Say it again, p.13
Say It Again, page 13
“You can start right here.” Corey pointed to his shoulders as he plopped into a seat at the table. “So much tension. Must be all the extra work I’ve been doing lately.”
He exhaled as he rolled his sleeves and began kneading Corey’s shoulders.
“Christ, that is to die for,” Corey moaned, stretching his neck a little. “Don’t ever change, darling. You’ve genuinely met your calling.”
Aaron’s gaze traveled around the apartment, snagging on the paintings he’d selected and the finishes. All of the intimate touches that made the place so stunning. “You think so?”
“You’re bloody gorgeous, Aaron, and you fuck like a stud horse.” He tapped the empty vodka glass. “Go fetch me another of these—well, not so fast.” He’d snagged Aaron’s elbow. “Kiss me, love. Like only you can.”
Kiss me, mister. Like you did at the party.
It wasn’t normally so bad kissing clients, and specifically kissing Corey was somewhat pleasant. He tasted nice—a bit spicy like cardamon or clove—and for being so bossy, he was shockingly gentle. Aaron closed his eyes and got it done, struggling to feel an ounce of fondness, but it was eerily quiet inside his body. Either that or he couldn’t really hear his body anymore.
“Off you go.” Corey winked as he gave him a little shove toward the kitchen. “When you come back, it’s straight to your knees.”
THIRTY MINUTES later, with the pizza in hand and having changed into something a little hotter because Olivia had gotten into his head—except not a trench coat with nothing underneath it because people didn’t actually own those—Daniel strolled up to Aaron’s building.
Was it a teensy bit risky showing up unannounced? Always. But it was also a language Aaron spoke, as evidenced by the whole snow globe delivery. Not to mention, tonight might be the night. The night they finally made it to home base.
Because home base was the ultimate base—or was that third base? From which base did one start? Furthermore, how many bases were there? It didn’t matter. Whichever one was the most desirable—third base?—they might be sliding to that tonight. Yeah, he should probably avoid sports-ball metaphors about sex.
He was standing in the apartment building’s vestibule contemplating searching for a last-minute trench coat when a blond guy leaving the building caught eyes with him and held the door. “Pardon. Coming in?”
He bounced for a beat. Aaron found him plenty sexy without a trench coat. “Why yes. Thank you—”
“You look so familiar.”
Daniel halted on his way through the door.
“Right?” the guy asked. He did have a distinctive British accent. “Don’t I know you?”
He studied the guy. A bit older. Silvery blond hair. Uniquely dressed, fashion-forward even, with these dark, hooded eyes and this polar-white smile, just a little too perfect to put a person at ease in its presence. He was missing the gold everything, but it was definitely him.
Yellow Jacket.
“The party last month,” Yellow Jacket said, pointing as he followed him inside. “You were the bartender, no? The one that Aaron…. Are you here to see him?”
He didn’t know why he suddenly felt a bit disjointed. “Yeah.”
“Well, he’s upstairs. I’m Corey Hutton, by the way.” Yellow Jacket extended his hand. “I didn’t catch your name, love.”
“Oh, sorry.” Daniel shook his head clear and finally took his hand, suddenly grateful he was wearing clothing beneath his coat. “I’m Daniel Greene. Nice to meet—”
“No.” Corey’s eyes brightened. “It’s impossible. You’re not the Daniel Greene? The lad who’s purchasing one St. Louis School of Dance?”
His eyebrows dipped a bit. “Yeah.”
“Well, what are the odds? I just reviewed your contract upstairs.” Corey tipped his chin upward. “Looks good, love.”
Daniel slowly dropped his head to one side. Upstairs. Upstairs in Aaron’s apartment? He couldn’t keep the memory of the kiss they’d shared in front of him from bombarding his higher reasoning. Just because Cory had been upstairs just now didn’t mean anything beyond… whatever it meant. But why? “Why would you be looking at the contract? Do you work for Aaron?”
Corey gave him a funny look. “Pardon?”
“At Aaron’s law firm. Do you guys work together or something?”
