Cole, page 14
I glanced up as Marco strode past the café’s windows, and my heart jumped. I quickly texted Parker, gotta run, will text later. Then I silenced my phone and put it facedown on the table. Why was I promising a client I’d text later? Why had I been texting him while I’d been sitting here waiting for a friend to come talk some sense into me about being ridiculous about a client?
Well, whatever. Marco was here, and I got up as he approached. I couldn’t help grinning as a few heads turned. That wasn’t unusual whenever he walked into a room. He was white and right around six-foot—maybe six-one, somewhere in there—and he’d pretty much started going gray the day he turned thirty. Now that he was inching up on thirty-five, the gray was taking over. He’d mentioned a few times that he was tempted to dye it, but I was secretly thankful that he’d realized how much his clients dug the silver-fox-in-progress look. I didn’t blame them—the only thing sexier than Marco with dark hair was Marco with streaks of silver. If he ended up completely gray by forty like he predicted, he’d be able to double his rates and not lose a single client. Smoking. Hot.
“Hey,” he said when he was close enough. “It’s been a while.”
“It has. Good to see you.”
He flashed me a smile and gave me a quick hug, and then we settled in to peruse the menu.
My neck prickled as I went over the offerings. Any time I was even a little stressed out or anxious, my mind tried to kick into “food is the enemy” mode, but as I’d long ago learned to do, I tamped that down. It was a habit more than anything. A reflex more than an actual compulsion. When it crept into that territory, I’d be on my therapist’s emergency line, but the vast majority of the time, it was little more than my brain notifying me that I was stressed out and that starving myself was an option.
Not today, Satan.
I ordered a sandwich that was light enough to keep me from falling into a spiral, but also had a little bit of mayo and some swiss cheese, which served to remind my mostly muffled eating disorder who was in charge.
With the menu dealt with and our food ordered, Marco and I caught up and made some small talk. All the while, my stomach was in knots because I didn’t know how to explain this to him. What would he think? Oh God, he’d think I was such an idiot, wouldn’t he? I supposed he was right. And like few others, he’d be able to set me straight with this.
The thing was, Marco had been with Emerald City for a few years now. For him, it had started with desperation after his ex had walked out and left him financially high and dry, but then he’d realized he enjoyed it. Plus he was making good money. He’d been the one to suggest it to me when I’d been hard up for cash.
He'd also been my first, and I don’t mean my first client.
Marco had about seven years on me. We’d met at a club and hooked up, and he hadn’t realized until I’d told him the next morning that he’d been my first. I’d been too embarrassed to tell him in the moment, and apparently I’d convinced him my fumbling and uncertainty were just nerves and alcohol, not inexperience.
After that, we’d dated casually for a few months. Or, well, he’d dated me casually for a few months. I’d fallen absolutely flat on my face in love with him. To this day, I was sure that any other guy would’ve backed away or ghosted me, and things would’ve ended badly.
But not Marco. As soon as he’d realized what was going on, he’d sat me down, taken me by the hand, and gently explained what we were and what we weren’t. Of course I’d been heartbroken in the moment, but he’d assured me it would make more sense over time. He’d also assured me he wasn’t going anywhere. That he loved me in a way that meant he still wanted me in his life, but not the way I thought I wanted him in mine.
I’d been pissed at the time. I’d gone a good two weeks without talking to him, but as the sting had ebbed and I’d spent some time chewing on what he’d said, I’d calmed down. Admittedly, there’d been a part of me that had thought if we stayed part of each other’s lives, then he’d realize he did love me the way I loved him.
My naïve, youthful optimism had sent me back to him with my tail between my legs, and we’d made up. We’d stayed friends. We’d even fucked now and then.
And…he’d been right. Boyfriends came and went for both of us. I found out what it really meant to fall for someone, and when the bottom had fallen out of that, thank God, Marco had been there with a warm shoulder and a gentle embrace. Six months after that, the roles had been reversed, and he’d been the one crying on my shoulder in his now-empty apartment after his asshole ex had left. We’d had sex that night, too. We’d both needed it, and I’d understood more than ever how sex didn’t have to mean the kind of love I’d thought I was in with him in the beginning.
“So.” Marco tapped his knuckle on the table, pulling me out of my thoughts. “You said you needed to talk.”
Oh fuck. Here we go.
I swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, I…”
He cocked his head, concern written all over his face. “Everything okay?” I knew that look. He’d seen me through a couple of relapses, and they weren’t pretty. These days, he had a bit of a hair trigger when it came to that.
“Everything’s good. I’m fine.”
His eyes narrowed a little. “You thinking about jumping ship with someone?”
“What? No! I mean, not like a boyfriend or—jumping ship? What do you mean?”
“Just curious.” He shrugged again. “You’re a little twitchy, so I thought…” He pursed his lips, then shook his head. “Never mind. Obviously I was off the mark. So, what’s going on?”
I eyed him, not sure where that first train of thought had come from, but since he apparently wasn’t on it anymore, I let it go. “Well, um… So, I’ve got this client…” I watched my finger running around the rim of my drink since that was easier than looking Marco in the eye. “An ongoing client, I guess you could say.”
