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  And Zane could sketch it all out in a few lines, clear and smooth. He’d never had so much time to draw, or so much scope for the imagination, and it showed. He was good at it. He could do this.

  As proof to himself, Zane held his spiral-bound sketchpad out at arm’s length, gazing critically at the design he’d been working on. He’d seen some embroidery on an old Omega’s messenger bag and hadn’t been able to get the stitching, the colors, out of his thoughts. Was it possible to recreate it with ink and paper? Or on skin? You could cover scars with those. Stitches of a prettier sort.

  Lost in thought, Zane didn’t hear Grant padding up behind him, and jumped half a city block when Grant put one cold hand on the back of his neck and whispered in his ear, “Boo.”

  Zane swiveled at the hips and thwacked the Alpha with his sketchpad hard enough to bounce it off his noggin. “See if I blow you tonight, asshole.”

  “Yes, you will,” Grant said with absolute assurance.

  Zane couldn’t argue. He was right. Besides, Grant had already moved on. Careless of how Zane had disarranged his hair, he scooped the fallen sketchpad up off the floor and flipped the cover open before Zane could even think about stopping him.

  Still, he tried. “Do you mind, Alpha?”

  “Nope,” Grant said absently, keeping the sketchpad firmly in his thieving paws. He studied each page of Zane’s book before turning to the next, mostly stone faced but with the occasional quirk of an eyebrow or tilt of the head. He hummed once or twice, though whether that was a good sound or a bad one, there was no telling.

  Just before Zane would have lost patience and flung himself on Grant to wrestle the pad out of his hands, Grant flipped it shut and looked up to make eye contact the way only an Alpha could. The I Mean Business kind of eye contact, considering him thoughtfully through narrowed eyes until he came to some sort of decided and nodded his head firmly. “You’ll do.”

  “Super. Do for what?” Zane cocked an eyebrow.

  “Tomorrow,” Grant said, “You get to try the real thing.”

  Zane’s jaw dropped.

  Grant didn’t quite smirk, but it was more than a grin. “You want to catch flies?”

  “Fuck off,” Zane said numbly. “Me? The real thing? Like…” He gestured vaguely toward Grant’s arms.

  “No, not human. Not yet, anyway. Pigskin. You’re good enough I think you deserve a chance to prove yourself. I --”

  He didn’t get any farther, mostly on account of Zane having flung himself on Grant after all and taken them both to the floor. But for a kiss, not a kick. And then another kiss, and one more for good measure. A picture might be worth a thousand words, but kisses? Those were worth considerably more.

  Grant grinned with half his mouth, but with glee in his eyes, and helped Zane up off the floor. “Skin should be here tomorrow. I warn you, raw hides smell like ever-loving hell, so you’re going to have some serious cleanup jobs ahead of you, but you’re ready. I’ll teach you to use the machine and we’ll see if what you do on paper looks just as good on flesh.”

  Zane just stared. “You’re serious.”

  “Do I usually joke about this kind of shit?”

  Fair point. Zane couldn’t stop staring, but managed to close his mouth before Grant could make another crack about catching flies. “Grant, I -- thanks, man. Seriously. Thanks.” If he could be an artist, he could support Hadrian the way a kid should be supported. New toys, not secondhands. Same with clothes. An actual bike with a bell and all that shit.

  “I’m not being generous, I’m being practical. You’re a hard worker and a fine artist. It’s an investment.”

  “Uh-huh.” Zane’s mouth curved. You’re a softy deep down, Grant, that’s what you are. “And the price? There’s always a price. I’ll pay it, mind you, but what have you got in mind?”

  “Go out with me tonight,” Grant said.

  * * *

  “You -- say what, again?” Zane blinked big gray-green eyes at Grant, who marveled that he’d never really noticed before how catlike they were. Fitting. Wide and baffled only briefly, and then the right eyebrow went up in an arch so sharp St. Louis wept with envy. “Might be my hearing, Alpha, but I could have sworn you just asked me out on a date.”

  “I did,” Grant said, enjoying the second brief flash of confusion that flitted through those pretty eyes. He took pity then, grinning at the Omega. “Good looking as you are, someone must have asked you out before once or twice in your life. Maybe even three times.”

