Free Question Mark by S.E. Culpepper

couldn’t get Mark out of his mind—an incredibly frustrating fact—and he was uncomfortable with how exposed it made him feel. Being blunt with what he wanted was actually quite difficult, and he’d never been so forthright with guys he’d dated in the past. It was probably a big part of why those relationships hadn’t worked. Zane had been right not to trust those men. If only he’d realized that before he let them emotionally wreck him.
    Now, with his wants out on the table, he wasn’t anywhere near Mark to take action. He had to rely on phone calls and wishes that they’d see one another again soon. The image of that guy, Christian, popped into his mind and he hissed under his breath. That little cocksucker. He had Mark all to himself. The thought had Zane practically levitating out of his seat.
    The flight attendants chatted back and forth on the intercom system about crosscheck and doors and whatever the hell while his mind went wild.
    Just get me off the damn plane!
    When the door was finally opened, Zane could smell the rain in the air. He sucked in a big breath and reminded himself that Mark had agreed to no games. And that was a good deal as long as he didn’t decide rocker boy was a better option and call Zane up to break the news.
    Sheeeeee-iiiiiiit , his mind sing-songed.
    Patchouli Patty tugged her carry-on bag from beneath the seat and dragged it against Zane’s knee on the way out. Two layers of skin…gone. He gritted his teeth and made like a monk looking for serenity. Once she was in the aisle and bombing the air with her fumes, he unbent himself from his seat and pulled his bag down from the overhead bin. Freedom.
    He made quick work of the walk through the terminal, which was still thick with travelers who glanced his way in recognition. Bypassing the escalators for the stairs, he scanned through the group of drivers standing with name cards and caught a glimpse of one of the fake names he used when he didn’t want people knowing what he was up to.
    “How’s it going,” he asked the uniformed driver. “I’m Mr. Baskin.” This name always made him want to laugh. Jenny made it up after she’d gorged herself on a pint of mint chocolate chip.
    “Yes, sir. I’m Robert. Are you picking up any bags?” Zane nodded his head and followed the older gentleman to the baggage carousel for his flight, steering clear of perfume lady.
    Fifteen minutes more here, half an hour or so to get to his place, and likely another twenty before he could get to Jenny’s for the mother-fribbling cocktail party suckfest. Then, Mark. Or maybe he could call him on the way home? Or on the way to the party? Zane really wanted to talk to him. There was a three hour time difference between L.A. and Bora Bora, so that made it a little after four there. Mark could be doing anything and Zane couldn’t expect him to be available on his vacation all the time…but…
    He bit down on his lip, his impatience surprising him. It was like he’d regressed to middle school again. All he needed to add to his worried, pathetic act was a jean jacket and Air Jordans. Beautiful image.
    The carousel began moving just in time as a cluster of girls who’d met their friend at the baggage claim were eyeing him speculatively. Yep—crap—they were giggling. Bad sign. He frowned, tugged his hat low, and tried to put on his “I’m unapproachable.” face.
    Come on bags. Please. Bags. Bags. Bags. Let’s go. Come on .
    There was one of them.
    He stepped around a gaggle of people eyeing the luggage and tugged the case off the carousel, passing it off to Robert. The next bag came soon after and he scooted out of there before the seagulls attacked.
    The car was waiting at the curb and Zane slid into it like home base, his lower back letting out a protest at being forced to sit down again. With his heart racing, he tugged his phone from his pocket and turned it on. A couple text messages from Jenny popped up, both of them about the cocktail