Mr. Jaguar (3 page)

“Sure, why not. Why not watch how badly I did, huh?” Mike walked back to the buckets, trying to ignore the burning shame. “‘Look at me, I used to be the school loser and now I’ve got a Jag’,” he muttered and dipped the large sponge in the soapy water.

James sighed. “You must really hate it, don’t you?”

Mike’s pulse sped up, and he could feel the vein bulging out on his neck. Even the orgasm he’d just had couldn’t soothe his nerves when James rubbed his success into Mike’s wounded pride. What else was James gonna make him do? Polish his fucking shoes? The worst thing was, for enough money, Mike would do it. He could deny it to himself as he washed the hood of the car, but he’d do a lot to get out of this dump.

“You must hate lusting after me this much,” Mike caught on to the only leverage he hoped he had.

James snorted, all nervousness gone from his voice. “You’re just one hot fish in a sea of plenty.”

Mike didn’t dare look up at him, afraid his cheeks were so red by now that it would show. “You’re a dick,” he muttered and squatted to wash the car door. The vehicle wasn’t filthy, more covered in dry dust than anything else, so the wash was going smoothly.

“Then we have a lot in common,” said James.

“You don’t know shit about me.” Mike rubbed the silver surface with rising anger. What right did this bastard have to strut in here like this, boss him around, make him feel like dirt, and stand there like a Popsicle Mike couldn’t lick?

“Maybe I should.”

“Oh yeah?” Mike groaned. “Why?”

James started walking along the wall, past the car. Mike didn’t raise his head, but he watched James’s torso through the windows. No chance of seeing the face though.

“Plain old curiosity. I always liked gathering new information.”

Mike’s blood boiled, and he stood up, unable to take it anymore. He squeezed the sponge in his hand and looked into James’s eyes. “Of course you do. Once a nerd, always a nerd. I’m stuck in a shit job with nowhere to go, and I’m not some asshole, I’m an okay guy. I just needed someone to give me a chance, but no one will.” He took a deep breath, shocked at how much it shook him to spurt it all out. “And I am that gay player who just wanted a blowjob from the only gay guy he’d ever known. Fuck this shit!” He threw the sponge into the bucket and went for the door. He was so done. Even he had some limits. He kicked a broom on his way.

“What was that?” James’s voice was loud and clear, just as his footsteps on the concrete behind Mike.

Mike groaned and rolled his eyes. “You heard me, so now fuck off.”

“You’re
gay
?” James grasped Mike’s shoulder, pulling him back.

Mike took a deep breath and forced himself to turn around but pushed the hand off. “Yeah, I’m fucking gay.”

James watched him, wide-eyed. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he uttered, crossing his arms on his chest.

Mike pouted and mirrored the gesture. “Why? So you can mock my sad life even more?”

James blinked and slowly swayed his head from side to side. “Well, for one, I might have sucked you off. I’m not having a straight guy touch me. That would be gross.”

“You would?” Mike’s brain blocked out all the other information.

James shrugged, looking away. “Yeah, why not?”

“I don’t know, ’cause I’m now some loser you don’t want to have anything to do with? Oh, and ’cause you hate my guts?”

“I don’t think I hate you as much as you hate your job,” said James, suddenly looking up into Mike’s eyes. It seemed that he’d even gained an inch in height.

Mike pulled out the two hundred bucks. “Well, now at least I have some cash to drown my sorrows in. It’s not so easy to get out of here. What did you do to get all of this?” he pointed in the general direction of both James and the car.

James frowned. “If you’d like to join me for the weekend, you can hear all about it. Would two thousand be enough for your time?”

Mike swallowed, looking into those gorgeous blue eyes. “I— Is this some crazy sex thing?” he asked, losing more ground with every passing minute.

James rolled his eyes. “Of course it’s not. You want a chance? Here it is. I want to go within the next twenty minutes, so make up your mind,” he said with a grim expression.

Mike’s heart was pounding so fast he was sure he’d get arrhythmia and die soon. “And what am I supposed to do for you?”

James swallowed hard but kept his gaze level. “Pretend to be my date during a conference I’m attending.”

