Hook, Line, and Sinker (Flirting with the Zodiac Book 1) Read online

  Not that there were a lot of them on Mars anyway. Mars and Earth weren’t terribly far from Piscea, but Ty had heard from other aliens that they were considered a bit of a backwater. He’d dated a guy from Scorpius for about a week in first year, and all that guy had done was bitch about being stuck in “the boonies” of outer space.

  So people like Ty and his father were anomalies in a crowd of humans. Of course, Ty had known he was “different” for what felt like forever. The other boys in his class had helpfully “discovered” that there was something “wrong” with him when they were eight. After all, he was the only boy in gym class without dangly bits, and was he really a boy then?

  His parents agreed that he was, and that had been the end of the discussion. He’d managed to convince Val to get naked with him so they could “compare” when they were fourteen, and yeah, he wasn’t like that either (and, as it turned out, not as interested in human females as he’d thought). It had taken time, but he’d accepted that he was a sort of fishy freak among the humans. Dad assured him he was perfectly normal, Dr. Korenyi said everything worked just fine, and Mom told him they loved him no matter what.

  So whoever had drawn up that clause had forgotten one itty-bitty, teeny-weeny minor detail, and that was that Lawrence’s best friend was a guy with fucking seahorse biology who could, for all intents and purposes, get knocked up.

  It was a … bit screwed up, as far as Ty could tell, because what it seemed like was female Pisceans only laid eggs (Ty had never questioned why ovipositor porn existed, just thanked whoever had invented it, because hell yes). Male Pisceans still did the fertilization bit, but often internally.

  But but but but—Ty also had a cock (which was usually tucked safely inside, where it belonged—honestly, humans were so weird, letting their sensitive bits flop all over the place), which usually made its presence known when he was aroused, and he had no idea what he’d need that for unless …

  Well, unless he could stick another Piscean guy and get him knocked up. And that meant male Pisceans also had to produce eggs.

  He hadn’t gotten a straight answer out of Dad, who had muttered something that sounded like vague confirmation. Then again, that was how Dad treated most of Ty’s questions about sex and reproduction. Years later, when Ty had the unfortunate need to ask, Dr. K had simply nodded and said, “Sure, but usually fewer eggs and not always.”

  So, as far as Ty was concerned, he was the solution to Lawrence’s conundrum.

  “Morning,” Lawrence said, smiling brightly as he offered Ty a mug of coffee, and Ty’s brain ground to a halt as he stared at the steaming liquid. “Did you sleep okay?”

  “Why the hell aren’t you hungover?” Ty growled, then ripped the mug out of Lawrence’s hands. Honestly. His roommate was an asshole. He didn’t even have the decency to be hungover and remorseful after drinking three-quarters of a bottle of tequila, while Ty had spent the night tossing and turning and wondering how he could suggest his solution to Lawrence without making it seem weird and creepy and like Ty had been harboring the biggest crush in the history of the universe for years.

  Which he totally had been. He knew he needed to get over Lawrence, though—he’d seen the kind of guys Lawrence brought home with him. Tall, blond, broad-shouldered, much like Lawrence himself. Lawrence clones. Trafford-approved boyfriends.

  Lawrence might have been gay, but his parents still wanted him to bring home someone … aesthetically pleasing.

  Ty was the polar opposite of Lawrence’s exes. He was short, reedy, a proper gothic sort of creature, and he’d embraced the androgynous look when he realized he was never going to have the shoulders of a football player or the height of a basketball player.

  Pisceans were, as his father put it, fine-boned fish.

  At any rate, Ty, with his midnight-blue hair and red eyes and color-changing skin, was not exactly Lawrence’s type.

  And even if he were, Ty didn’t want to put their friendship at risk. He was friends with Lawrence first and foremost, and if that meant his crush had to go wither and die in a corner, then fine.

  If he said anything, anything at all, it might mean the end of the friendship. Lawrence had a tendency to ditch if he got emotionally uncomfortable.

  Ty had watched him do it to each and every one of his exes over the last seven years.

  Just like he watched Lawrence’s face crumple up now in guilt and sorrow, apparently upset that he felt fine while Ty was in a fine foul mood.

