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

  “Just your …” Lawrence gestured vaguely, and Ty was ready to smack him when he finally squeaked, “Nips.”

  “The fuck are you … oh.” Ty blinked a couple of times. “Um. That’s.”

  “New,” Lawrence supplied.

  “One way of putting it,” Ty muttered, then tugged off his pants and slipped into the bath. He allowed the water to flow over him as he sank down in it, relaxing until his hold on human form washed away.

  The bathtub wasn’t really big enough for him to shift, but it was the one place he’d been able to, seeing as how he couldn’t swim. He slid down deeper, until the water brushed over his gills. His tail coiled ’round and ’round, then flopped over the edge of the tub, wrapping around Lawrence, who was still crouched there, still watching.

  “The fuck, man.”

  Lawrence turned very, very pink. “I’m not allowed to look at you now?” he asked.

  Ty’s brows knit together. “Why would you want to? We did the deed, we’re having a baby now—”

  “We’re married.”

  “So?” Ty felt his eyes widen. “You didn’t take that ‘debt of your body’ shit seriously, did you?”

  Lawrence’s blush deepened. “Of course not,” he scoffed. He shook Ty’s tail off, got to his feet.

  “Good, ’cause that would be weird.”

  “So weird,” Lawrence agreed with a shrug, then yanked the door open. “Don’t drown.”

  “I can’t drown. I can breathe water.”

  The other man paused in the doorway, apparently searching for a retort. Ty was about to snap at him to get out, when he blurted, “God, your nipples are huge,” then bolted into the hall and slammed the door.

  “What the fuck!” Ty hollered, then dunked himself under the water.

  Twelve

  “I’m starting to think this was all some horrible, stupid mistake,” Val said as she turned a page in the magazine she was reading.

  Ty grunted in reply, and she tapped his arm as he fidgeted on the hospital bed. “Nurse told you to stay still,” she said, then licked her finger and turned another page.

  “I’m uncomfortable,” he huffed, settling back against the pillow, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Stop it. You’ll knock the IVout again, and then we’ll be here even longer.”

  He rolled his eyes skyward, blew his bangs out of his eyes. Val snapped the magazine shut. “You do want to go home, don’t you?”

  “Not really,” he muttered. It was honest, at least. Things had been awkward for the last few days (not Ty’s fault, all Lawrence’s; his nipples weren’t that interesting, but Lawrence wouldn’t leave them alone).

  Worse than that, they were supposed to go to his parents’ for dinner. That in and of itself was bad enough; his parents were the more intolerable kind of hippie, the ones who talked about how good it was to be vegan (they’d eaten vegan, until it had nearly killed both him and his father—seahorses survived solely by preying on other animals, who knew? Apparently not people who didn’t believe in science), who believed in the power of herbs to cure everything from a stubbed toe to stage-four cancer.

  Ty still wasn’t quite sure how he’d survived his childhood. He was pretty sure some of what his parents had done counted as abuse or child endangerment or something.

  The worst part of this was having to tell his parents about the reception. That he and Lawrence were married. True, they’d been married for almost a month now, and Ty supposed most people told their relatives beforehand, or at least relatively soon after, but Ty was in no hurry to tell his parents anything about his life.

  Especially not that he was married, pregnant, and had been in the hospital three times this week to get fluids. They’d flip their lids if they knew he was seeing a doctor.

  It had been very necessary, though; he hadn’t been able to keep anything down for nearly two days when Lawrence finally wrestled him into the ER. The ER doctor had given him an actual diagnosis, told him that he needed to come in a lot sooner if he needed fluids, call an ambulance.

  Dr. K had informed him none-too-gently that hyperemesis often preceded a miscarriage. Ty felt a bit like he was a prisoner in a maximum security facility, because Val and Raoul had been popping by when Lawrence was out, and Lawrence had a nurse coming in to check on Ty once a day (rich people medical insurance was insane).

  “Tell me something,” Val said, looking up from her magazine.

  He looked at the wall instead of her unnerving gaze. “Shoot.”

  “You and Lawrence … you guys have only been married for about a month. This … wasn’t planned, was it?”