A few rusty cogs slowly turned in Mike’s mind. Ha. So there
was
something missing in Lovelace’s life. “Two thousand and a ticket to Vegas.”

James snorted. “Why, you want to start out as a professional stripper?”

Mike glared at him. “No. I just always wanted to go. It seems like a good place for a new start. I could be a bartender or some shit.”

“‘Some shit’ sounds more like it,” said James, but spread his arms with a sigh. “Deal.”

“Stop trash-talking your date then. Fuck,” Mike growled and pulled up the garage door, still hardly understanding the deal he’d just made.

“Wash the soap off before you go?” James nodded to his car, but his eyes had a different glint to them. Something had changed, but Mike couldn’t put his finger on it.

****

Chapter 2

This had the potential to turn out to be the worst decision in James’s life.

He kept pressing the button on his MP3 player, in search of that one song that would calm him down or give him an energy boost, but it just wasn’t coming. What was he thinking? He was way too old to enter the same river twice. The guy was a bully, and James could still remember being afraid of going to school because of him. Why would he even consider offering Mike Miller money for a date that was to last three days?
Three days too long.
The arrangement didn’t even include sex because James was uneasy about the idea of paying someone for this kind of thing. He might have grown up, he might have polished himself, but some things just refused to change.

But God, Mike was still hot and tempting like a deep-fried Mars bar. James dared to think that maturity looked good on his high school crush. Watching him masturbate was to James like a visit to the Large Hadron Collider for a scientist. It made James feel privileged, even though he knew there was nothing special about what happened in the garage. Other than Mike turning out to be gay.

And there Mike was, that big hunk of beef, with his chest covered with a white tank top that still exposed every ridge. With orange shades, low-hanging jeans, and a big duffel bag thrown over his shoulder, he looked like the wet dream he’d always been to James. Even more so now, all grown-up, chunky and wide-shouldered. He’d probably had a quick shower as well, because his brown hair was damp and sticking to his face. Mike looked so happy with himself, James could hardly believe it. It seemed the guy didn’t need much. He threw the duffel bag into the Jaguar’s trunk in passing.

James wanted to make a snarky comment, but his lips were sealed. His gaze followed Mike into the convenience store. Through the large window, he watched him make his way to the counter, to the gray-haired man with a permanent scowl.

James saw Mike slam a bill on the counter, and the old man gave him some in return. Mike put all of them in his wallet and when he pointed outside, James felt their eyes on him. He froze, unsure whether he should smile or start the car and flee.

Mike’s boss got to his feet and slammed his fist against the counter, his face becoming a mask of anger. James suspected Mike would not get any references after that stunt. But then it got worse. James’s eyes went wide when Mike started shouting something in the store and showed his boss his middle finger. All hell broke loose, the older man aggressively reached over the counter, and Mike backed off into a stack of toilet paper, sending all the rolls to the ground. James could hardly believe his eyes when Mike started picking them up just to send them flying at his screaming boss.

The only sensible thing that came into his mind was to break the fight apart by asking Mike to get into his car. So he pressed the horn. Mike turned to him and barely managed to duck when his boss threw a TV remote at him. He grabbed a few more toilet rolls and ran out of the convenience store. James was wrong. Mike hadn’t grown up one bit.

He just stared at the scene. Was there a hidden camera somewhere? Was this all an elaborate plot to make James seem like a joke? He called out Mike’s name, desperate to flee. His stomach was cramping with nerves already.

“I’m coming! Just gonna show this motherfucker what I think!” Mike yelled, running toward the car. But he wasn’t the only one who rushed through the door. His boss was right on his heels.

“You better fucking come back and fix that or I’ll call the cops!” the man screamed, shaking a cell phone in his clenched fist. He moved like a chimpanzee, hopping from side to side on his short legs as he ran through the parking lot.

James inhaled a huge gulp of air and started the car. Was this the moment where he got accidentally killed by a phone thrown at someone else?

“Fuck that!” Mike screamed and sent a roll at the man’s head. It was perfectly aimed at his forehead and bounced off, leaving a long trail of paper on the ground. “Fix your own shit, old bastard!”

Any thoughts of death by phone dispersed like a childish whimsy when the station owner pulled out a gun. Mike jumped into the passenger seat of the Jag, not even bothering to open the door.