“You?” Marco huffed a laugh. “The man who would rather chew glass than take an extended booking?”
I chuckled, glancing up at him. “I know, right? But he’s…” Humor fading, I folded my hands in my lap and tried to find the words. “He’s about as inexperienced as they come.” I met Marco’s gaze. “Like, more inexperienced than I was when you met me.”
Marco’s eyebrows rose. “You’re kidding.”
“No. So we had a few bookings. I figured there was no way he could try everything all in one night, you know?”
Marco nodded.
“And anyway, we just kind of… kept doing it. Right now he’s—” I hesitated, making absolutely sure I wasn’t revealing too much about a client. “He’s gone a lot for work, but he’s going to be in town for a while.”
“So you two are seeing even more of each other.” His tone suggested he knew where this was going.
“Yeah. And we’re texting a lot in between. And he’s…” I raked a hand through my hair. “God, what is wrong with me? I’ve never had a client distract me this much.”
“From what?”
“Everything.” I shrugged. “I can still focus when I’m with other clients, but I have to work at it, you know?”
Marco’s eyebrows climbed his forehead. “He’s really gotten under your skin, hasn’t he?”
Shoulders slumping, I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Be careful,” he said. “You know how things went with us.”
Cheeks burning, I nodded. “I know. I guess that’s why I wanted to talk to you. I don’t know what’s going on in”—I gestured at my temple—“or what to do about it.”
Marco studied me. “Why keep taking the bookings? Why not decline or refer him to someone else?”
Okay, that was a fair question. “It’s…” I stared at the table between us. How was I supposed to explain that it definitely was an option, but I didn’t want to suggest it because I didn’t want to leave Parker in anyone else’s hands? He was a client, but damn if I wasn’t protective over him in ways I hadn’t been with others. And maybe a little territorial in ways I had no business being. “I don’t know. I—”
“You don’t want to, do you?” His smile was a mix of wry and concerned.
What was the point in even trying to get anything past Marco? Sighing, I shook my head. “No. I don’t. Plus I’m his first, and I guess I’m worried about trusting someone else with him. I’m protective of him, you know? But yeah, I… I really don’t want to.” Cringing, I met Marco’s eyes. “That probably means I should, huh?”
Of course our server picked that exact moment to appear with our food. I had an anxiety-fueled flash of oh God, I can’t eat, but I quickly popped a fry in my mouth because fuck you, brain.
Once our server was gone and we were again alone, I looked at Marco. “So I should bail, right?”
“If you think you’re too close to him?” He nodded sharply. “Bail. Definitely.”
The bluntness was what I’d come for, but for some reason, it was still a gut punch. I forced myself to keep eating, and between bites, I asked, “How do I know if I am too close to him? Because he’s supposed to be a client, but he really doesn’t feel like one.”
“Do all of your regulars feel like just clients?”
I thought about it. And I supposed he had a point. Some of them were definitely just clients, but I was friendly with a few. There’d be money exchanged and we’d both know why I was there, but in the moment, it was easy to slide into a headspace where I wasn’t someone who was there to fuck for money.
“Okay, yeah.” I swallowed, watching myself drag another fry through some mustard. “But not like this.”
Marco’s brows knitted as he chewed thoughtfully on a bite of his sandwich. “Honestly? I think if you’re this hung up over it, that’s a huge red flag that you’re getting too close to him. Because I’m sure he likes you just fine, but that doesn’t mean this has legs, you know? And there’s a good chance it’s going to end with either you having to let him down after he’s gotten attached, or him walking away once he realizes his first doesn’t have to be his last.”
Another gut punch, but could I argue?
“I know it sucks.” Though Marco’s voice was firm, it held a faint edge of sympathy. “But the alternative is setting both of you up for heartbreak later.”
I wanted to tell him we both knew about Gentlemen who’d left Emerald City to be with clients-turned-lovers. I wanted to insist there was a chance this thing with Parker was just fun and I was reading into nothing. I wanted to push back even though Marco was saying exactly what I’d met up with him today to hear. What the hell did that mean?
Probably that you’re fucking stupid and you should listen to him.
I sighed as I picked up my sandwich. “I can’t believe I let myself get this close to a client.”
“It happens,” he said with a subtle shrug. “When your business is sex, intimacy happens.”
Naturally, someone was walking past our table right then, and her neck nearly snapped as she turned toward him with a gasp. He looked up at her with an apologetic—sort of—expression. She huffed and kept walking, and he muffled a snicker.
I chuckled too, but it didn’t last. “I’ve never had this happen before. I’ve been friendly with clients before, but…”
Marco sobered too. “I think it happens to a lot of guys. But you have to be the professional and draw the lines. Especially with someone who’s so new to any of this.”
My heart sank, and I nodded. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“Don’t accept another booking from him. Block him on the app and ghost him if you have to. He won’t be happy about it, but it’ll be better for both of you in the long run.”
“So, bail and don’t look back.”
“Basically.”
I sighed. “Okay. I’ll, um… I’ll do that.”
