Cut and Run 3 - Fish and Chips

him was anything to go by.
    But Zane, with the self-assured addition to his attitude, was hitting buttons Ty hadn’t even known he possessed. He sighed, looking down at the silver ring on his finger. It was still odd to see it there. And it was unnerving that he still couldn’t seem to get it off. He tugged at it like he had been all morning. It was just a little too tight, and it didn’t budge over the still-swollen, scarred knuckle. Tonight he intended to take some soap to it. Or if that failed, Astroglide.
    He looked back up, sighing as he continued trying to spin it around on his finger. It took a long moment for it to register that Zane was wading toward him, a couple of the women trailing along, still talking as they entered into shallower water.
    Ty watched him appreciatively, not worried that anyone could see like he normally did. Hell, it would be odd if people saw him not watching now, right? He stretched back out on his deck chair, crossing one ankle over the other and putting his hands behind his head again.
    It gave him a comfortable vantage point to see the water stream over Zane’s skin as he climbed the shallow steps out of the pool. Ty’s eyebrow climbed as he took in the bright red European swim shorts that stuck to Zane’s skin like crepe paper, well below the navel, a streak of scarlet across his lean hips and muscled abdomen.
    Ty crossed his ankles the other way and looked up at the sky briefly, fighting his natural reaction to the view. His own swim trunks were similar, but in black. He hoped he pulled the look off as well as his partner did.
    Then Zane lifted the towel to wipe his face and turned his back to Ty. Ty did a double-take when he caught sight of the ink on the lowest part of Zane’s back, under the mishmash of thin white scars he knew were there. It looked like a twisted vine with small leaves and thorns — a simple but striking set of black lines that wrapped and twisted around, reaching from hip to hip along Zane’s lower back before dipping down to a point just inside those very brief red shorts, forming an inverted triangle that stood out against Zane’s tanned skin.
    How the hell had he missed that ?
    Ty slapped his hand over his mouth to muffle the laugh that threatened. Finally, Zane was getting a little of the same treatment Ty had been dealing with. Ty supposed being forced to wear white linen and platinum hair was better than a henna tramp stamp.
    He snorted as he lay there alone, and he had to look away before he began laughing harder and made a scene. Once he’d regained control, he looked back as one of the women stepped closer to Zane, her face clear to Ty since she faced him, and she very deliberately placed a hand on the bare skin of Zane’s hip to brush her fingers near the tattoo. Ty whistled softly, hoping the henna or whatever they’d used to put the tattoo on wouldn’t rub off when it was wet.
    He couldn’t have heard the proposition any clearer if he’d been standing right there next to them. He lowered his head, watching idly as he let his hand fall to his side. He’d never really seen Zane flirt, other than his playfully pitiful attempts at trying to seduce Ty into bed. And during their first week together in New York when they’d met with Serena Scott.
    She was the type who ate her bedmates afterward. Zane had seemed to like it.
    The woman’s mouth formed a surprised O before a slight frown crinkled her brow. Zane turned enough that Ty could see the smile curving his lips, tipping his head in Ty’s direction as he placed his hand on hers and removed it from his hip, though he kissed her fingers before releasing it to ease the rejection. The flustered woman stepped back and nodded, offering him an embarrassed smile, and Zane turned to walk toward Ty, Corbin’s smile still in place.
    Ty didn’t move as he watched Zane approach. He merely kept his eyes on him, a smile quirking his lips as Zane got closer. Then Zane stopped at the foot of the lounger and openly looked him up and down. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked before wiping at his face again with the towel he carried.
    Ty couldn’t help but stretch under the frank appraisal. He gave Zane a content smile. “I am now,” he answered wryly, the accent coming easier to him. The accent, he’d found, actually made it easier to be Del Porter. When he stopped using it in private, it was much more difficult to find the headspace. He couldn’t commit himself to using it all the time,