If It Flies (2 page)

walk into one of them as an intern in a year or so.

“Yeah. Crazy, isn’t it?” Percy picked up his own cocktail

and took a drink, making Spencer’s mouth water. “Apparently,

some of them start stripping between studying, and go on

from there.”

Spencer couldn’t argue with that; it only made economic

sense, sordid as it was.

“It’s ironic, you know?” Percy mused. “If the economy

were better, we’d probably be working with these guys instead

of fucking them.”

Spencer bit back the observation that he, as yet, hadn’t

encountered a Jamaican lawyer—but who was he to judge?

The banks were getting more “colourful,” even though the

odd Indian or Pakistani were still assumed to be quantitative

analysts rather than movers and shakers, and he himself still

raised a few eyebrows as the one black corporate lawyer in the firm. Never mind he had the Oxbridge accent to prove that

he belonged.

4

“Top talent always gets a place,” he muttered, trying to

move the conversation elsewhere.

“I imagine it’s easier than working eighty-hour weeks to

get onto the career ladder.” Percy was clearly enjoying himself way too much.

Thank God Spencer’s drink arrived.

He sipped the ginger-flavoured cocktail while Percy

talked about whoring being the true equal-opportunity sector

out there, though, in Percy’s typical way, even this romantic

notion was distorted by a jaded lens. He cleared his throat.

“Okay.”

“I’ll introduce you,” Percy said.

“Can’t I just go alone?”

“Na-ah.” Percy grinned at him. “I’d suggest getting a

membership. It is quite classy—certainly a good variety, if you know what I mean. They even have a pair of shemales.”

Good God, this was
not
something he needed to learn

during lunch.

“I’ll . . . have the usual configuration.”

“What about after work today?” That gleam in Percy’s

eyes was equal parts unnerving and intriguing. “I’ll introduce you, you get a membership, and after that you’re on your own,

stud.”

This was getting too familiar way too fast. Kicked along

by the Mule, no doubt. Their relationship was friendly

enough, but Spencer still felt a bit weird. As ex-head of

sales in an investment bank, Percy likely knew every high-

class prostitute in the City, and had very likely covered the

partying under “expenses” when he “entertained clients,” so

his experience on that front could clearly be trusted. Spencer had just never expected to find himself at the receiving end of Percy’s magnanimity.

5

“So.” Percy set his drink down sharply, emphatically,

like he’d just closed a deal. “What do you say we meet at the

Market Garden tonight? Say, nine-thirty?”

Uh, no, mate. No way. I’m not . . . there’s no . . .

But the Mule spoke before Spencer could: “I’ll be there.”

6

Chapter

twO

here was only one problem with a liquid lunch. Well,

T
okay, besides the fact that it meant Spencer’s mouth

had moved before his brain did and he’d wound up walking

into a place like Market Garden at nine-thirty, hanging

back behind Percy like that somehow made him safer. Yeah,

right. Percy was enough of a troublemaker for both of them.

Nobody was safe with that guy.

No, the problem was that after three drinks at lunch,

Spencer was already a little hung-over when he followed

Percy into the club. His temples throbbed, a clear reminder

why drinking with Percy during the day was a bad idea. But

what was done was done, and now they were here.

God, Market Garden really didn’t go to any great lengths

to mask its purpose, did it? Signs warning against cameras.

Disco lights flickering off the polished bald heads of the

massive—and numerous—bouncers standing around to

make sure no one got too frisky with the merchandise. Not

without paying for it, anyway.

Obviously Percy wasn’t the only man who “entertained

clients” here. There was no shortage of patrons in suits pawing at scantily clad women.

“Thought you said this place catered to guys like us,” he

said to Percy.

The man glanced at him, eyes narrow and sly. “They do.

But when you want top shelf, you have to
ask
for it.”

Spencer just followed Percy deeper into the club. They

stopped at the bar, which was staffed by half a dozen men, 7

any one of which Spencer would have emptied his wallet

to—
Slow down.

