Hunter, page 9
Vasiliev had gotten me hooked on this three seasons ago, and it had been a godsend. Sometimes he and I—along with a handful of our other teammates—would hunt down places to float while we were on the road. If we had time between games and flights, we jumped on the opportunities whenever we could. Even Welch, who’d been convinced it was just some, quote, “hippie New Age nonsense,” was a believer after he’d done a few floats while recovering from a broken shoulder. Naturally, Vasiliev and I never missed an opportunity to remind him of that, usually afterward when he couldn’t deny that he felt great.
During the off season, I wasn’t straining my body as much via hockey, but golf could bring its own set of aches and pains, and just skating and light practice could still irritate some joints, muscles, and old injuries. And hell, who was I kidding? I enjoyed coming here even if I wasn’t in a ton of pain.
Today, my session was an hour. Usually I’d fall asleep, but sometimes my mind wandered. Not to anything in particular, and never to anything heavy. I was too relaxed to hold on to any real deep or significant thoughts.
At least, I was usually too relaxed.
But today my mind stayed sharp and focused, and it zeroed right in on one thing—Hunter.
That had become kind of normal lately. Whenever my mind was wandering, or when it didn’t have something I absolutely had to concentrate on, it drifted right to Hunter. He was the lightning rod for all the thoughts and emotions I was trying to get a handle on these days. The physical manifestation of “I’m gay.”
Right now, it occurred to me that a float might do him some good. A lot of people came here with chronic pain. Wouldn’t cure anything, but it couldn’t hurt, right? That would be a little weird to bring up, though. I was still fumbling through carrying on a conversation with him and working up the nerve to face, accept, and explore all those desires I’d spent years either ignoring or punishing myself for. Bringing up the idea that he could benefit from spending time in a dark tank full of water saturated with Epsom salt would be… weird.
So yeah. I’d table that subject.
But that didn’t stop me from thinking about him. As I lay here in the dark, warm and weightless, my head was swirling with thoughts of him. His full lips mesmerized me. More than once during the two times we’d been in bed, I’d wondered about how good it would feel to kiss him, but I kept shying away. I hadn’t even worked up the nerve to so I wanted to face him while I fucked him. No, while we fucked, because it wasn’t just about me anymore. Still, kissing just seemed like too much. Did that even make sense? Did anything?
My cock stirred as I thought about kissing him. What little we’d done together already turned me on like mad. I wanted his talented lips on me again. I wanted to fuck him again. But there were also tons of things we hadn’t done, and imagining myself going down on him, or the two of us making out…
God, yeah. I wanted more of him. My mind tried to drag in the usual chorus of voices telling me every reason why I shouldn’t, that I was a disgusting human being and all manner of gross things for wanting a man, but I shoved back at those voices. I did want a man. I wanted one man in particular. I was tired of letting my family’s hatred bleed into my life, and the more I fought back every reason I’d fought being gay, the more I craved physical contact with a man. No one was going to know except for me and the man I was with. Just me and Hunter. No one knew, no one cared, and no one’s opinion mattered.
I want him. And I’m not going to hate myself anymore for that.
It was easier said than done, but I was getting there, swallowing the doubts and self-loathing along with the acid they sent climbing up the back of my throat. The more I let myself want men, the more I let myself be with a man and enjoy it instead of spending every moment chastising myself, the easier it would get. The better it would get.
Somehow, it seemed easiest when I imagined that man being Hunter.
I wasn’t in love with him or anything. He was just the first man I’d slept with where—despite the valiant efforts of my beaten-down subconscious—I didn’t hate myself afterward. I wanted more of that. More of him.
At the same time, I worried about booking him again. What if he showed up and he was in pain like he’d been the last time? What if he tried to hide it? The thought of having sex with him and then realizing afterward that he’d actually been suffering the whole time was—good God, that was horrifying. I’d been enough of a dick to other guys at Emerald City. I wanted to do right by them now, not do worse by literally causing one physical pain.
He’d insisted when we last texted that he was feeling all right. The messages we’d exchanged had been promising. Was he just embarrassed? Hiding how much pain he was in so I’d book him and he could get paid? What was the right thing to do in this situation?
Maybe I should hire someone else. There were plenty of other guys on the app I’d never been with before.
But all thoughts led back to Hunter.
I closed my eyes and sighed into the stillness of the warm, quiet float tank. I didn’t want anyone else. I wanted him.
He’d seemed receptive during our texts. It wasn’t like he’d been obligated to keep texting me back, and presumably even if he was just trying to butter me up for more money, that meant he wanted me to book him again. Which meant he was down to at least try sex with me again. Unless he was just that desperate for cash. If he could grit his teeth when his body was hurting, only letting the mask drop when the pain was truly unbearable, then he could probably grin and bear it through sex with a man he didn’t like, right?
Damn. I didn’t want to put him in a position where he was physically or psychologically uncomfortable. The thought of him having sex with me because he had to even when he didn’t want to actually nauseated me.
On the other hand, he’d said he needed the money and that he was deactivating his profile except for me. So if I didn’t book him, then he’d be ass out financially.