  Ty sighed, closed his eyes.

  “So it wouldn’t matter,” she said, a little too loudly for the room. He opened his eyes again, just in time to watch her glance over her shoulder and crouch lower in her seat. “Wouldn’t matter if … this ended.”

  He stared at her for so long he was certain the washed-out hue of her face in the early April sunlight, the gray and fading pastels of the walls were seared into his retinae.

  “First of all, fuck you for even suggesting that. Second, yes, it would matter.”

  She frowned deeply. “So you … want this?”

  “Do you think I would be sitting here with six needles poked into my arms if I didn’t, Val?”

  “Well, I also think you maybe don’t want to die, so …”

  He rolled his eyes and looked away.

  “I’m just saying, Ty, if this is an accident, you don’t have to go through with it. Especially not since it’s making you so sick.”

  “Your concern’s misplaced.”

  “Ty …”

  “We’re having the baby, Val, accident or not.”

  “Hello, Ty! How are we doing with that IV drip? Oh—you’ve knocked it loose again.”

  “Again?!” Val hissed, and Ty screwed his eyes shut.

  ***

  He wasn’t less queasy when he and Lawrence walked up to his parents’ ramshackle apartment, above the store, but he told himself that was nerves more than anything. He fussed with his wedding ring. Even with it properly sized, he didn’t usually wear it; it sat unnaturally on his finger.

  Lawrence looked so out of place in the dingy stairwell, dashing in a navy suit with a light blue shirt. He’d left a tie off because that was too formal.

  Almost anything was too formal for Ty’s parents; Ty was nestled deep in one of his most comfortable hoodies and what had been his favorite pair of jeans, but they weren’t earning themselves any points right then, not with the waistband digging into him the way it was.

  His body could have at least had the courtesy to let him feel like he’d lost the six pounds he apparently had, not like some bloated …

  He didn’t even know what.

  Lawrence rang the bell, and the door peeled back, revealing Ty’s mother in all her bubbly, frizzy-haired hippie glory. “Lawrence! Tydeus! What a pleasant surprise!”

  “We told you we were coming,” Ty muttered.

  “These are for you,” Lawrence said, handing her the bouquet they’d picked up.

  “Oh, these are lovely! And they’re locally grown, oh, you shouldn’t have! Here, let me just get these some water … Icheus! Our guests are here!”

  She bustled into the kitchen. Lawrence looked at Ty, who shrugged. He slouched into the apartment like a shadow.

  “Icky!” his mother called down the hall.

  “Little tied up, Hannah!”

  “Oh my, that’s right.” She chuckled, then darted off, hands pressed to her cheeks, apron strings flaring out behind her.

  “Yeeeuch,” Ty groaned, “I did not need to know.”

  “It’s sweet that they like each other,” Lawrence said, tilting his head, probably so his smile looked more happy than pained.

  “Still,” Ty grumbled as he slung himself into one of the kitchen chairs. He crossed an ankle over his knee. “I don’t need any help losing my cookies.”

  “You really don’t,” Law
rence agreed as he sank down into the chair opposite of him. “You’re looking a little green around the gills.”

  Ty glared. “My gills aren’t out—”

  “Figure of speech. How are you doing?”

  Ty huffed and looked away. The air in the kitchen was thick with aroma—spices and sauces.

  “Maybe we could go sit in the living room.”

  Lawrence took his hand and gave it a squeeze as he followed Ty into the messy living room.

  Not much had changed since Ty had moved out; the couch was the same stained fabric, worn spots telling who sat where, Mom’s doilies covering up a couple big stains or tears in the arms, along the back. The bookshelf was crammed with tomes, most of them with broken spines and peeling dust jackets, which matched the peeling veneer of the shelves themselves. On the top shelf, some half-dead plants drooped under layers of dust; bundles of dried herbs lay alongside them. The walls were covered with strange art, and more plants hung from the ceiling, suspended in macramé hangers. The coffee table was littered with the stubs of candles, a pentacle, the tarot deck spilled everywhere—two half-drunk cups of tea completed the scene.

