Chapter Five
Tripp
Another day, another grueling trudge through the ditches of data.
He remembered a day when he used to love his work.
Or did he like work more than coming home to Shelby?
He tapped his pen on his keyboard before making a note amid little doodles and questions he wanted to ask Dray.
A sketch of those scaled tattoos. He desperately wanted to ask Dray if he knew anyone that did tattoos like that.
The pleasant tightness on his chest reminded him of somewhere he’d much rather be. Getting tattooed.
He rubbed at his chest through his shirt and jumped when a coworker opened the door with a grin. “Am I interrupting?”
“N-no! I was just. Uh.” He scattered papers around on his desk, throwing something over the besotted notes. Half in love with his tattoo artist, half pining for an omega he tasted only once.
“Hey, what’s that on your…” His coworker, a tree snake from college, Dustin, marched up and tugged at his neckline, popping a button on his polo open.
Like Tripp, the male was only interested in omegas for the most part, but had no compunctions with any male as long as he was single and in the mood.
They’d messed around on one drunken night in college and left it in the past, but having him tugging his shirt sent a flare of defensiveness he’d have never shown if he were still with Shelby.
“Oh, my goddess!” Dustin covered his mouth and stared down Tripp’s shirt at the huge outline of the snake—the species ambiguous at that stage. “No.”
“Stop it!” Tripp buttoned his shirt back up and pulled away, not wanting to meet the guy’s eyes. Dustin was a stakeholder, technically, at 5 percent of the company. Back in those early days, they’d had shit pay save for shares. But he’d stuck around.
“Dude, I thought your daddy hated tattoos.” Dustin sat on Tripp’s desk and snorted.
“He does.” Tripp didn’t elaborate as he tucked papers away and tidied up his end of day results.
“So, you finally went against daddy?” Dustin shook his head. “Man, you went wild after Shelby fucked off.”
“Literally.” Tripp turned his computer off and checked his phone with a half sigh. If he left right then, he could get to the tattoo parlor a half hour early… Maybe he could use that time to pick up a coffee or smoothie for Dray on the way… Tripp fired off a quick text to the artist.
Hey, there’s a coffee and smoothie place on the ground floor of my building. I’m getting a pick-me-up on the way. Want something? He added a link to their menu.
OMG I was crashing. Can I get the protein kale mango booster? I can xfer the money if you give me your Venmo or something.
Tripp smiled as Dustin peered over his shoulder at the convo with the Tattoo Boo with snake emoji by his name.
“Oooh, that explains so much.” Dustin squealed a little as Tripp typed a quick lalala can’t hear you, what is this Venmo thing you speak of?
“I’m not getting a tattoo because I have a crush on the tattoo artist.” Tripp sighed as he stuffed a phone away.
“Then why are you getting a tattoo?” Dustin raised a brow as Tripp closed up his office for the day.
“Because an old dragon at a bar handed me a token for a free tattoo and told me it’d make me feel better.” Tripp went with the truth.
Dustin stopped mid-step as his face contorted into something odd. “That sounds like… Honestly, it’d been better if you were doing it for the dude.”
“You asked.” Tripp shrugged and boarded the elevator, Dustin riding along with him.
They descended in silence as Tripp walked toward the drink place and placed an order for a large iced coffee, a large protein kale mango booster, and a half-caff mocha 2 percent iced with nondairy whip. Dustin’s usual order. He liked the way the coconut whipped cream tasted.
Dustin huffed as Tripp ordered, and accepted the peace offering. “Still kinda worried about you, bro.”
“I’m working on some stuff. If my work starts suffering, tell me.
” Tripp took a long drag off his drink and made his way to his mid-priced car and rode toward that side of town.
As his eyes flicked into the rearview mirror, he couldn’t help but thinking about a little car seat being strapped in behind him, his car the perfect size for it.
Tripp banished the thought, found parking, and strode to the shop with twenty minutes to spare.
Dray waved at him from the back and swept out to grab his smoothie with his wrists, hands still double-gloved.
The bulky hoodie hid his svelte form and soft belly that begged for a lingering touch.
The blush on Dray’s cheeks made his lips pinken to such a lovely color.
Glossy with saliva after a long sip of his drink, they were even more kissable.
Tripp fought the urge to say something and lost. “Gorgeous.”
Dray halted mid-step and glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. He responded with an ounce of hesitation in his voice. “Thank you. You, too.”
He’d fucked up. The compliment was totally out of line! But Tripp was almost giddy about the compliment in return, even if halfhearted. The confusion on the male’s face was out of place, though. As if he weren’t used to someone finding him attractive.
Fuck whoever left him. Seriously.
Dray sauntered off, drew his curtain, and the gun buzzed to life once more, drowning out the sounds around him.
“So, you’ve got the hots for Dray?” A rather salaciously dressed omega nearly draped over the counter. His hooded eyes blinked slowly, almost catlike. The name Papi had been embroidered over the bib of his apron.
“Uhhh.” Tripp choked over a sip of his coffee and cleared his throat as an unpleasant heat flushed over his cheeks.