  “A night,” Zane replied without batting an eyelash. “On slow nights.” He cocked his head and eyed Grant up and down. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  Grant tucked his hands in his pockets and nodded.

  “Why? Not that I’m bitching about it, but -- you’re already getting to tap this on the regular, my friend.” Zane patted his own ass. All class, he was, and Grant couldn’t have liked it more. “So why the sudden need to wine and or dine and even possibly romance?”

  “Because I want to.”

  Zane’s unimpressed look could have razed a skyscraper.

  Grant hooted. “Bottle and market those, Omega. No one will ever need to manufacture weaponry again. Why a date? Why not a date? Seriously. I want to go out. I want to take you with me. Somewhere that isn’t work, and isn’t sex. Isn’t just sex,” he corrected himself.

  “You think I’m that easy?” A grin slowly warmed Zane’s lips. “Because I know you’re even easier.”

  “Which makes us a pretty good match, if you ask me.”

  “You’re not wrong,” Zane admitted. He sized Grant up another moment longer, and in that heartbeat’s worth of time Grant almost -- almost -- thought Zane was going to turn him down. He didn’t know why he had that impression, exactly, only that he could see it written all over him. He braced himself for impact and counterattack, and had his arguments all lined up and ready to go when Zane opened his mouth, sighed, and said, “Okay.”

  Nonplussed, Grant blinked. “Say again?”

  “Isn’t that how this whole conversation started?” Zane flicked the lobe of Grant’s left ear, but affectionately. “I’ll go out on a date with you, Alpha. You can pick me up at eight, but on the street corner because you are way too dominant for my neighborhood, and we’ll… do date things. Just as long as you remember I expect to get the hell romanced out of me before the dirty filthy monkey sex. Deal?”

  Grant’s grin couldn’t have stretched wider, or been fiercer. “I think I can just about handle that. Deal.”

  Zane stuck out a hand. Okay, oddly formal, but Grant could roll with it. He slapped his hand into Zane’s, and was almost tumbled off his feet when Zane -- sneaky bastard -- used it as leverage to whirl them both around. They ended with Grant’s ass flush against the wall next to the window, and with Zane on his knees.

  He slid his fingers through Zane’s soft dark hair. “Your turn for some explaining.”

  “If you can’t tell what’s about to happen, I am definitely doing this wrong,” Zane informed him cheerfully, already at work on Grant’s belt and zipper. “See, you took me off guard.”

  “I did notice.”

  “And for that, there is a penalty.” Zane cradled Grant’s cock and balls through his jeans, bent in to breathe deep and nuzzle, and to -- holy fuck -- gently lip both out through the gap made by his open fly. Grant forgot to take in oxygen, and only a little bit out of concern for the state of his junk. No one should be that good with their mouth, and yet every time he thought Zane had peaked, the man just kept going.

  A thought occurred, and Grant winced and cursed. He nudged Zane carefully away. “Wait -- shit -- let me pull the shades. Last thing we need is health inspectors shutting the place down before it opens.”

  Zane rolled his eyes, but settled back on his heels and gestured for Grant to do what he had to do. He kept those eyes fixed on Grant as Grant took care of the necessary blinds and locks, though, and there was something thoughtful about the feel of it.

 
“Something on your mind?” Grant asked.

  Zane made a noncommittal noise. “You’re an only child, right?”

  “Mm-hmm. Just me.”

  “You ever wish you had siblings? Brothers? Or do you just not like kids in general?”

  “What?” Grant looked over his shoulder. “No, I like kids fine -- in general. They’re honest, really straight-up no matter what. And they’re cute. Lots of hassle, but what isn’t? No, I like kids just fine.”

  “Huh.” Zane looked even more thoughtful, but he tucked it away fast, his grin turning even a little more feral than before. He beckoned with two fingers. “Discussion over, and windows are shut, Alpha. Get that beautiful prick back over here. Now.”

  Far be it from Grant to say no to an offer like that. He got, and settled where he had been, already planning what he might do to return the favor when Zane had finished. Maybe turn him on his stomach and lick him open, use his fingers if not his cock because he never fucking remembered to carry condoms in his work pants. Make him see a few stars along the way.