The conversation moved to lighter topics as we continued eating, though my mind stayed on what we’d discussed about me and Parker. I still stubbornly wanted to resist doing what Marco had told me to do, even though I’d come here specifically because I’d known he’d tell me exactly that.
He's right. When I get to the car, I’ll do what he told me to do.
Delete. Block. Ghost.
Move the hell on.
Damn it.
After we’d eaten, Marco and I shared a hug as we always did, and then we headed in separate directions. When I reached my car half a block away, I slid into the driver seat and turned the key, then took out my phone to check my texts. I had two—one from Parker, and one from Emerald City.
The first was in response to my text that I’d be off for a while: No problem. Talk to you later!
The second…
You have received a booking! Please confirm your acceptance.
My heart jumped into my throat, and God help me, I had no idea if I hoped the booking came from Parker or another client. Because I’d heard everything Marco had said, and I got it, but fuck me, the instant I was faced with the possibility of seeing Parker again, my resolve to walk away was gone. I was afraid to think too hard about what that meant.
I opened the Emerald City app, and one look at Parker’s avatar beside the booking request drew a “Yes!” from my lips. Marco’s voice was echoing in my ears, but I confirmed the booking anyway. All of Marco’s warnings were hammering themselves into my consciousness, but I was looking forward to seeing Parker anyway.
God, I’m so stupid. But I just can’t say no.
I don’t want to say no.
The thing was, I was not in love with Parker. Everything Marco had said was duly noted, but I wasn’t getting in too deep. I just wasn’t. Parker was sweet and adorable, and I enjoyed our bookings. I enjoyed texting with him in between. That didn’t have to mean anything.
So why was I so sure that it did?
And why wasn’t that stopping me from seeing him again?
Chapter 17
Parker
“Look who’s out of his no-contact jersey!” Smitty sat beside me on the bench and bumped my shoulder hard enough to almost knock me over.
“You dick,” I said with a laugh and shoved my phone into my locker. Cole had confirmed for tonight, so there was nothing left to do there except count down the minutes. For now, I had practice, and I leaned down to lace up my skates. “Glad to know you guys missed me.”
Smitty chuckled. “Of course we did. And seriously, it’s good to see you back in the game.” He gently tapped my leg with his stick. “How’s the knee?”
“Good as new.” I straightened and bent it to demonstrate. “The first few days were rough, but I think I could’ve been back to playing at full speed a week ago.”
He made a face. “You youngsters and your… healing abilities. Enjoy it while it lasts, kid.”
“I will, thanks!” I said brightly.
Smitty laughed. “And the boredom didn’t kill you, apparently.” Dropping his voice, he added with a wink, “Bet you had plenty of guys to keep you company, didn’t you?”
“From the app? Uh, yeah. You could say that.”
“Nice.” He fist-bumped me. “Told you that was the way to go.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty great.” I finished lacing up my skate, then glanced around to make sure we were alone. “Okay, I gotta know—why escorts, anyway? I know why I hired him, but… Dude, you’re obviously not a virgin, and you could have any red-blooded guy you want.”
Smitty laughed, though it was more halfhearted than usual. “I’m not really a one-man guy.”
“You’re not?”
He shook his head. “Paying for it is a hell of a lot more fun and less complicated than getting involved with someone. Been there, done that—no, thank you.”
“Bad breakup?”
“I, um…” He avoided my gaze. “Kind of, yeah.” He made a disgusted face, and added with an uncomfortable laugh, “Nothing like walking away from someone, and then wondering what the fuck you were thinking, wanting them in the first place.”
“Yeah?”
Smitty nodded, the disgust still plain to see. And hear: “Like I’m pretty sure we liked each other at one point?” He paused, and there was a note of sadness as he went on, “I think we even loved each other. I know I loved him. But…” He shook his head. “Things went to shit, and then we couldn’t even look at each other. The guy after him was—I mean the point is, fuck going through that again.”
“Wow,” I whispered. “I can see why the escorts have so much appeal, then.”
“Yeah. The first time I booked one, I wasn’t so sure about sleeping with someone who screwed other men for money. But then I realized I’d spent at least two years sleeping with someone who screwed other men for free.”
My jaw dropped. “Seriously?”
“Uh-huh.” He laughed bitterly. “At least this time, I knew the other guy was getting around, and nobody was lying about it. That’s what I like about the escorts. I don’t need someone to tell me he loves me. Just someone who doesn’t lie to me.”
“Oh.” I nodded slowly. “Man. Yeah. I get it.”
He started to say something, but someone came clomping in on skates. We both looked up, and as soon as the source of the sound came into view, Smitty stiffened. I thought I heard his teeth snap shut.
Deacon gestured over his shoulder. “You two coming out on the ice? Or you practicing being on the bench?”
“We’re coming,” I said quickly, and got up. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
As I gathered my stick and gloves, I glanced at Smitty. His jaw was clenched, and his narrowed eyes followed Deacon as he left the locker room.
Smitty muttered, “That fucker,” and stood. I eyed him but didn’t press. Deacon clearly didn’t care for queer guys on his team, but whatever animosity there was between him and Smitty, I had a feeling it went beyond Smitty’s sexuality. I never asked, though, and no one had ever told me.
