Hook, Line, and Sinker (Flirting with the Zodiac Book 1) Page 3

  And people with kids didn’t do stuff like this. They went to kiddie concerts and took their kids to birthday parties and extracurricular activities like dance classes or some shit like that.

  Or at least that was what rich parents did. His own had just told him to go play outside or practice or something.

  The mere thought of losing Lawrence made Ty want to scream or punch something. If Lawrence tried to figure out a way to solve this that didn’t involve Ty, then Ty was going to lose him. It was that simple.

  There would be someone else by Lawrence’s side, someone else in his house, in his bed, and Ty wanted to throw up.

  Maybe they’d still be friends, but …

  “Fuck, starfish.” Lawrence’s voice was raw, like Ty had hurt him. “You really get yourself worked up about things.”

  A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and Ty wanted to shake it off. Lawrence squeezed. His voice notched lower. “Thank you,” he almost whispered, “but I’ll figure this out, okay? I’m not going to screw up your life.”

  Ty lifted his gaze, opened his mouth to protest, but Lawrence was through the door before he could say anything. Raoul and Ali were peering out at them. Ty huffed, then jammed his hands in his pockets and stepped back inside.

  Four

  Three weeks slipped away without warning. The snow got deeper; the air got colder. Ty hated New Martia with a burning wrath.

  He didn’t get the orchestra job, but they encouraged him to apply again. His fingers were raw from playing, and he had to wear bandages when he was handling the tarot deck at the shop.

  He and Lawrence pointedly didn’t talk about Myrtle Trafford’s will, the ultimatum, or the fact that Ty had volunteered to solve the problem.

  It was probably for the best, Ty figured. Lawrence was good at letting things go; it was one of the things Ty admired about his friend. In fact, the older man had probably forgotten Ty had even said anything about it.

  He’d almost forgotten himself—a real feat for him—by the time Lawrence’s birthday rolled around. Raoul called a special mid-week D&D session, Ali made a cake, and Val ordered pizza. Ty told his parents to fuck off when they tried to call him into the store.

  The evening started out normal enough—they gathered at Val’s this time. Lawrence griped about being too old for birthday parties, and Raoul set off the smoke detector with his terrible candle-lighting skills. Ali made them sing, and Val cackled as she filmed the entire thing, Lawrence with his head on the table bemoaning how out of key they all were.

  They went outside and smoked, then came back in and settled in to play. Someone cracked the tab on a beer, and the night degraded from there, until Ty was left half-dragging Lawrence along the river walk in the snow, both of them staggering and stumbling.

  It was a miracle they didn’t get booked for public intoxication, Ty figured as they lurched toward the water again. The wind howled by them, and he could practically smell the combination of weed and beer on Lawrence, even over the stench of the river.

  Lawrence was heavy; he leaned on Ty more and they pitched toward the bank again, then reeled back toward a lightpost. Ty forced Lawrence to stop so he could get a better grip on his roommate.

  “You’re my best friend,” Lawrence drawled in his ear, and Ty rolled his eyes.

  “Yeah, heard that before.”

  “The best,” Lawrence reiterated, then tucked his nose against the top of Ty’s head.

  That was … new.

  “Can’t believe you’d offer to do something like that,” Lawrence slurred, and Ty frowned, barely resisting as Lawrence dragged him out of the burning light of the lamp. They staggered through the shadows, cutting across the lawn, underneath one of the gnarled oaks that had been transplanted from Earth.

  “Would you really?” Lawrence asked.

  “Really what?” Ty asked, blinking snow out of his lashes as they waited at the crosswalk for the light to change.

  “Have my baby,” Lawrence said, and Ty spluttered a little.

  Lawrence smiled crookedly at him when he looked up, reached over and brushed some of Ty’s bedraggled hair out of his eyes. “You’re so cute,” he crooned, “so cute. The cutest.”

  “I—”

  “You’d have cute kids,” Lawrence continued, and Ty wondered if they’d accidentally smacked into the lightpost and this was some kind of post-concussion hallucination.

  Or maybe a really bad trip. How much had he smoked?