Okay. I’d feel him out, and if he was game, I’d book him. When he came over, I’d keep an eye out for any signs that he was in pain or even a little bit uncomfortable. I’d make sure he wanted to be there before we took things into the bedroom. And we’d just… We’d see what happened.
Eventually, some soft music came on, indicating that my float was over. I moved to the hatch, carefully got out, and paused to stretch. I loved the way I always felt afterward. Relaxed. In less pain than when I’d gone in, even if there were still a few obligatory aches and pains.
Now I needed to take a shower to rinse off the salt, but first, I grabbed my phone off my folded clothes, pulled up his contact, and typed out a message.
I hesitated, thumb hovering over the Send button. All signs pointed to him wanting another go-around. Or at least not being opposed to one. And I really wanted to see him again. Hopefully this time would be more like the first time.
So, why not?
Without waiting for another second thought to creep in, I sent him the text:
How are you feeling? Would you be up for something tonight?
And then…
I waited.
Chapter 8
Hunter
You have received a booking! Please confirm your acceptance.
To say I had mixed feelings about this would be an understatement. We’d gone back and forth after Scott’s initial text, nailed down a time, and now he’d booked me. I was committed. We were doing this.
After the way things had gone down last time, I’d wondered if I’d ever hear from Scott again beyond our casual texting. He’d paid me, he’d been good to me, and he’d even tipped me, though I suspected that was out of pity more than anything. Don’t get me wrong—I was grateful as hell—but I didn’t imagine he thought he’d gotten his money’s worth.
He’d also said he wanted to maybe make this a regular thing, and so I’d taken the leap of faith and grayed out my calendar. But I also hadn’t held my breath.
Scott really was booking me again, though, and he’d checked in first to make sure I was game.
How are you feeling? he’d asked. Would you be up for something tonight?
I tried not to think too hard—so to speak—about what he’d meant by “up” for something. Anyway, I’d told him the truth, which was that I was in some pain but could handle a couple of hours, as long as we weren’t too rough.
Now I was locked in, and I had about forty-five minutes before I needed to leave. I’d showered, shaved, dressed, and made my hair look presentable. Then I’d thrown back slightly more ibuprofen than I probably should have taken at one time, along with a Cialis.
Weed would have provided some welcome relief for my usual aches and pains, not to mention the random ones that came with the fibromyalgia. I hadn’t actually injured my knees in the car wreck, but sometimes—like, say, tonight—they hurt just for the hell of it because why the fuck not? Other times it would be my wrists. Or my hip (though my doctor said that probably had something to do with the time I’d spent wrestling in junior high and high school). I was genuinely surprised that I didn’t occasionally get a sore eyeball muscle or one of my kidneys didn’t decide to go wandering around. With the way my body behaved, anything was possible.
What wasn’t possible, though, was for me to smoke before I went to see Scott. An edible was totally out of the question.
I didn’t really have much choice about tonight. I needed to go fuck my financial worries into submission.
Staring myself in the bathroom mirror, I took a deep breath. At least Scott wasn’t a new client, and I knew for a fact he could be perfectly sweet and accommodating if my body decided to go haywire.
He could be. Or he could be expecting me to have it together and not be a trash fire tonight. One bad night, he could let slide. There was no guarantee his patience would extend to a second. Especially not two in a row.
I shuddered, broke eye contact with my reflection, and left the bathroom.
When I walked into the kitchen, Leo glanced up from the sandwich he was making. “Oh, hey, Hunter? Any chance I can borrow your car tonight? Mine’s making some weird noises, and I don’t know if it’s going to get me to my old neighbor’s house and back, but he said he’d pay me to do some work on the house. I just need a way to get there.”
Thank God for Leo’s former neighbor—the guy didn’t have much money, but he hired Leo for odd jobs whenever he could.
“Uh,” I said. “I’ve got a client tonight, but I guess I can—”
“Another one?” Rachel stepped into the room, a laundry basket on her hip. “Didn’t you just have one, like, three days ago?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Same guy.”
Leo whistled. “He can afford to book you twice in a row? Must be nice to have that kind of cash.”
“I know, right?” I laughed dryly. “I’m not going to argue with him if he wants to spend it.”
Leo made a quiet sound of agreement and continued spreading mayonnaise on his bread.
Rachel balanced the laundry basket on the end of the counter. “Are you sure you can handle two in one week?”
Ignoring the low-grade ache between my shoulders and the tension in my neck, I said, “Believe it or not, last time he just paid me to hang out with him.”
They exchanged wide-eyed looks before turning to me again. They knew I was sometimes hired as an escort for company, but given my limited windows of availability, my bookings were for sex more often than not.
“So yeah,” I went on, “I’ll be fine. And even if he hadn’t just paid me to hang out last time, it’s not like any of us can turn down the money.”
Leo glanced at me, brow creased, but he didn’t say anything.
“Hunter.” Rachel exhaled heavily. “I get that you’re trying to contribute. And I appreciate that. Believe me.” She gestured at her husband. “We both appreciate it.”
“We do,” Leo said. “But man, you gotta take care of yourself, too.”
