But that wasn't a conversation he was in a hurry to have. She'd assume it was a female and get all excited about the fact that he was going on a date and he'd be forced to lie to her. . . or come out of the closet.
His parents had never been judgmental. . . . But he was their only son and no female meant not only no grandbabies, but a hit from the aristocracy. Unsurprisingly, the glymera was okay with homosexuality provided you were mated to a female and you never, ever spoke about it or did anything overtly to confirm the way you were born. Appearances. All about appearances. And if you did come out? You got shut out.
And so did your family.
On some level, he couldn't believe he was about to go meet up with a male. At a restaurant. And then head off to an after-hours bar with the guy.
His date was going to look amazing. Always did.
So Blay took out a Zegna suit that was gray with the palest pink pinstripe. A fine cotton button-down from Burberry was next, the shirt's body a faint blush, with its French cuffs and collar a bright white. Shoes. . . shoes. . . shoes. . .
Bam, bam, bam on the door. "Yo, Blay. "
Shit. He'd already laid the suit out on the bed and he was newly showered, in his bathrobe, with gel in his hair.
Gel: Dead frickin' giveaway.
Going to the door, he cracked the sucker only an inch or two. Out in the hall, Qhuinn was ready for fighting, his chest holster of daggers hanging from his hand, his leathers on, his New Rocks buckled up.
Funny, though, the warrior routine didn't make much of an impression. Blay was too busy remembering what the guy had looked like stretched out on the bed the night before, his eyes on Layla's mouth.
Bad call to have had that feeding done in his own room, Blay thought. Because now he was stuck wondering how far things had gone on his mattress between those two.
Knowing Qhuinn, though, that would be all the way. You're welcome.
"John texted me," the guy said. "He and Xhex are going on a Caldie crawl and for once the motherfucker is--"
Qhuinn's mismatched eyes went up and down and then he leaned to the side and looked over Blay's shoulder. "What's doing?"
Blay brought the lapels of his robe a little closer. "Nothing. "
"Your cologne is different--what did you do to your hair?"
"Nothing. What were you saying about John?"
There was a pause. "Yeah. . . okay. Well, he's heading out and we're going with him. We gotta lay low, though. They're going to want their privacy. But we can--"
"I'm off tonight. "
That pierced brow dropped low. "So. "
"So. . . I'm off. "
"That's never mattered before. "
"It does now. "
Qhuinn shifted to the side again and glanced around Blay's head. "You putting on that suit just to impress the home team?"
"No. "
There was a long silence and then one word: "Who. "
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Blay let the door go wide and stepped back into his room. If they were going to get into a thing, no sense doing it out in the corridor for people to see or hear.
"Does that really matter," he said, on a surge of anger.