  Lawrence’s hand landed on his ass, and his eyes widened when his friend squeezed. “Such cute babies,” Lawrence was muttering, more to himself now, and then, “Would you let me give you a baby?”

  Ty’s mouth was dry, but that could have been the weed. “I—”

  Lawrence nuzzled him, slid his hand in his back pocket, and Ty stopped walking, shoved his friend off him. Lawrence wobbled, but didn’t fall. Ty inhaled sharply. “You’re drunk,” he said, “and I’m too fucking high for this shit, Lawrence.”

  Lawrence laughed, then looked away. “Yeah,” he agreed.

  Ty nodded, then fished out the keys. “Can you make it up the stairs on your own?”

  “I think so,” Lawrence said, then grabbed at the railing.

  “You go first,” Ty said, although he wasn’t quite sure what he would do if Lawrence slipped and fell backward—they’d probably both go down the stairs, end up in a mangled heap.

  It took them fifteen minutes to get up the stairs, because Lawrence was a cautious drunk. Ty patted him on the shoulder, smiled as he unlocked the door and shoved it open. He gestured for Lawrence to go in, but Lawrence apparently had other ideas, and Ty was suddenly off the ground, his feet flailing through the air as Lawrence swept him into his arms.

  “The hell are you doing?! Put me down, you—”

  “Gonna take you to bed, fishy—”

  “Lawrence! Put me down!” He was ignored, despite his flailing, until he was dropped unceremoniously on Lawrence’s unmade bed. He scrabbled at the sheets, clawed his way back to standing.

  “Lawrence Ezra Trafford,” he spat, “you’re drunk and I’m high, so we’re not even going to talk about this right now. Now good night.”

  “Starfish—”

  He slammed the door, then darted to his own room. He hesitated, then shut the door and locked it. Lawrence had never done anything like that before, and Ty was a bit freaked out.

  Even if he liked what Lawrence was proposing.

  But neither of them were in a position to consent, and Lawrence had never even indicated he might be interested in Ty before right now, so …

  He wasn’t risking their friendship over a drunken one-night stand. He wasn’t that stupid.

  ***

  They didn’t talk about that for another three weeks, and honestly, Ty might have thought Lawrence didn’t even remember it—he’d been drunk, after all—except he kept giving Ty these heartbreakingly guilty looks.

  Ty wished he’d just apologize and get it over with. Clear his conscience, clear the air. Whatever.

  But no, Lawrence needed to brew over things. He was some kind of masochist, at least as far as Ty could figure.

  Ty, for one, was all for letting it be water under the bridge. Sometimes friends got drunk and groped each other a little. Whatever. Shit happened.

  “Shit happened” was kind of a mantra when you worked in retail, dealt with hippie parents, wanted to be a musician. You just kind of learned to let things go. You had to. Not that Ty was really any good at it, but he tried.

  He was busy letting go of a long day at the shop, reading tea leaves and palms alike, hoping he’d sounded convincing enough to keep the clientele happy. His mother had sold so many love spells, and Dad had bragged about how some love potion was flying off the shelves.

  People believed what they wanted to believe. And if it was belief that made them do something, actually reach for what they wanted, then there was no harm.

  Ty didn’t like fleecing the suckers who came in week after week, lost
souls who couldn’t make a decision without consulting the tarot or the stars. They looked at Mom like she was some kind of Norn, cutting the threads of fate, weaving them together with her own two hands.

  Ty didn’t think he could be blamed if he was particularly churlish, sycophantic even, when he stomped in from the slushy outdoors. He was looking forward to a smoke, a soak, and a sleep, in that order.

  He curled his lip when he saw Lawrence had tacked a note to the fridge. Probably nagging him to take out the garbage or something.

  Smoke what’s on the table, it said, and Ty sneered at it, like Lawrence would somehow know through the note that he wasn’t about to take commands.

  Honestly, Lawrence should have known better by now.

  Nonetheless, he turned to the table, saw a couple of joints laid out for him. The tin was labeled Blue Dream, which probably meant Lawrence wanted him to come to the bar and watch football, eat an obscene amount of terrible food.

