Page 32 of The Trust
“Sure you want it, Craig? Sure you want all the queerness rubbing off on you? I heard there was some gay sex happening in the apartment upstairs just this morning. There might still be some lube on my cock.” His eyes go wide, mouth dropping open. “Maybe it’d come with your own queer-awakening like it did mine.”
And with a smirk, I shove him out the door.
He stumbles back onto the cement in shock and Lemon takes the opportunity to throw his duffle in his face.
Craig groans at the impact, then snags his bag from the ground before he’s swallowed up by the pedestrians and disappears from view.
I’m shaking when I turn around, still pissed when I find every set of eyes in the room on me.
“If anyone else has a fucking problem with me being a part of the alphabet mafia, you can get the fuck out, too.”
I stalk across to my desk, rip the little flag from the penholder and snag a Scotch tape dispenser. Walking both back to the front door, I tape the flag to the pane with a single long piece of adhesive.
It’s then that I realize the flag was replaced with the actual rainbow instead of the ally version.
And it feels even more profound.
“Everyone is welcome here,” I say to the window, though I know my members can all hear me.
There’s maybe seven people here, but I feel each of their eyes on my back.
“And I meaneveryone.”
Mac
“Mackie, just pick one.”
Blowing out a breath, I lean into the glass display like I’m looking over the options again, but I’m really just trying to relieve some of the pressure on my goddamn prostate. It’s making my cock dribble and I’ve had to run to the bathroom for a quick cleanup twice already.
Whose idea was this?
“Sir, if it’d help, I can adjust some things.”
“I—” I swallow and lick my dried lips. “I want engravings.”
The clerk nods. “I can do that. It would just take me about twenty minutes per side.”
“There. Problem solved,” Toby mutters.
I look at my second-best friend and sigh.
“Is this a good idea?”
Toby groans and rubs his hands over his beard. “I’m going to punch you.”
“It’s just that … this morning …”
He growls and the clerk steps back to give us a minute.
“If dude didn’t actually say anything, then there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Yeah, but Jordan hasn’t text me back yet. What if that guy got in his head?”
“Or maybe he punched him, and his hand it too swollen to type?”
I snort.
“He better not have. That place is his dream, and I won’t let him lose it over me.”