He shook his head. Apparently he was getting used to this

idea faster than he’d thought.

Percy leaned over the bar and exchanged a few brief,

hushed words with one of the bartenders. Then came the nod,

the head tilt, and when Spencer followed the trajectory of the tilt, he saw a door tucked into the shadows at one end of the

bar. It had windows, but they’d been blacked out, and a couple of the bouncers loitered nearby.

“Let’s go.” Percy beckoned to Spencer and strolled towards

that blacked-out door like he owned the place.

Now his heart quickened, and he wondered if he should

grab Percy, ask him to wait, and order himself a glass of liquid courage before he started traipsing into guarded, darkened

back rooms in a bar full of prostitutes.

I should’ve just gone to the gym tonight.

One of the bouncers saw them coming and stepped in

front of the door. A swell of panic almost stopped Spencer

in his tracks, but instead of warning them away, the bouncer

pulled open the door and gave them a “go on” gesture.

Even if the windows hadn’t been blacked out, there

wouldn’t have been much light coming from the room on

the other side. It looked like a huge, dark void, forbidding but attractive, pul ing him in like the black hole it resembled.

The door shut heavily behind them. Percy pushed aside

a thick curtain. And beyond the portal: the men of Market

Garden. They all wore black leather in various configurations, though most went for leather trousers with either a skin-tight black T-shirt or a bondage harness. And no two guys were

8

alike. Twinks. Bodybuilders. Girly boys. Guys who looked

like they’d escaped a Goth convention with free mascara.

One guy in particular immediately caught his eyes. Slim,

wearing low-riding leather trousers that revealed chiselled

groin lines, and Spencer couldn’t decide what he wanted

to touch more—the bulge in the guy’s trousers or the two

pierced nipples that he displayed proudly without a T-shirt

or so much as a harness.

“You look like you’re in a supermarket in front of fifty

types of orange juice,” Percy whispered to him. “Definitely a

membership for you. You can try them al .”

Spencer pulled at his tie. It was getting hot in here. “Not

sure how I—” he managed to bite the rest of the sentence off

before it escaped.
How I feel about fucking a guy you fucked.

But it didn’t really matter, did it? Would he rent a car that

Percy had rented before him?

Probably.

The guy in leather was just turning away with a laugh from

a friend wearing a chainmail shirt.

“Drink?” Percy asked.

Best way to shed Percy, however briefly. The man’s peanut

gallery comments were a serious distraction, never mind the

potential for embarrassment. “Sure.”

Percy vanished in the gloom towards the bar, and Spencer

watched the guy in leather for a minute or so. He must have

been in his early twenties. Not quite a twink, but that lean

build suggested a dancer or something. The guy couldn’t

weigh more than sixty, sixty-five kilos. No, he hadn’t looked at profiles on Grindr too long. You could just tell the guy didn’t have a spare kilo on his frame. Maybe he was a go-go dancer

rather than a rentboy?

9

The guy looked at him, and a smile curled the corner of

his mouth.

And then he came walking over.

Not walking. Sauntering. Hell, he was strutting.

And looking Spencer up and down like
he
was sizing up a rental instead of being the merchandise on display.

A little too close—
oh God, come closer
—he stopped.

Spencer was almost a head taller, but couldn’t shake the

feeling that the leather-clad almost-twink was looking down

at
him
. He wasn’t intimidating, per se, he just radiated a cockiness that tightened Spencer’s balls.

Spencer cleared his throat. “Um . . . hello.” Good thing

nobody expected a client to come up with a pickup line.

Though that one had been exceptionally lame.

“You got a name?” Direct. No surprise there.

He considered a fake name, but what the hell? Another

quiet cough, and he said, “Spencer.”

“Nick.” With a faint smirk, Nick nodded towards the bar

on the opposite end of the shadowy room. “You look like the

kind of guy who could buy me a drink.”