  He was such a sap. Ty couldn’t stand people like that normally, hearts on their sleeves, just asking to get hurt. Keeping sensitive things tucked safe inside was even more important when it came to emotions.

  For whatever reason, Lawrence didn’t piss Ty off when he did it though. He just wanted to protect his roommate, as ridiculous as that was. He was all of five-foot-six, maybe a hundred and thirty pounds if he was lucky. Lawrence was six feet tall, probably had almost a hundred pounds on Ty.

  But he was so sweet and soft and innocent and stupid for wearing his emotions out in the open, and Ty just wanted to keep him safe always.

  And he’d seen how much this clause was hurting Lawrence. He was distraught—Ty could only imagine what exactly had caused Lawrence to hightail it out of Nevada, catch the next commuter shuttle. Lawrence never ditched his family, which meant this had gone deep.

  It had cut to the quick, got Lawrence where it hurt. He wasn’t lying when he said it wasn’t about the money. Lawrence loved and revered his grandmother, and the two of them shared a burning passion for the stars. Ty had seen them discussing Lawrence’s PhD research, and the way Myrtle had beamed …

  It was earth-shattering. Ty hadn’t known love like that existed; his own relationship with his parents was strained at the best of times, and they didn’t maintain contact with either side of the family. And he’d never been one to form particularly close friendships.

  Friendships meant emotions, and emotions meant getting hurt.

  But Myrtle Trafford loved her grandson something fierce and he loved her back, and the two of them loved science and space travel and the stars, and something just aligned, like the whole universe rotated into perfection when the two of them were together.

  And that was what Lawrence’s parents were after—hopes and dreams, not money. Lawrence had always thought he was going to lead the company, carry on his grandmother’s legacy. He’d take them to new heights, new stars—just as Myrtle had done in her day.

  That was where they were striking their blow, the jackasses.

  But Ty could fix it, if only …

  “I’m sorry you didn’t sleep well,” Lawrence said, rudely derailing Ty’s train of thought. Ty sucked in a breath, then lifted his mug and sipped coffee. “Let me make it up to you—let’s go out for breakfast.”

  Ty almost groaned; Lawrence was more devious and cunning than most people gave him credit for. The fact he’d made coffee and nothing else attested to that.

  He’d wanted to go out for breakfast from the start. Ty glowered at him over the rim of the mug, and Lawrence smiled sheepishly. “Raoul and Ali wanted to meet up at Jeffery’s Deli.”

  “Couldn’t you have just said that?” He plonked down in the chair and set the mug aside. He dumped his cartridges and pen out of his hoodie pocket. He turned them over, frowning, then loaded Blue Dream. If they were going out to eat, he’d need something that gave him some kind of appetite.

  “Welllll …”

  No, he couldn’t have, and they both knew that. They’d been friends for seven years, had lived together for four. Ty wasn’t the kind of person you asked to breakfast at half-past ten. He would have just flat out said no, then probably texted Raoul that they weren’t coming, then told him to go fuck himself if he argued.

  Lawrence knew enough to suggest breakfast, offer it as some kind of prize or apology, and then Ty would be more likely to agree, however grudgingly. Stupid Lawrence, having him figured just so.

  He was already halfway reconciled to
the idea.

  He inhaled, drawing vapor deep into his lungs. “That means going outside,” he huffed.

  Lawrence laughed. “It’s really nice,” he cajoled, peering out the window, and did he have to be so fucking breathtaking? The sunlight glinted off his silver locks—he’d gone fully gray when he was twenty-five, but he wore it so well—highlighted the cut of his nose, his brows, glittered in his blue eyes.

  Fucking stupid sexy roommate. Ty glared at his cartridge. Lawrence’s good looks were sometimes a personal affront to him.

  A nudge to his shoulder. “C’mon. Raoul said he hasn’t seen hide nor hair of you since school ended.”

  “Which is the way I like it,” Ty protested.

  “He’s worried about you,” Lawrence said, then nudged him again, and Ty scowled at the table, hoping his cheeks didn’t heat up too much. His skin tingled when Lawrence touched him and he had the worst urge to tilt his head up (pointing, Dr. K called it, a sign he was, ahem, interested).