“What the fuck did you say, Miller?” the man screeched at them, waving the gun in the air.

James stepped on the gas and drove forward at full speed. He was hypnotized by the asphalt in front of him. His insides were one big mess of twisted anxieties, as he expected a bullet to shatter his rearview mirror any second.

Mike kneeled on the passenger seat and threw roll after roll until he ran out of ammo. “Fuck you, Vega! And by the way, I fucked Vanessa!”

The station owner exploded with gurgling screams, and James accelerated the speed. In the last moment, he realized he didn’t know whether they could safely exit the station, but the road was empty.

“Wh-what was that?” he uttered, overwhelmed by the heat that descended on him along with relief.

Mike sat back in the passenger seat with a self-satisfied grin, and crossed his arms on his chest. “Nah, I never fucked his daughter, just messin’ with him.”

James slowed down, trying to bring his heart rate back to normal. “I just… why did you have to make him so angry?”

“I slaved there for three years. You have no idea what a dick he is.” Mike exhaled and started looking around James’s car as if it was his own. At least the speeding air provided much needed coolness to James’s head.

“Yes, but… how is that helpful? It’s never a good idea to burn your bridges.” James sighed, leaning back against the soft backrest. This whole thing was a terrible idea. Terrible.

Mike shrugged. “What do I care? I’m going to Vegas.”

James frowned and looked back to the road. Now he had some idea how Mike ended up like this. There was no chance whatsoever that a person of such unpredictable character would ever get promoted. Anywhere.

“If you say so.”

“So yeah, what’s this conference? I’m actually looking forward to it now. I’m all pumped and stuff.” Mike grinned at him from behind his shades.

This was so far outside of James’s comfort zone that he didn’t know how to react to Mike’s behavior. “Well, it’s about drugs and supplies for doctors,” he eventually said, hoping it would be clear enough for Mike.

“Cool. So what do you want me to do? Call you ‘sweet cheeks’ and ‘honey bun’, and shit?” Mike put his hand out the car door, not even looking to James.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Who does that?” James sighed. “You must know how people in relationships behave.”

“I suppose, but do you want us to be more like the Obamas, or more like the Kardashians?” Mike pulled his top off, not bothered by anything. That sudden flash of skin was distracting enough that James had to force his gaze off the tanned torso.

“Christ, definitely
not
like the Kardashians,” growled James, feeling his temples pulsate. “I don’t know… Obamas but less official, I guess?” He wanted to smash his head against the steering wheel.

“I can be the perfect boyfriend, don’t worry.” Mike waved his hand dismissively. “Could we stop at the Walmart in Alberta? I wanna get something to drink. There will be no other stores for a while.”

James counted to ten, desperate to calm down his galloping heart. “I won’t believe it until you prove it to me,” he muttered. After what he’d seen at the station, they definitely needed some trials before he could show Mike to the public.

“Starting now, my sweets?” Mike opened the glove box and started rummaging through it.

“Try harder. I need you to be classy. Like the wife of a wealthy plastic surgeon,” said James, though he already knew he bet on the wrong horse.

“Oh, so I’m a trophy boyfriend. Do I have a job or do I just sip martinis and fuck on demand?” Mike took out a pack of chewing gum and passed some to James, as if it was his to give.

“Don’t say that. I said classy. Do you even know what that means?” growled James, frustrated.

Mike went quiet and frowned, though his eyes weren’t visible behind the shades. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “No fucking, only ‘making love’.”

“And that, you don’t talk about things like that with my business partners. Be supportive, nice, and tender,” said James, lowering his voice at the last word. What had he brought upon himself? This couldn’t possibly succeed.

Mike sighed. “Still as boring as ever, Lovelace.”

Heat rose in James’s chest. He had enough of this. “This is the addendum to our agreement. Each time you call me ‘Lovelace’ from now on, I will subtract a hundred dollars from your honorarium.”

Mike punched his arm. “This is so unfair!”

James tensed at the violation of his personal space, but he did feel a creeping satisfaction at Mike’s displeasure. This time, it was James who held all the cards, and he wouldn’t hesitate to play them. “I will not tolerate you insulting me.”