  Ty didn’t want to. He was tired. He’d spent all day hearing about heartbreak and crushes and bad relationships, and he was sick of it.

  He plonked down at the table and picked up the joints, lit one up. He’d at least smoke it; he’d been planning to toke anyway.

  He picked up the container idly, turning it over in his hands. He lifted a brow when he found another note stuck to the table.

  What did Lawrence think he was playing at?

  Go to your room, this one said, and Ty was going to kick Lawrence when he saw him, because where did he get off, ordering Ty around?

  He took another puff of the joint, then stubbed it out and meandered to the bedroom. “Better be good,” he muttered, crossing his arms.

  A suit was laid out on his bed, and both of his brows shot up. Lawrence had something else coming if he thought Ty was putting on a goddamn suit to go anywhere on a Thursday night. He peeled the yellow sticky note off the wrapper. Wear this, YouTube is already up with how to tie a Windsor knot, and please bring the jacket with you

  “Will you please tell me what the fuck is up?” Ty huffed, kicking at the bed. Honestly, was he gonna go to the work of getting changed, tying a tie, so he could hang out at a dive bar?

  His phone buzzed as if on cue, and he glared at the message—a notification about reservations for two at eight at Le Bernardin, one of the best seafood restaurants in New Martia.

  He groaned. Fucking Lawrence. He’d picked something Ty couldn’t refuse, because he loved seafood. It was the one thing that could prick up his ears even when he wasn’t high.

  With a resigned sigh, he dragged his hoodie over his head and shrugged into the starched orange shirt. He frowned at Lawrence’s choice of colors—Ty wasn’t a big fan of orange, but it looked good with the dusky blue of the suit. He dragged on socks, then wedged his feet into his dress shoes.

  He didn’t need the YouTube tutorial; he had to know how to tie a tie because he’d been involved in orchestra for ages. He peered at the laptop though, frowned at the other sticky note. Ride’s outside, just ask for Jacques

  He absolutely hated Lawrence sometimes.

  Five

  Le Bernardin was right downtown, which meant the drive was about fifteen minutes in typical New Martia traffic. With the snow coming down, it took twenty-five, and Ty was about ten minutes late when he stepped into the restaurant.

  He surveyed the scene, felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach and dissolve in acid.

  The dining room was barely lit, candles flickering on every table. That seemed normal enough for a fancy joint like this, but there were red roses at every table, little sprays of red hearts dripping from the chandeliers.

  Fucking Valentine’s Day.

  Suddenly, everyone asking about their love lives at the shop made a lot more sense.

  He rolled his shoulders and buttoned his jacket, then approached the maître d’.

  “Name,” she drawled, clearly bored.

  “Metzler—er, actually, it’s probably under Trafford.”

  “Ah,” she said, her mouth opening wide around the syllable. “You’re the guest Mr. Trafford’s been waiting for.” The way she said it was almost accusatory. “Dion, can you show Monsieur to Mr. Trafford, please?”

  The passing waiter paused and nodded. “Right this way,” he said with a wave of his hand, and Ty followed him through the crowded dining room—there wasn’t an empty seat in the house.

  They passed through a set of French doors decorated with stained glass. Dion held open a curtain, gesturing him in. “Et voila.”

  Ty poked his head in, and sure enough, there was Lawrence at the table, candlelight dancing over him, highlighting his sharp nose, his strong jaw, his structured cheeks. Two glasses of wine were already standing on the table.

  Lawrence brightened as Ty crossed the carpeted floor and took up the available seat across from him. “You made it,” he said cheerfully. “And you got my instructions.”

  “Hm,” Ty replied, glancing up at Dion, who had pushed in his chair. The waiter smiled broadly, then backed out of the room. “What’s the big idea?”

  “Hm?” Lawrence set his glass down before picking it up again, taking a sip.

  “The fuck is all this about? Leaving me notes, asking me to get dressed up, come to some fancy place like this. Shouldn’t we be at the wing joint or the bar?”

  Lawrence played with the stem of his glass. Ty frowned. His friend was working up to something; Ty had seen this ritual before.