  “C’mon, fishy, let’s go.”

  Stupid social butterfly roommate. Ty took another hit of the cartridge, then hauled himself out of the chair and into the hallway.

  Three

  Breakfast was brunch by the time they arrived at the restaurant. Raoul and Ali were already riding, and they nodded at Ty, grinning. He wasn’t the only stoner in their circle of friends, thank goodness, but he was usually the one who was most stoned.

  “Oh great,” Val sneered upon wandering over to the table, “more idiots.”

  “Morning, bitch,” Ty replied, and they grinned tersely at each other.

  “Good morning, Val,” Lawrence said, smiling without any vitriol at all. Ty didn’t understand how Lawrence was always so sunshine and sweet. The walk over in the snow hadn’t improved his mood any, but Lawrence was chipper and bright. And he was always like that, almost no matter what. Ty had heard academia was cutthroat and so was the business world, but Lawrence was so sweet and clueless and … jeez.

  “We’re waiting for Val to get off,” Raoul said, tearing at a sugar packet in his hands.

  “Might be a while then,” Val replied, “especially if it’s one of you wankers trying.”

  Ali almost choked on his coffee, and Raoul turned bright red. “Not like that,” he protested, and Val just grinned at her notepad. Ty wasn’t sure if she was writing down his usual order—after being friends for more than half their lives, she knew him so well—or if she was doodling.

  “So long as it’s not me,” Lawrence drawled, “we’ll be here forever.”

  Ali did choke on his coffee this time, and Val’s grin turned positively devious. Raoul slapped Ali’s back, and Ty dumped sugar into his coffee.

  “So when’s your shift over?” he asked.

  “Not soon enough, rainbow roll,” Val replied, her mouth turning down. “Two.”

  “We’re gonna go play after,” Ali explained, and Ty nodded.

  Raoul shrugged. “I figured since we’re all here, we have a couple of days before we go back to class … might as well get in a good session or two.”

  “For sure,” Ty agreed. Their D&D sessions tended to get canceled or cut short once school started. He glanced around, frowning. “Radu gonna show?”

  Raoul snorted. Ali shook his head. “Nobody’s heard from him,” he almost laughed, his brown eyes glittering with mirth. Radu disappearing for weeks—or even months—on end wasn’t unusual. It was probably a bad thing, but they’d stopped worrying about their friend not answering his phone after he’d gone on a work term to Titan for three months and not bothered to tell any of them.

  “Where’s he off to now?”

  “Heck if I know,” Raoul said with a shrug.

  “Probably hanging around on Callisto again,” Ali said, waggling his eyebrows. The Jovian moon colony was infamous for its brothels.

  “Gross,” Val and Ty cried in unison, then looked at each other as Val dropped off a heaping stack of pancakes. Then she swept off again.

  The one thing about this crew was that it was so easy to spend hours with them. Val might have felt her shift dragged, that the clock hands barely moved, but half-past eleven became half-past noon, and then it was after one, the minutes ticking down. Raoul kept tearing open sugar packets, spilling granules everywhere; Lawrence’s coffee cups piled up. Ty and Ali disappeared outside, into one of the nearby alleyways, where they nursed a bowl against the wicked winter wind.

  Finally, the clock struck two, and Val collapsed into their booth with a sigh, apron in hand. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” she said with a raucous grin.

  Soon enough, they were back at Raoul’s shitbox apartment—the best a New Martia law student could afford—and Ty and Lawrence were on the balcony with Val, sharing a toke. Ali was trying to crack open one of the windows to get some air into the place, while Raoul was arguing with their favorite Indian restaurant about how many pieces of naan to send with their order.

  Ty took a deep drag of the blunt, rolled smoke around in his mouth, then exhaled slowly through his nose. It was snowing again, and he tipped his head back, watched the flakes drift down from the heavens.

  He exhaled again, felt the heat creeping closer to his fingertips. Val made grabby hands at him because he was letting their precious flower burn away.

  He blinked, then relinquished the weed, leveling a look at Lawrence. “What the hell would we do with a kid?” he blurted, and Lawrence’s eyes widened. Val shrieked something, and the blunt tumbled into the snow.