“I know.” I shifted my weight, keeping the well-practiced mask in place so they didn’t see me wincing. “But it’s fifteen hundred bucks. Minimum.”
Leo couldn’t even hide the wow, that is a lot of money in his expression, and I got it. It was a ton of money. For people in our situation, twenty bucks could literally mean someone didn’t have to say, “I think it’s my turn to skip a meal.” A hundred meant that if we got creative, we could find our daughter a pile of school clothes and a halfway decent pair of shoes at the thrift store, and it might all last until the next time. Five hundred meant all that plus catching up on past due bills, putting gas in tanks, and maybe even getting some minor maintenance done to keep a car running just a little bit longer.
When I could pull in over a thousand dollars—sometimes two if the client was particularly generous— in a single night, it made a huge dent.
It made the kind of dent I’d have made if I actually had a regular full-time job like Rachel and Leo usually did. If I could contribute consistently and reliably like the two of them...
But this was the best I could do, and these conversations were getting shorter and less earnest as time went on because we all knew there was no point. It was taxing as hell on my body to let a guy spend two hours getting his money’s worth, and I knew Rachel and Leo had some issues with me working as a prostitute, but we’d thoroughly beaten this dead horse. If either of them had any ideas, I was all ears.
They never did. Neither did I.
So tonight, same as every time we had this discussion, they both sighed and told me to take it easy and be careful.
“I’ll be fine,” I insisted to both of them. “I’ve got enough from my last booking with this dude to get an Uber tonight, so yeah, Leo, go ahead and use my car.” As I slid my house key off the ring and handed the car’s key fob to him, I added, “Just keep an eye on the temperature gauge—it really, really wants to overheat.”
“Ugh, of course it does.”
Rachel shifted her weight. “This is, what—your third time with this guy?”
I nodded. Not that the second time had gone well, but whatever. “Yeah. He might become a regular.”
She and her husband exchanged looks before she quietly said, “If he does, then maybe you won’t have to keep doing it much longer.”
“What do you mean?”
She shrugged. “If you have him as a regular for a little while, that could be enough to tide us over for a long time, so you wouldn’t have to keep…”
Normally, that suggestion would shake some tension out of my shoulders and give me some hope that we could actually get ahead for once. That I could give my body a rest. But I was oddly ambivalent about it. Whatever money I made from Scott wouldn’t last forever. Sooner or later, I’d have to do this again. Or do something.
“I can’t quit,” I said. “He won’t hire me forever, and the money will run out eventually.”
“But you could take a break after him,” Leo suggested. “That would probably be good for you.”
I honestly couldn’t decide if he and Rachel were genuinely concerned about the toll this job took on me, or if they were really hoping I could get out of this line of work. I supposed I couldn’t blame them either way.
It didn’t matter right now, though.
Whatever the future held, I’d be at Scott’s tonight.
Chapter 9
Scott
I had no idea what to expect as I waited for Hunter to arrive. After his last visit, I was on high alert and ready to watch out for even a twitch of discomfort, and I was still worried I’d missed something the first time. Given how much pain I’d pushed through in my career and how many injuries my teammates and I had tried to play off like they were nothing, I knew a determined person could grit their teeth through a lot. So he must have been in agony the other night…
I’ve seen guys skate on stress fractures. What the hell are you hiding, Hunter?
I shuddered at the thought. Even though I wasn’t glad he’d been hurting the last time, maybe it was good that it’d forced him to tip his hand. At least now I knew there was something to watch out for.
The doorbell rang. I was out of my chair before the sound had even stopped, though I pulled myself together and (I hoped) hid both my nerves and excitement before I opened the door.
We locked eyes across the threshold.
“Hey.” Hunter smiled nervously.
“Hey.” I stepped aside and gestured for him to come in. As I shut the door behind him, I surreptitiously watched the way he moved. He seemed all right. No limping or favoring. He seemed vaguely stiff, but that may have been apprehension more than anything, which made me apprehensive—why was he nervous? “Everything all right?”
“Sure. Yeah.” Hunter’s smile brightened, though his nerves remained on display. “I’m, uh… I guess I was just surprised you actually booked me again. After last time.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I hooked my thumbs in my pockets just to give my hands something to do. Not that it made me feel any less awkward. “You were hurting last time. I’m a pro athlete—believe me, if there’s one thing I get, it’s the body’s limitations.”
Hunter’s smile faded a little, but some of his nervousness seemed to go with it. Forehead creased, he held my gaze. “Yeah?”
“Uh-huh.” I shrugged. “I told you before, remember?”
“True, but…” He laughed softly and dropped his gaze as some color rose in his cheeks. “A lot of people say stuff like that. But in practice…”
“I get it.”
He looked at me again.
“I don’t deal with as much as you do,” I said quietly, “but there’ve been plenty of times where people assumed I could handle something—going on a technical hike, or hell, just walking around town—because I play hockey. They can never understand that being in peak condition is a job requirement, but my job also means getting slammed around and putting my body through all kinds of abuse on a daily basis. They think because I can play hard on the ice, I’m good to go all the time, but playing that hard on the ice means I can’t go all the time. Sometimes I can barely move. So… Yeah. I get it.”