  He sprawled out on the couch, letting Lawrence take up a seat in the matching armchair—also decorated with doilies to hide stains and tears.

  Footsteps pounded over the cracked tiles that led to the bedrooms and the bathroom. “I was just saying to your father—Ty? Where’d you go?”

  “In here, Mrs. Metzler,” Lawrence called, plastering on a bright smile, and Ty kicked his feet up on the coffee table, hoping the change in elevation would alleviate his nausea.

  His mother bustled in. “I was just saying to your father, it was such a surprise that you asked about dinner.” She put her hands on her hips, grinning dangerously. “You seem like you’ve been avoiding us.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been busy with school.”

  Her smile faded. “Yes,” she said, clearing her throat. “Of course. Pay so much money to the establishment, to memorize facts and crush creativity—”

  “Mom,” Ty groaned and tossed a desperate look at Lawrence. He was not in the mood.

  “It’s no business of mine,” she said, then headed to the china cabinet. She pulled out several joints and a lighter. “Can I offer you boys a smoke?”

  “I’ll pass,” Ty said and looked at the wall instead of her expression. Lawrence glanced at him.

  “What? Have they convinced you it’s bad for you now? I swear, I—”

  “I’ll join you for a puff,” Lawrence said. He crossed the room in two strides, landed a hand on Mom’s shoulder and steered her out toward the balcony.

  Ty debated running to the bathroom. He didn’t get a chance because his father stepped into the room.

  Ty looked more like his father than his mother—same dark hair, the crown of spikes that wouldn’t lay flat no matter what they tried. They were both on the shorter side, fine-boned.

  His father nodded curtly, mumbled, “Son,” as gruffly as he could because he sometimes pretended at masculinity, usually when he was mad at Ty. He was probably hurt because he thought Ty was avoiding him.

  “Hey Dad,” Ty managed.

  “Where’s your mother?”

  “Outside.”

  “You brought the Trafford boy?” His father referred to everyone by their last names (mostly because he had a hard time with first names; he’d given up sometime when Ty was in second grade, and he’d brought home a class list with another thirty-three names on it).

  “Yeah, Lawrence is here.”

  His father nodded. He plucked up the tarot deck and settled himself into the chair. He shuffled the cards a bit.

  “Mom’s not going to do readings, is she?”

  “Not unless you’d prefer me to do them.”

  Ty rolled his eyes. “I’d like it if we didn’t do them at all.”

  “Now, now,” Dad said.

  Mom and Lawrence stepped back into the room in a cloud of fresh spring air and smoke. Dad grinned, showing all his pointed teeth. “Nice day out,” he said.

  “Finally,” Lawrence agreed.

  Mom took the deck from Dad when he offered it to her. “Dinner’s almost ready,” she said. “Before we eat, let’s see what the future has in store.”

  “Ugh,” Ty grumbled, shifting around on the sofa.

  “You can go first, since you’re so enthusiastic,” she huffed, perching beside him.

  “Fiiiine.” He leaned forward and picked three cards out of the deck.

  “Lawrence, are you familiar with the tarot?”

  “I can’t say I am, beyond what Ty’s told me.” Lawrence was so smooth. Ty hated him.

  “Ah. Well, this is a simple spread, three cards. This place represents the past. This, the present. And this … where you’re going.”

  She turned over the first card. “Four of wands. You’ve celebrated something recently.”

  “My birthday,” Ty grumbled, because his parents had forgotten again.

  “Something bigger than that,” she said. “Perhaps … a relationship has become more serious.” She turned over the next card. “The Empress. A feminine energy. Wise, warm, caring.”

  She turned over the last card. “The ten of cups.” She frowned deeply, eyes swishing back and forth over the cards.

  “That’s an interesting reading,” Dad said.

  Lawrence smiled guilessly. “Is it bad?”

  “My luck normally isn’t that good,” Ty clarified, curling up tighter. Any kind of divination was nothing more than parlor tricks in his opinion; he knew how it was done.

  But the four of wands suggested the celebration of a major milestone, such as a marriage, and the ring bit into his finger.