  Lawrence’s expression settled into a frown. “What are you talking about?”

  Ty flapped his hands a bit, unable to put words to concepts. “You know,” he spat finally, “the clause in your grandma’s will, your parents screwing you out of everything unless you have a kid—”

  Lawrence glanced at Val nervously. She stared at him, wild-eyed. Her blonde hair was bogged down with melting snow, curling more than usual.

  “That’s my problem,” Lawrence said.

  “Bullshit,” Ty huffed, handing Val his lighter as she pulled another joint from her pocket. “We live together. The fuck are we gonna do with a kid? You gonna make me move out or something or—”

  “Ty—”

  “And what about this?” he gestured.

  “About what?” Lawrence clearly wasn’t as high as he was; he was exasperated.

  “This!” Ty cried. “Game days, blazing like this, can’t fucking do that if we have a baby!”

  “I still don’t see how you think you’re involved in this—”

  “How am I not?!” Ty cried. “I live in your house, if you go … get some baby, some baby momma!”

  “Ty, listen. This is for me to work out, so stop worrying about it.” He smiled. “Okay, fishy? I’ll solve it, you don’t need to—”

  “You expect me to believe that, Laz? The answer’s staring you in the fucking face, you goddamn moron.”

  Val’s quick inhalation told him she understood, but Lawrence just shook his head, and Ty gritted his teeth. “Me!” he cried. “Me, I’m the solution!”

  “What are you talking about, you—”

  “I can get knocked up, Lawrence!”

  Lawrence’s next words froze on his lips; he squeezed his eyes shut tight, his mouth a little round “o” around whatever syllable he’d been going to spit out next.

  “Holy shit,” Val whispered.

  “Valerie,” Lawrence said sharply, looking at her instead of Ty. “Can you give us a minute?”

  She quirked a brow, leaning back against the rail. “I’d rather stay and watch, thanks. I’m pretty sure Ty just offered to be your baby momma, and that’s …”

  “Val,” Ty hissed, and she looked at him. Her mouth twisted, but she slid off the railing, stubbed out the joint.

  “Fine,” she spat, “but the second you two decide to shack up, I want to know about it, understand?”

  “You want an invitation to watch too?” Ty sneered, and she flipped him the bird as she headed back insi
de. She slammed the door shut, then gave him the finger again, so he flipped it back at her.

  Lawrence sighed. “Is this what you’re all wound up about?” he asked, and Ty turned back to him. He looked very much like an angry parent—arms crossed, frown marring his face.

  “Uh, well.”

  Lawrence shook his head. “Ty, I would never ask you to do something like that. I wouldn’t ask Val. I said I wasn’t dragging friends into my family drama, so what makes you think I’d ask you?”

  “Because it fixes the problem,” Ty ground out.

  “Maybe one of them,” Lawrence returned slowly, “but not all of them.”

  “It gets you a kid, sticks it to your parents, gets you back into granny’s will, and—”

  And gets me into your pants was what Ty was going to say next, so he bit his tongue hard.

  Lawrence lifted his shoulders. “And what if I don’t want kids? I’m not even thirty yet, Ty, I’m not done my PhD.”

  He pinned that icy blue gaze on Ty. “And you, you’re twenty-four, almost done that damn undergrad, and then you’re going to land a job and start making this music career of yours a reality. I can’t ask you to—”

  “You don’t have to ask,” Ty muttered. His cheeks felt raw, and he wished it was just the wind.

  “I can’t,” Lawrence almost whined. “Ty, that’s not fair to you, you’re so young, your career, and—”

  He looked Ty up and down, then met his gaze again. “Do you even want kids?”

  Ty shrugged half-heartedly. He hadn’t thought about it all that much. He was, as Lawrence said, twenty-four, on the verge of finishing his undergrad, and hoping to land a gig with an orchestra or get some solo recognition or something.

  Kids had never really entered the picture. It was hard to envision.

  But … if Lawrence was …

  Ty wanted in on it. He didn’t want to be left behind. He didn’t want Lawrence to move on. A kid would change everything about Lawrence’s life, and would Ty ever see him again? He’d likely have to move out, find somewhere else to live, maybe move back in with his parents.