Page 49 of Grind

A calculator.

A vintage wooden box.

A plastic cup with a glitter handle.

Three different watches. A plastic kids’ one, one with a leather strap, and one—a golden women’s watch that looked surprisingly expensive.

Its presence made Ezra glance at the Rolex on his wrist, but Jag kept going and set several pieces of jewelry on the table, finishing off his collection with a small glass (crystal?) ball that had a skull-shaped stand.

“I bring him interesting things I find. I’m not always sure which ones people value, but he knows.”

“Find where? At the junkyard?” Ezra asked and picked up a bracelet that appeared antique. He wasn’t an expert but the damn thing seemed to be made of gold. A lot of gold at that! Heat sizzled in his cheeks as he examined the finds one after another. The golden watch was a Tissot.

Jag wrapped his muscular arms on his chest and smiled with pride. “Yep. It’s filled with treasure. Frank doesn’t have time to deal with all of my findings, but he does say which to put away for safe keeping. I could show you.”

Ezra looked up as the house shrunk around him. “You mean there’s more of this?”

Jag frowned. “Of course. I’ve been keeping it safe, dry, and it’s ready to be looked at when he finds the time.”

The cogs in Ezra’s brain turned as he put the remaining food into the fridge before facing Jag with renewed energy. If Frank didn’t have the time to process items that might be worth a pretty penny, maybe Ezra could help him with that too?

“And you’re allowed to show me?” he asked.

Jag shrugged. “Of course. You’re his mate. What’s his, is yours.”

Ezra choked on words as his brain filled with cotton candy that definitely shouldn’t taste so sweet. “He said that?”

Jag cocked his head. “He doesn’t need to. It’s obvious. So which things do we take, and which do we leave?” He pointed to the table, as Ezra’s head pulsed with one word.

Mate.

Mate.

Mate.

Was he? Frank’s mate? It sounded so primal, not at all like boyfriend, or life partner, or even husband. And he liked it.

Shaking his head, he ditched the insistent thoughts and wrote Frank a note, just in case he popped in during the day and got worried about Ezra’s absence. “Why do you say that?” he asked, picking up the things he thought could be valuable, and that included the glass ball, since it could be vintage. He’d have to check online.

“You live with him, you mate with him, you make him food. He protects you, provides for you, and claimed you as his own.” Jag was now looking at Ezra as if he was the one who needed things explained to him slowly.

Ezra’s heart felt tight, as if someone held it in a fist.

“Life isn’t always this straightforward. I wish it was, but it’s not,” he mumbled and took his new jacket off the hanger to protect himself from the cool air.

Jag put the items chosen by Ezra back into his leather pouch. “People make things unnecessarily complicated themselves. Wear boots, it could get muddy.”

“It gets complicated when you need more than just shelter and a bit of food,” Ezra said, following his suggestion.

Jag flashed him a smile and winked. “Of course. You need sex as well.”

That wasn’t what Ezra meant, but he let it go and led the way outside. “I know Dane has more things. A TV, three gaming consoles, two different computers.”

Jag straightened with pride and started walking at a quick pace. “Yes, I provide anything he needs.”

To be fair, it was Dane who had a real job in IT, but if Jag got paid for the“treasures”he brought Frank, then he indeed contributed. Who was Ezra to enlighten him about the realities of capitalism when Jag lived in the world of barter?

When Jag turned onto a small path where Ezra had been specifically told not to go, Ezra stopped in his tracks.