Spencer’s breath tangled up somewhere in his airway.

“I . . . excuse me?”

An eyebrow lifted. Not judgmental and telepathic like

Percy’s always was. Purely challenging. A thin curve of “You

heard me.”

“Look, I’m . . .”
I’m sounding like an idiot already. Guess
this isn’t much different from the dating scene
. “I’ll be honest here. I’m new to this.”

“I know. I’ve never seen you here before, and you look

lost.” Nick quirked his eyebrow again. “Your dad didn’t bring

you here to lose your virginity, did he?”

10

At that, Spencer laughed. Well, that was something:

he was breathing now. “No. Not quite. But I’ve, um, never

done . . . this.”

“What? Had an awkward conversation with a prostitute

in a whorehouse?” No smile cracked his lips, but Spencer

could tell Nick was enjoying this.
Immensely.

“Something like that,” Spencer muttered. “So, how does

this work, exactly?”

“Well.” Nick tossed his head to get that blond fringe out

of his eyes. “You buy me a drink, it’s a fiver. You want to lick it off me? It’s a hundred.”

Holy. Fuck.

Nick brought up a hand—long, fine fingers—and

arranged his unruly fringe as he casually added, “And it just

goes up from there.”

“Based on the number of drinks?”

“Based on the number of licks.”

Spencer blinked. This kid really knew how to catch a man

off-guard, didn’t he? Getting his wits about him, he said,

“And if I want you to lick it off me?”

Nick sniffed derisively and smirked. “Then you’re talking

to the wrong whore.”

Spencer looked around, but his gaze returned to Nick’s

nipple piercings, light sparking off them, making them shine

like diamonds. Maybe Nick was the right guy, though he’d

always assumed prostitutes were more—accommodating.

He’d never hired a prostitute. He could have one-night stands; until a few months ago, he’d even had a relationship, of sorts, if fal ing asleep together over paperwork was a relationship.

Normally, these days he expended his last bit of energy on

porn.

11

The thing that tipped him over the edge was—Nick

wasn’t selling. He didn’t try to influence the decision one way or the other. Spencer couldn’t possibly put into words how

refreshing it was to not be sold to or pressured. In a world

of BUY THIS NEW PHONE and YOU’RE NOTHING

WITHOUT THIS WATCH, encountering a guy who

didn’t bend over backwards to close a deal felt like stepping

into a calm spot he hadn’t known existed.

“All right,” he said, eventually.

Nick nodded. “Get me a drink.”

He turned and headed to the bar, then, remembering

Percy had gone to get
him
a drink, glanced around.

Percy had apparently forgotten about Spencer’s drink. He

was sitting at a table with two prostitutes around him, one

in each arm. From behind their backs, he gave him a double

thumbs-up.

Spencer pushed through to the bar and bought two

drinks. He tried for beers, but the bartender shook his head

and handed him a beer and a cola, “For Nick.”

When he returned to Nick, he said, “Maybe we should

sit down.”

Nick nodded and led the way to a somewhat more

secluded booth at the far end. “I figure you’ll have less

performance anxiety if your friend can’t see you.”

“Uh, yeah. Good idea.”

Nick glanced back in Percy’s direction, and said, “I’m sure

he’ll keep them busy for at least . . . a
couple
minutes.” Then he turned away and slid into the booth, and Spencer couldn’t tell if he’d heard that little snicker or if he’d imagined it.

Nick moved far enough into the booth to leave space for

Spencer, and in spite of his pounding heart and the “what

the ever-loving fuck are you doing?” in the back of his brain, 12

Spencer joined him. He wasn’t sure what the protocol was

here. Treat it like a date? Arm around the shoulders leads to

hand on the thigh leads to—

Oh, God, apparently we’re going straight to the hand on the
crotch.

Spencer tensed, pressing back against the leather

upholstery. “Oh. Wow.”

Nick snickered for real this time, and his breath tickled