  He’d be a keeper, if he were willing to be kept. The thought flashed through Grant’s mind and was gone in a twinkling, but not so quickly he couldn’t put a pin in the idea to mull over later.

  For the moment -- back to business. He bit back a groan as Zane took his cockhead lightly between those pretty lips, then gave his hair a little tug, the kind that would make his scalp prickle just the way he knew Zane liked best. “As you were, Trouble.”

  Zane ran the edges of his teeth lightly over Grant’s delicate skin, gone from half mast to fully erect.

  Grant sighed happily and surrendered. “Damn right,” he said, and spread his legs a little wider to give his Omega room to work. “Damn right.”

  Chapter Six

  Now, in Grant’s opinion? That had been a good ending to a good day. Would have been, except he’d opened his damn fool mouth when sense should have told him to keep it shut. Now here he was, scrubbed and dressed in what he hoped was his best for the occasion -- that might take some fancy talking once Zane saw him, but he’d cross that bridge when he got to it -- and walking through a neighborhood that definitely didn’t cater to his kind. Not another Alpha in sight, and Omegas watching him narrowly from every window. Some watching him with what his great-grandbearer would have called Lascivious Intent, capitals fully audible.

  What in tarnation was he doing? Hell, Grant still couldn’t figure that out.

  He didn’t date. He was sure he remembered making a policy out of that. He went to clubs and bars and took the occasional flight of fancy that landed him between a willing Omega’s legs. Wham, bam, neither one of them looking for more than a kiss goodbye in the morning, thank you sir. And it’d worked. For years, that’d worked. He and Marshall wouldn’t have gotten along half as well without that common ground.

  Well. Until Marshall had caught a case of matchmaking fever, or whatever. Grant blamed all the broody Omegas around them. All those babies being born. It gave a man Ideas.

  There he went again with the capitals. Grant sighed, hitched up his collar, put his head down, and headed for Zane’s place. Zane’s street corner, because he was being weird for whatever reason about letting Grant pick him up the way a proper date would. Wasn’t like he didn’t have Zane’s address in his personnel file, and he knew Zane lived at 414 Raywood. Not too far from Legacy Tattoo, but good God, a shit-ton of Omegas must have lived on Zane’s street. Turn a corner, and suddenly the air was saturated with ground-in pheromones.

  Grant plowed through it with his jaw held tight. Raywood. Raywood.

  Why had he asked Zane out in the first place?

  It didn’t make sense. Like he didn’t see the Omega every day and they didn’t fuck at least once every time the clock went fully around? Sometimes twice, if Marshall absented himself from the shop-in-progress long enough. If they did have a relationship, which Grant wasn’t admitting to, wasn’t that enough to satisfy anyone?

  Why had he felt compelled to ask Zane out on a date? From the look on Zane’s face, he would have sworn it was as foreign a concept to Zane as it was to himself. Like the last thing on earth he’d expected.

  To his surprise, that thought raised a prickle of indignation. Zane thought he wasn’t capable of romance, or something? Did Zane figure he was all about sex, and not about the man doing the fucking?

  Grant’s jaw set. Say that was the case, then -- it seemed likely. Well, he’d show him then. He’d date the hell out of Zane.

  Somewhere, somehow, Grant would swear he could hear Darius and Jory and probably Marshall, too, laughing at him.

  Raywood. What the fuck kind of wood was a Ray? Probably the builder, who’d gotten a boner over getting to the damned end of all these units. Grant stopped to narrow-eye the building numbers and saw that he’d reached 400, and…

  Saw Zane, loitering on the street corner just down and across from the aforementioned building, lounging the way he did best, leaned back against a streetlamp with his hips jutted out and his chin up. He watched Grant with his usual amusement, enjoying -- or so he’d said before -- the sight of him with a full head of steam.

  All that steam poured out of Grant’s nostrils like a horny bull in a cartoon. Fuck, but Zane looked good enough to eat. He’d gone with the same look that’d turned Grant on faster than a light switch back when they’d first met, a jacket open over a bare chest and jeans that might or might not have been actually painted on. The only change was two --

  Whoa, and what the fuck even. Grant was up the stairs before he realized it, and had his face two inches from Zane’s nips almost as fast. He hooked one finger through the titanium hoop dangling from one and gave it an accusatory little tug. “When did you get those pierced? Where? Why didn’t you let me do it?” he demanded.