“Yupp.” He nearly purred.
“Listen, Papi, I—” Tripp held up his hands as another omega nearby pealed out in laughter.
“Hmm, I’d let you call me Papi, but my name is Ricardo. Rick for short.” The cat wiggled his bottom and hummed before resting his chin on his hands.
The nearby omega, the scent ursine and sweet, was a softly shaped male, a bit on the short side with sweet honey-brown eyes. “Not nearly enough hair for me, but I’d call you Papi if you’re packing.”
Dray called out from behind his curtain. “Ay’, stop sexually harassing my customer.”
Rick rolled his eyes and turned the volume of the shop’s music up, his neon-blue dyed hair flopping over his face as he did so. “So, you’re the one he’s been flustered about?”
“Uhh…” There Tripp was again, stuck between two thirsty omegas, being stared down and grilled. Give him a few seconds and he’d have sear marks and need flipping.
Rick clicked his tongue and pulled out a pen and notepad from seemingly nowhere. “Okay, standard questions.”
“What?”
“Job?” The cat ran his tongue along his cheek, dislodging a piece of gum that he blew a bubble with.
“I have a consulting and data aggregation—”
“Big words. Good. Employed.” The bear snapped his fingers and Rick nodded, jotting things down.
“Damnit, Kay! Let me do one question alone for once,” Rick huffed and the bear, Kay he assumed, stuck his tongue out. A neat little glistening stud glittered on his tongue.
“I just—” Tripp started, interrupted again by the bear.
“Are you married or in a relationship?” Kay stared Tripp down.
“No, my fiancée left me for another dude months ago.” Tripp hesitated as Kay nodded.
Rick, not wanting to be outdone, made a note and leaned forward. “Do you have your own place?”
“I rent for now, but I’m looking to buy soon. I wanted to make sure I had the full deposit and an emergency fund because—” Tripp silenced as Rick held a hand up and made notes once more.
“Planner. Nice.” Kay stared at his nails.
“Full name?” Kay held up his phone and Tripp rattled off his full name, halted in place with his heart racing.
Rick glanced over with interest until Kay gave a thumbs-up. “Daddy owns a golf course. No record. What’s your private email?”
Tripp coughed and told him, glued to the spot as the omega tapped away on his phone. “Ah, found it. Yeah, nothing sex weird.”
“Hey, wait a second—” Tripp’s cheeks burned as he glanced toward Dray’s work area.
“So, you want to date our boy?” Kay pocketed his phone and leaned back. “And you know about his situation? I didn’t see anything on your net history to show you had any preggo kinks or things.”
“I— It shouldn’t matter if he is or n— I’m like… If you like someone, does it matter?”
“I dunno if you’re ready to be a dad or not. He’s not getting rid of it or giving it for adoption. There’s no shared custody to give you breaks. It’s a big commitment.” Kay twirled a pen. “I should know.”
“Kay’s done it on his own for a while now.” Rick chewed his bottom lip. “I’m more careful than that.”
Tripp found the balls to butt in. “Be as careful as you like but it could happen to anyone. No two heats are the same. It doesn’t follow a stopwatch, and snakes have a hard time because heat hits hard and fast. It’s not his fault.
If anything, the alpha who did it should have had an inkling. Worn a condom, anything.”
“Club Prowl doesn’t exactly have a use-a-condom vibe to it. Everyone tries to just hook up with humans.” Kay sneered and shook his head.
Rick, who’d been snotty just moments prior, dropped part of the facade. “Sorry. I was pushing buttons to see if… Yeah, you pass, bro. Whoever it was, wore so much cologne he couldn’t tell they were an alpha.”
Tripp cleared his throat and stood there like a scolded child, his iced coffee sweating over his pruning fingers. “Could happen to anyone… Club Prowl? When?”
Rick shrugged. “Sometime in October? I forget the day. It was a Tuesday, I know that much. Weekends are too crowded.”
Tripp’s heart clenched. He’d been in that same club after his breakup.
Had he worn a condom? Had he even thought about the repercussions of what he did?
He’d let alcohol be his guide. With a sickening feeling, he texted his buddy who bartended there and asked him two questions.
He’d been off that day partying with Tripp.
Dude, do you have any pics from that night we partied at Prowl?
Tripp sat in silence for an awkward moment before Rick coughed and muttered another apology.
“It’s fine. He can defend himself. But yeah, I will ask him out. I just want to know him better, is all. It’s attraction, definitely, but he’s in no position to fall in love carelessly.”
Tripp’s phone pinged and a dozen photos rolled through of a sea of bodies and among them all was a silhouette, a hand raised high, fingers spread with a neat slew of scales slithering down it. Not Dray.
Dray had a slew of other tattoos going up his hands, not scales.
Tripp’s stomach twisted as Dray told him it’d be ten minutes. A skinhead slunk out from behind his curtain, stinking of beta and lizard of some variety. His snake rattled in his mind, hissing for all his lungs could hold.
Mine.