many feelings about this. One is out of concern. Is your eyesight diminishing, or perhaps my mind is going? I could have sworn it was you in my living room as you eye-fucked the goods after you beckoned me to the couch and demanded that I sit so you could ride me. Another is that you haven’t felt it tapping your G-spot the past several times you and I were making nice in the alley behind Ollie’s back home. I will hold all future concerns for the next time you can have a civil conversation or after we make nice, and you’re in a lazy post-orgasmic haze of lust, all soft and sweet, and not angry at me for whatever it is you’ve been angry at me about for the past sixteen years. I am now going to shower and jerk off to the thought of you on your knees, teeth tugging at the barbell on the end of my cock, and fall asleep, wishing you were still beneath me. XXXXXXXXXX Sleep well, Gwendolyn York.
There’s no way I missed his dick being pierced. Also, yay, without my contacts, I can’t see shit anymore.
Then another text follows.
