Page 13 of Flash

Piston and Hero’s hands shoot up immediately, and the curtains behind Hero’s station flutter as Brick, our piercer, pops his head and an arm out to cast his vote.

“All who think we should stick with the system we already have that’s been working great for years,” Jag snarks, holding up his hand. Tex hesitates and then reluctantly raises his hand too.

“What the hell, dude? You really want to keep listening to the Barbie soundtrack until we beg for the sweet release of death?” Hero scoffs.

Tex shrugs, then nods towards Jag. “You’ve already got the votes to change things, I figure this way I can stay on Jaguar’s good side. We all know that boy’s cornbread isn’t quite done in the middle, and I’m happy to stay off his shit list for the week.”

Rather than being offended, Jag throws his head back and laughs. “Smart man.” He puts his hand down and sighs in resignation. “Fine, whatever. Put on your nineties grunge already.”

I chuckle and turn back to my client. I might protest being pigeonholed like that if I weren’t wearing my favorite vintage, faded Alice in Chains t-shirt.

Luckily, Piston is the first one to get up and swap out Jag’s phone for his own on the dock. The Pixies replace the upbeat tones from the Barbie soundtrack, and I breathe a little sigh of relief to finally have some good tunes on again. It’s no coincidence that Piston and I share the same taste in music. We were in the mosh pits together, throwing elbows and headbanging back when our knees didn’t pop anytime we stood up and there weren’t any gray hairs in our pubes… or in my case, every-damn-where on my body. I bob my head along to the beat of “Debaser” and mouth along with the lyrics while I work.

Days like this, it doesn’t hit so hard that I can’t seem to find a guy who’s half as into me as I am into him. I have my art and I have my crew, what more do I need?

A twinge in my chest disagrees though, and a little voice in the back of my head wonders again whether Lewis will use my number this time. Fuck, I hope he does. I can do casual as long as it means getting my hands on him again. I’ll learn how to do casual if I have to.

Chapter 5

LEWIS

That was the longest day of my entire life. A few years ago, I dated a ‘van guy’ and spent two months driving around with him in his disgusting van that always smelled like sweaty ass, pissing on the side of the road and showering at truck stops. It was the most miserable two months of my entire life. Today felt longer than that.

The silence in my apartment rings in my ears—or maybe that’s the phantom sound of the phone still tormenting me, just like I was afraid of. I press my fingertips into my temples and lean against the door for a minute. As soon as my head stops pounding, I’m going to come up with some kind of epic revenge plot. Stink bombs? Hm, maybe a little immature. Not that those assholes are the height of sophistication themselves, but I can do better than that. I’ll think of something.

I kick my shoes off and start flipping lights on.

“Hello, babies,” I coo, stopping to greet my plants as I make my way through my small apartment. “Oh, look at this new bud.” I praise Violet Beauregarde, stroking one of her silky purple petals. Once I’m satisfied that they’re all looking well hydrated and happy, I swap a few pots around and rotate others so they all get the right amount of morning sun tomorrow before I move on.

I pick up the TV remote on my way through the living room and switch it on just for the noise. Even with the memory of Arrow’s hot mouth around my cock last night, irritation creeps up my spine as I change out of my work clothes, grumbling to myself about those dickhead tattoo artists. What kind of grown man pulls a prank like that on another person’s business? It’s so juvenile.

I huff and toss my clothes into the hamper, then pull on a comfortable t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts that have never been anywhere near a gym. I tap out a message on my phone as I shuffle out of my bedroom and into the kitchen.

LEWIS: We need to get revenge for that stupid prank

LEWIS: And please for the love of fuck, don’t try to take the high road. Just let me be a petty bitch for once in my life without any guilt.

Rowan’s response comes just a second later. He sends two laughing emojis and then a second message that says “knock, knock” along with another emoji—a cocktail glass with a little slice of fruit on the rim. I grin and pocket my phone.

“It’s open,” I shout, yanking on the refrigerator door and sticking my head inside to see what I have. I hear the front door open and close while I nudge things aside and start to form a plan. “How do we feel about veggie fajitas?” I ask when Rowan’s footsteps reach the kitchen.

“Sounds good to me. Where do you keep your blender?”

I look at him over my shoulder with a flat expression, and he chuckles.

“Right, wherever I put it last time after I hand washed it.” He sets a paper bag down on the counter and opens the cupboard over the sink, which shockingly contains a blender that I forgot I even owned. Honestly, Rowen probably brought it over.

I pull out the ingredients I need for the fajitas and get to work chopping them while he mixes up a couple of daiquiris, complete with real fresh strawberries blended into them.

“Soooo…” I say once the loud whirr of the blender cuts off. “I bumped into Arrow last night.” I know I’m not pulling off a casual tone at all, my hands shaking as I start to toss the veggies into the pan.

“Arrow?” Rowan repeats.

The onions and peppers start to sizzle as I pick up the drink he made for me and turn around to lean against the counter next to the stove. I take a sip and I’m glad to find that he used a light pour. I’m much better off than I was yesterday, but getting anything more than tipsy does not appeal.

“The hot biker who stopped to help me during the rainstorm,” I remind him, an electric shiver running through me at the memory of Arrow’s hands all over me last night, the scratch of his beard against my face while we kissed like our lives depended on it. “The silver fox with the calloused hands and perfect cock,” I murmur wistfully, my eyes going unfocused as I let myself get completely lost in the memories. I reach down to adjust myself and Rowan snorts derisively at my embarrassingly horned-up state.

I snap myself out of my daydream to glare at my friend and take another sip of my drink. The chill of it cools my skin off, and the sweet, fruity flavor washes away the memory of Arrow’s mouth still lingering on my tongue.

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