  “And why on Valentine’s Day?” Ty all but hissed, and Lawrence sucked in a breath, looked away as though he’d been scalded.

  His eyes were brimming with guilt when he turned back. “I, uh, wanted to apologize for the other night.”

  “The other night,” Ty repeated.

  “My birthday.” Lawrence’s expression was pinched.

  “You …”

  “I’m not proud of that, Ty. You’re my best friend; I never want to hurt you in any way, so I’m sorry if I overstepped a boundary.”

  Ty heaved a breath, then reached for the wine. “Why did you wait this long to apologize? And why this?” He gestured. “Fancy restaurant, a seafood menu, this day …”

  Lawrence took a long drag of his wine. “Well,” he said finally, avoiding Ty’s gaze, “I, um. Kind of … got handsy with you and said some things while I was drunk, and …”

  Ty drummed his fingers on the table.

  “It got me thinking.” Oh, he sounded so guilty. Was he going to end their friendship over this?

  “Lawrence, don’t worry about it. It’s water under the bridge, we can just forget about it—”

  “That’s the problem,” Lawrence blurted, pinning him with his gaze. “I can’t forget it. You said it yourself, you’re the solution to the problem, and now that I’ve seen that, I can’t un-see it, Ty. I keep thinking about it and thinking about it. What if we …”

  “What if we what?” Ty’s breath stuck in his lungs; his heart stuttered along, tripping over its own frantic beat, but he wasn’t about to jump to conclusions.

  He needed Lawrence to spell this out, whatever this was.

  Lawrence swallowed; guilt invaded his gaze again. “Have a baby.”

  Ty stared at his friend, watched him wilting as the seconds dragged on, curling in on himself.

  “We don’t have to,” he started, and there was the panic. “I mean, I was serious when I said you’re my best friend, and I don’t want to drag you into my family drama, and you can say no, Ty, really, I’ll figure something else out, I promise, I—”

  “Lawrence.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Shut up.”

  Lawrence heaved an enormous breath, his shoulders sinking like he was forcing himself to relax. “Okay.”

  “You just asked me to have a baby with you. I think you can give me a second to process.”

  “Yes, of course, I didn’t mean to rush you, I just thought I’d pissed you off, and—”

  Ty wanted to say yes. Immediately. No hesitatio
n. Just yes, plain and simple, enthusiastic like his heart trying to hammer its way out of his chest. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.

  He’d do anything for Lawrence.

  But it was a big ask. A life-changing one, and even though he’d offered himself up as a sort of sacrificial lamb, he hadn’t really taken the time to think it through.

  The silence dragged on and on, growing tenser by the second until someone said smoothly, “Gentlemen, are we ready to order?”

  Ty almost startled out his skin, and Lawrence looked at their waiter, who smiled.

  “Another minute, if you please, Yves.”

  “Certainly.”

  He was gone just as quickly, and Ty looked down at the menu, glad for the distraction. He had not smoked enough for this.

  “This all looks good.”

  “Fishy—”

  “What are you having? I can’t decide, crab cakes are always good, but lobster tail, but—”

  “Ty!”

  “What?”

  “Can you please say something?” Lawrence looked like he’d been told his dog had died. “Anything. Yes, no, maybe, you need more time—anything, just …”

  “Yes,” Ty blurted, because his tongue was tied to his heart and five miles ahead of his brain.

  The look of relief on Lawrence’s face was more than worth it. Ty gritted his teeth. “I mean, I offered, didn’t I?”

  Lawrence nodded, and Ty tilted his head up, thrusting his nose in the air. “And there is almost nothing I’d like more than to stick it to your parents.”

  “Amen,” Lawrence muttered.

  Their eyes met, and Ty inhaled again. He lifted his glass. “To us.”

  Lawrence grinned and met the toast. Ty almost choked on the wine, it was that bitter across his tongue. He sought Lawrence’s gaze again. “Uh, so … now what?”

  Lawrence grinned. “Well, first you should order whatever you want on the menu, and then I thought we could go home and … fool around a bit.”