Corey blinked. It almost looked like he couldn’t quite settle on an expression with his gray eyes narrowing a bit and, at the same time, twinkling, like at any moment, he might burst into laughter. To muddle matters more, he licked his lips and said, “Christ, you are pretty, aren’t you?”
Normally, it’d be the kind of thing to make Daniel moon, regardless of who said it, but his smile lapsed a touch.
“Very young,” Corey said with his gaze plunging the length of his body. “Very fit. I can see why he did it.”
Daniel’s system, wired to overreact, couldn’t help but ignite in fight or flight. His breath sounded behind his words as he asked, “Why he did what?”
Corey grinned—arctic white and uncomfortable—as he slipped a step closer, his hand suddenly on Daniel’s shoulder. “Why he lied.”
He sputtered for a half a minute. Questions, important questions, paraded around his head, but it was like he couldn’t wrangle any of them. “What’d he lie about?”
“Hmm, what did he lie about?” Corey stroked his chin as he gazed around the lobby. “Well, I do not work for him, love. Quite the opposite. See, my friends and I pass him around like a spit bucket at a wine tasting. Does that answer your question?”
Daniel shook his head, but only fractionally. Did it? It didn’t. Or did it?
Corey’s brows slanted as he patted Daniel’s chest. “Aaron is not a lawyer.”
“Well—what? Yes, he is—err. He—”
“He’s not a lawyer.” Corey’s gaze sharpened on his, his words pinpointed and clear. “But he charges by the hour like one.”
Chapter Twelve
A FEW MINUTES later, Daniel stood outside Aaron’s apartment in a puttering daze. He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t form words. He barely remembered the elevator ride, his manic thoughts pinging around the walls of his skull like a gymnast on a trampoline.
“Leaving? No? Suit yourself,” Corey had said as he held the door for him, then winked as he slipped through. “See you around, Daniel Greene. Cheers.”
Cheers.
His mind replayed the night he met Aaron over and over. The kiss he’d shared with Corey. To the way Corey had spoken to him—I don’t care if it’s made from holy water, it’s not your job to stand here and drink it. Now he stood at Aaron’s door with a defrosting pizza. My friends and I pass him around like a spit bucket at a wine tasting.
Cheers.
He quietly knocked on the door.
“What’d you forget?” Aaron answered with a toothbrush poking from his mouth. Maybe he hadn’t meant to say that, or maybe the expression Daniel wore was that alarming, but a shade of color evaporated from Aaron’s face. “Daniel.”
What’d who forget? Daniel chewed his lower lip, his voice barely there. “Expecting someone else?”
“No. Uh, what a nice surprise. Come in.” Aaron rushed to the sink to rinse his mouth. “And you brought a pizza? How thoughtful. Here, let me take it.”
Like a spit bucket at a wine tasting. He scanned the apartment as Aaron took the pizza from his arms. One chair at the dining room table was twisted askew like someone had just sat there. Probably reviewing his contract, which lay scattered around the table next to two half-empty tumblers. He tried to keep his voice steady as he said, “What kind of law do you practice?”
Aaron was punching numbers on the oven display in a haste. “What’s that?”
“Law. I asked what kind of law you practice.” He cleared his throat, rubbing an arm. “I don’t think you mentioned it.”
Aaron’s back was turned to him, but his shoulders bunched around his ears and his breathing had changed. Quickened.
“You do practice law. Right?”
He didn’t turn around. He didn’t speak.
“Aaron. Look at me.”
When he finally twisted around, his skin had paled even more. He almost looked sick, like he might throw up at any moment. He tossed the pizza onto a counter, his voice deep and uneven. “No. I don’t practice law.”
“So, what do you do?”
“Please sit, Daniel.”
“I don’t want to sit.”
Hands bracing the sink and head drooping, Aaron sucked in a sharp breath. “What I do is offer people my companionship. In return, they pay me for my time.”
Like a spit bucket at a wine tasting. It wasn’t that it hit him like a tidal wave. A tidal wave usually had more warning. This was more like an undertow, strong and slick, sucking the truths about his world from beneath him in an instant.