  Zane belly-laughed, making his piercings bounce slightly with the motion of his chest. He carded his fingers through Grant’s hair, careless of the product in there. Great. He’d end up looking like Calvin keeping company with Pimpmaster Hobbes. “Hi honey, I’m home. How was your day?”

  “That makes no sense. This is your home, or almost, anyway. I’m the one who just got here,” Grant said, nose-to-tits with Zane’s pecs as he studied the piercings. Nearly healed, so he’d had them for a while. They didn’t always or even often get all their clothes off when they fucked, so Grant supposed he could be excused for not noticing before. But now that he did -- hmm. The holes were clean, symmetrical, and even. Or, no. Almost even. The right was fine, but the left just a hair crooked, as if the piercer had hesitated a touch on pushing the needle through. He raised his head in indignation. “Did you do these yourself?”

  “And if I did?” Zane regarded him with the same tolerant enjoyment he always showed -- then stopped, cocked his head to one side, and gave Grant a good solid once-over. He whistled. “Fuck me, Alpha, and I do mean that as an invitation. You clean up nice.”

  Grant snorted. “I’m wearing jeans and a baseball shirt.”

  “Tight jeans hugging that sweet little ass, and a Yankees shirt. Looks nice to me.” Zane gave Grant a small nudge. “Not that I mind having your face in my tits, but we either need to stop giving the neighbors a show or start charging for it.”

  What? Oh. Right. Grant gave himself a shake. Was this going to screw with his plans for the night? Maybe not, if Zane had --”You got any Band-Aids? Ones big enough to cover those up?” He must have bought some to protect the sensitive piercings when they were still fresh enough to chafe like hell under his shirts.

  Zane arched one eyebrow high up his forehead. “So maybe I have this wrong, but you looked like you were enjoying the sight of ‘em. Which was the whole-damn-point. You don’t want anyone else looking? I can zip the jacket.”

  “No, that’s not it. They need to be protected.”

  “From what, wolves? Other Alphas? Honey, you and I can kick anyone’s ass if they feel like getting fresh.”

  Damn right they could, and would, but that wasn’t the point.
“Needs to be Band-Aids,” Grant said firmly. “If you’ve got them, go get them, and we can be on our way. You’ll need them for where we’re going.”

  Zane’s other eyebrow shot up to join the first. Still, he didn’t look miffed. More like delighted, and a few dashes intrigued. “Alpha, what kind of date are you taking me on?”

  * * *

  So this wasn’t what Zane had been expecting.

  Standing on the banks of the Roanoke River, mud squishing through his bare toes, he whooped as he tugged his jacket off and wiggled out of the jeans he’d taken considerable effort to wiggle his ass into an hour ago, and didn’t mind a bit. “Hellfire, Alpha!” he called to Grant, his voice booming as it echoed over the water. “If you’d told me this was going to be a naked date, we could have started out that way!”

  Grant, who was already wading his own bare-assed way into the water, threw his head back and laughed. “And skipped the whole mystery part of it? Come on. I don’t date, but even I know better than that.”

  “Don’t date, Alpha? What do you call this?”

  “I call it me freezing my nuts off and waiting for you.” Waist deep, Grant turned to cock an eyebrow at Zane. “Are you coming or not, Omega?”

  Zane grinned at him, enjoying the view of his -- friend -- in the water. They’d come to a small cove that a bank collapse had carved out some years past, upstream enough from any industry that it was clean enough to see the bottom during daylight hours. Zane had known it was there, remembered it from when he was a kid, but he’d forgotten.

  Beat a restaurant and a movie in his opinion.

  He tossed his head proudly and waded, bare as the day he’d been born, into the water. Holyshitthat’scold! Zane’s teeth would have chattered if he hadn’t clamped his jaws shut, but by the time he got within arm’s reach of Grant he’d adjusted enough to speak. And if he hadn’t managed, being near Grant would have done the job. His Alpha almost radiated heat enough to set the water boiling. Desire flowed from him to Zane in palpable waves.