Page 86 of Best Served Cold

Why was Zane being nice to me and sharing his joint? Why had he stayed after work? Was he waiting to make a move?

Questions rolled through my mind along with the good feels from the weed, but even slightly impaired, I wanted to laugh at myself.

Of course Zane didn’t want to mess around again.

He’d won.

Now he could go back to fucking chicks and forget all about this stupid game of gay chicken that had gotten completely out of control.

We sat in silence until the end of my playlist. Which granted, was only six songs long because like Zane had clocked, I was in one of those moods where I could only handle listening to the same songs on loop. Same mood that prevented me from watching any new shows or movies, or even listening to a new podcast.

Fuck I was messed up.

Even through the artificial happiness from the weed, the cloud of despair and apathy that I’d been fighting for weeks closed in on me, heavy and oppressive and overwhelming.

Movement in my periphery dragged me out of my internal spiral. I looked at Zane as he stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back on his hands.

Some of the despair receded as I traced my eyes along his strong back and incredible arms. His tats were amazing, some of the best work I’d ever seen. The mishmash of images didn’t make sense or have any real flow, but his artist had done an incredible job with the background and blending them together.

“Do you and River have the same tats?” I asked, needing to break the silence.

“So far.”

“So far?”

He angled his left arm toward me. Just below his inner elbow was a blank space. Like a void in the design. A thin black line connected the void to his ring finger, snaking over his forearm in intricate loops that fit perfectly into the background of the sleeve.

“We both have one. Riv’s plan is to get a tat for his wife when he finds his person.”

“And you?” I asked, my stomach souring with jealousy at the thought of Zane settling down with a wife and getting a sappy tattoo to commemorate their love.

“Not sure.” He dropped his arm. “Might leave it blank. Or maybe I’ll get a dog and get one for them. Who the fuck knows.”

“You’re not going to get one for your wife?”

He chuckled. “Never getting married.”

“No?”

He shook his head.

“Is it marriage you’re against, or you just don’t want that long term?”

“Not against marriage. Don’t get why it’s such a big deal or why people feel the need to throw expensive parties just to show off that they shackled themselves to each other. If you want to be with someone, then be with them. If you need a piece of paper to be faithful to someone, then why are you with them in the first place?”

I’d never heard Zane say that many words in a row before, and the greedy asshole in me wanted to hear more.

“But whatever. You do you.” He wiggled his feet, which for some reason struck me as funny.

“Was that like, a global ‘you do you,’ or was that directed at me?”

“Global.” He tossed me a smile, or at least his version of a smile. “You looking for that?”

“Fuck no.” I snort-laughed, my lips a little looser than usual thanks to the weed. “My parents ruined that.”

“They go through a messy divorce or something?”

I snickered, feeling lighter than I had in days. “Nope. They’re very much together. I doubt anything would make them actually divorce. Not unless one of the pastors at church told them to.”

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