“You’re—” The words stuck in his throat began to trickle out cold and thick. Even as he asked it, there was no way the answer could be yes. “You’re a prostitute?”
Aaron’s blue ice flashed to his. He nodded. “But I prefer escort.”
The swelter in his body pooled in his ears. He suddenly didn’t know what to do with his limbs, which twitched enough to start throbbing.
“Daniel. I’m so sorry.”
“I can’t believe you—you lied to me.”
“I know.” Aaron rushed to him, hesitating to reach for him. “I’m sorry. If you want to hate me, you’re entitled to hate me, but—”
“I don’t hate you.” Daniel scrunched his brow, eyes widening. “I would never. I could never hate someone for what they do with their body. It’s your body, and you get to do whatever you want with it, but how dare you not tell me. How dare you lie to me this entire time.”
“I didn’t lie! Okay, yes, I did, but not the entire time.”
“What? What does that even mean?”
“I thought you knew at the party. I swear I thought you knew.”
“How would I know that?”
“Because!” Aaron’s arms shot out to the sides. “Everyone at that party was either an escort or someone paying for an escort. Why’d you think I was an attorney?”
“Why?” He shrugged with his whole body. “Well. The guy.”
“What guy?”
“You know, the—” He flittered a hand about, but his brain was a hazy mess, the party an even hazier mess. Something about a yellow jacket. Something about floor popcorn. If he’s wearing a shirt, he’s an attorney and an asshole. A bunch of older men lounged about his memories, surrounded by their beautiful young companions. A game of shirts versus skins with the only part worth remembering being the special kiss with the special boy. “Guy.”
“Look, I would never intentionally hurt you.” Aaron’s voice was so earnest. So pained. “I had planned to tell you in a note and leave it for you to find. Then I just….” He trailed off, gesticulating in the air with his hands.
“What?” he asked. “You just what?”
Aaron gazed up through his lashes. “I couldn’t.”
Daniel raised his eyebrows.
“I know how it sounds. I know it wasn’t fair, but I couldn’t because, well, I couldn’t, and so I let you think I was an attorney because if you were going to be gone the second you found out anyway, then at least I got to see you for a little while longer.”
His body was betraying him, because that shouldn’t have sounded romantic, and yet a part of him wanted to melt, so he wrenched his arms. “You more than let me think it. The contract? The tickets?”
Aaron bared his palms. “I said I’d get it taken care of, and I did. I took care of everything.”
“You didn’t take care of shit.” Daniel jabbed a finger toward his chest. “You had Yellow Jacket do it.”
Aaron’s confused eyes zigzagged around. “Wait, what?”
“Ugh!” Daniel punched his arms by his side. “I broke up with my boyfriend for you.”
“Are you serious?” Aaron’s eyes rounded. “How magical of a relationship could it have been if all it took was five minutes in a bathroom to break you guys up?”
“Enjoy the pizza.” Daniel patted around his jacket in a tizzy for the thank-you card, then slung it onto the table. He whirled for the door. “I also wrote you that for being so fucking wonderful.”
“Wait. Stop. No, no, no.” Aaron rushed to the door and blocked it. “Don’t leave. I’ll answer all your questions if you’ll just stay. Please stay. I like you! Kid, I like you so much. I’ll do anything you want, but please don’t go—”
Daniel whipped his hand away as Aaron tried to grab it, glaring at full force. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
It’d be impossible for Aaron to look more hurt. He hugged himself. “Sorry.”
“Move.”
Aaron stepped aside, and Daniel didn’t hesitate. He stormed down the hallway without a glance back.
Chapter Thirteen
IT’D BEEN an entire week since Daniel discovered the news about Aaron, and he was still having frequent and dramatic meltdowns about it. He itched for the studio’s last student to leave so he could commence another. (Meltdown number nineteen? Twenty-two? Three hundred?)
The second they left, he sprawled across a bench in the window with one arm draped over his forehead and the other limp to the floor like a CSI dumpster body, and moaned at full volume. He summoned his most pitiful voice and said, “I don’t think I can carry on.”