  The Empress, representing his present, was a wise feminine figure—and also represented fertility and maternal care; if his question had been about health, it could easily have foretold pregnancy. The ten of cups suggested a satisfying future, particularly for family life.

  In short, it was eerily accurate, and his parents were dangerously close to figuring out everything going on his life without him saying a word.

  “Me next,” Lawrence said when the silence had dragged on long enough.

  “Of course,” Mom said with a smile and shuffled the cards back into the deck. She fanned the deck out to Lawrence. He selected cards without hesitation, even as she instructed, “Concentrate on a question.”

  She turned over the first card. “Death,” she announced, and Lawrence cringed.

  “Death? Is that bad?” He shot a glance at Ty.

  “This card represents your past,” Mom said quickly, “so something that’s already happened.”

  “But no one died.”

  “No,” she agreed. “Death is a card that scares many people, but it can be taken as a good sign. It may mean the end of a relationship or a job—but often signifies new beginnings. A major life transition, if you will.”

  “The death of an old life and the beginning of a new one,” Ty murmured, then looked away when Mom turned to glare at him.

  “The second card,” she said, “represents your present.” They looked at the Emperor, enthroned and regent. A frown tugged at Mom’s lips, her brows. Then she smiled tersely at Lawrence and turned over the last card.

  They all stared at it. Mom cleared her throat. Dad smiled a bit. “Isn’t that odd,” he murmured.

  “The ten of cups,” Mom said.

  “They’re just stupid cards,” Ty sneered, then burrowed a little deeper in the couch when they glared at him again.

  “Tydeus,” Dad said sharply.

  “I believe you have something to tell us,” Mom said, rising to her feet. She towered over him, and he sank back in the cushions a little more.

  “Do I?”

  “Tydeus …”

  “We got married?” Ty didn’t think he could sink any deeper into the cushions, but damn if he wasn’t going to keep trying.

  “Bigger than that!” Mom cried.

  “
What’s bigger than getting married?!” Ty barked.

  “Oh, don’t,” Lawrence almost whimpered as Mom reached for a pillow, “Mrs. Metzler, please, that’s no good for Ty or the baby.”

  “Lawrence.”

  “Ah-ha!” Mom crowed, tossing the pillow aside. “I knew it!”

  “You didn’t know anything!” Ty roared back.

  “The doctor said no stress!” Lawrence looked ready to tear his hair out.

  “What doctor?!”

  “Ughhh, Lawrence, seriously!” Ty had explained, on more than one occasion, about his parents’ reticence to doctors and the medical field as a whole.

  Lawrence frowned, then rose from his seat. “No, they need to understand. You’ve been so sick, you’ve been to the ER three times—”

  Ty hissed at him, because he was definitely not helping.

  “The ER?” Mom snapped. “Doctors? Hospitals? What’s next, are you going to let them color-coordinate a pill regimen for high blood pressure and prediabetes and—”

  “Mrs. Metzler, please. Ty’s been very sick. He needed fluids, and if he didn’t go, he wouldn’t be sitting here for you to yell at!”

  Dad pinned Ty with a look, their eyes meeting. “Sick, huh?” Dad said, and Ty nodded; his rising anxiety had ratcheted up the low-grade nausea lurking in the background of needing to tell his parents this.

  Well, not this exactly—they were only supposed to invite them to the reception.

  Dad nodded a little, then asked, “You’ve been getting your morning hug?”

  “Huh?” Ty slowly melted out of the sofa, turning more fully toward his father. “Morning what?”

  Dad’s eyes widened with concern; he sighed a little. “I guess you wouldn’t know. Piscea’s no land of milk and honey. If a mate is killed, it doesn’t make sense to carry the pregnancy to term.”

  “Wha—”

  Dad shifted uncomfortably. “So you need to maintain contact with the baby’s other parent. Most common way to do it is to make sure you get a hug every morning.”

  Ty wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. On the one hand, that was so … stupid. So simple. So sensible.

  On the other hand, if he’d known that, maybe he wouldn’t have spent all that time blaming himself for the last one.