“Is that permission to kill you?” Olivia asked from behind the counter, where she stood sweeping the floor. “Man, that’d be great. Then you’d stop talking about it.”
“Yes,” he sighed. “Do it. You can use the broom. Or I think Madeline has a nail file back there. Just make it quick.”
“It’s been seven freaking days, Daniel. If it’s driving you that nuts, just respond to him.”
“Yeah, let me get right on that. Did I mention he’s a hooker?” He lifted his head and shouted, “A hooker, Olivia!”
“I know, and I just have so many questions. I’ll name them in no particular order.” She stopped sweeping to begin ticking off fingers. “One, how much does he charge? Two, will he break up payment between credit cards—scratch that. Do you think he’ll accept a very heartfelt IOU? And three, I’m not saying the ‘back door’ isn’t ‘open for business.’” She was using way too many air quotes. “But does he, by chance, do ‘front’ or ‘side door’ stuff?”
His gaze wandered. “What would be considered the ‘side door’?”
“Lastly, how does one sign up? Is there an app or something?”
Daniel shot upright to fire a menacing glare. “Oh, I’m glad this is so fun for you.”
“It is.”
“Because it’s not freaking fair.” He summoned his whiniest voice. The one he used for police officers pulling him over or the bank teller in charge of canceling overdraft fees. “There is finally a gorgeous guy who I genuinely like, and he’s a fucking gigolo?”
The weight of the word “gigolo” hung in the air like a sex-working balloon while he and Olivia found themselves in an unofficial staring contest over it. Which didn’t last long. All it took was for him to silently mouth “gigolo” once more for Olivia to erupt into laughter.
His own laughter followed, ridiculous and real until his stomach muscles hurt. What else was he to do? Cry? This whole thing was too absurd for tears. Even for him.
When his phone buzzed with a text, he gasped and sprang to his feet. “Aaron.”
The laughter halted.
I get that you’re officially done with me. His voice shook and his heart splintered all over as he read Aaron’s text. This is the last time I’ll reach out. It was wonderful getting to know you, Daniel Greene. From the bottom of my heart, I’m so sorry I hurt you.
Olivia pressed a hand over her heart as her lips pinched together and her eyes saddened with sympathy.
“I know,” Daniel sighed. “You don’t need to say it.”
“He’s just so—”
“Sweet? Kind? Incredible?” He squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I said you don’t need to say it.”
“I don’t see why you’re not even going to try,” Olivia said. “I’ve never seen you pine so dramatically over a boy.”
He scoffed. “I’m not pining.”
“You are piiiiiining over that boy, and hey, I’d be pining too. First, he saves you from that dumpster fire of a relationship you were in—”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“—with a magical bathroom kiss. Then he saves you from your dildo of a dad, all while making you adore every minute you spend with him to the point that you’re all swimmy around the studio and the students think you’re high on edibles.”
“Wait, did someone say that?”
“And did he not almost kill you in bed with his extreme sexiness?”
“Oh God. Don’t make me think of that. He’s all Every last drop, sweet boy. That sound good? And I’m like, yes, sir, Lucifer. Welcome to my orgasm.”
“Exactly. And now you cannot stop thinking about him.”
“But—”
“But he’s an escort. Okay, trust me, baby, you’ve dated worse. Shall we review some of the dudes you’ve dated? Would a little trip down memory lane help?”
He blinked, suddenly twitching with an urge to flee the premises. “That’s really unnecessary.”
“Remember the guy with the rock candy fetish?”
He scrunched his face. “Yeah. That hurt my teeth.”
“Remember the guy who said you have the kind of face that ‘probably won’t age well’?”
“I do.” He plopped back down. “What a bitch.”
“You remember the professional hockey player—”
“Okay, I think you’ve made your point—”
“—who pretended you didn’t exist when you ran into him at that taco truck?”
He glared. “In his defense, he was with his teammates.”
“Oh, the same two teammates that wanted to run a train on you?”
“Jesus, Olivia! Language!”
“And what does your ‘boyfriend’ do?” More air quotes. “He just gives them your number.”
