My Gigolo (24 page)

“Still in?”

“Yes.”

Another quiet fell between them. Thankfully, the waiter arrived to take their orders and remove their menus. Unfortunately, that left her with one less thing to fiddle with.

“Are you going to say anything?”

“I’m thinking.”

She risked a peek. Cheryl sat frowning directly at her but didn’t seem upset or angry. Just deep in concentration.

“He’s not what you’d expect.”

The frown didn’t lessen. “And how would you know what to expect from a male prostitute?”

“Touché.”

Silence again. The waiter brought their breadsticks and honey butter, and she gratefully dug in, glad to have something useful to do with her hands. She’d just taken a bite when Cheryl finally unloaded.

“How on earth did you end up dating a male prostitute?”

She choked on a laugh, sucking a chunk of bread down her throat. She really needed to stop eating with friends. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear they were all trying to kill her Mama Cass style. Thank God she hadn’t ordered a ham sandwich.

A few gulps of water set her aright, and she shook her head. “My sister bought him for me.”

“
Your
sister?” Cheryl’s eyes looked ready to fall out. “She of the Big Wisdom? She
bought
him for you?”

Gabe nodded. “For my birthday. I guess you could say it worked.”

Now Cheryl choked, though she hadn’t eaten a thing. “But how…?”

Shrugging, she picked at her breadstick. “He asked to stay. I said okay. He’s been coming back ever since.”

“And you love him.”

Blushing across her nose, she nodded.

“And you have no idea how he feels about you.”

“Of course I do. He likes me just fine. Plus, like I said before, I’m safe for him. He knows he doesn’t have to be on his game, doesn’t have to pretend, doesn’t have to earn his pay with me. He just…shows up.”

“And you’re okay with this?”

“It’s perfect. I tried to explain it before, but I couldn’t without telling you everything.”

Blinking, Cheryl nodded. “I guess it makes more sense now, in a weird way. And you won’t tell him because you don’t want him to quit?”

“Not for me. I won’t ask him to do that or make him feel obliged to.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know whether to pity you or congratulate you.”

“I’ll settle for you showing up for mini golf and being nice to him Saturday.”

“Oh, I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“Good. Eat some bread.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He’d promised to drive safely. He hadn’t promised to drive the speed limit.

Thus, he wasn’t terribly surprised to find no lights on in the house when he pulled into Gabe’s driveway. She’d probably run out to get something. If she had left her key on the back stoop, he’d just slip in and stash his duffle bag upstairs. And hide the surprise he’d brought for her, of course.

He schlepped his stuff around the back of the house and smiled when he lifted the mat on the back stoop. The key was right where he’d left it. He couldn’t wait to surprise her when she returned. He loved watching her whole face light up, watching that crooked grin take over. He’d jump through a lot of hoops to see it every day.

Thinking such pleasant thoughts, he let himself in, replaced the key under the mat, and locked the door behind him so he wouldn’t forget later. He didn’t bother turning on any lights on his way through the utility room and kitchen. The evening sunlight illuminated the house well enough, despite the filter of giant oaks to the west. Besides, he knew his way well enough now to navigate in the dark if needed.

He ran a hand over the back of a dining room chair on his way past, musing again on how much he liked this house. It was familiar in a way his apartment wasn’t. Welcoming. The air continually smelled of sandalwood and vanilla, two scents that would likely always remind him of Gabe. Her candles were one scent, and she was the other. The combination did wonderful things for both his heart and his libido.

Grinning at the trickle of heat down his spine, he bee-lined for the spiral staircase. He wanted to stash his clothes and hide her present before she caught him in the act, and he really had no idea when she might be home. Had she needed to work late at the last moment? Maybe she’d like a nice full-body massage when she finally dragged in. He ought to see if she had any baby lotion.

Lost in such pleasant thoughts as he reached the top of the stairs, he didn’t notice her lounging on the bed until she cleared her throat. He stopped mid-step, his grin dropping in stunned surprise, his eyes widening.

“Promise to help me wash the sheets?”

He blinked. She lay naked on her side, her cheek propped in her hand. Before her lay a chocolate cake on a platter and a big bowl of macaroni and cheese. As he watched, she dipped the first two fingers of her free hand into the latter, then raised them to her mouth to lick them clean.

“This is bound to be messy.”

Dropping his duffle bag, he stripped his T-shirt off over his head and shed his jeans and shoes. She watched with a little smirk.

“I take it the cake is from a box?”

“As per your instructions.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I believe there was one more stipulation to your birthday request.”

She dragged the same two fingers through the frosting and shifted to trace a chocolatey line from between her collar bones to her belly button. He had to concentrate on not drooling. God, hadn’t he imagined licking chocolate off of her on that first trip so long ago?

Off came his underwear. He stepped closer and knelt at the edge of the bed.

“You know, a can of frosting would have worked just as well.”

She shrugged and reached out to smear chocolate over his lower lip. “You wanted cake. You got cake. And macaroni and cheese.”

Staring at her, he made a show of sucking the frosting off his lower lip. Her eyes studied the move, darkening with what he sincerely hoped was desire.

“I want you smothered with frosting. Do I get that, too?”

“Only if you promise to help wash the sheets.”

“I promise.” He leaned down and flicked his tongue at the chocolate between her breasts.

Her breath caught. “This is going to take a while, isn’t it?”

“I certainly hope so.”

He did indeed help with the sheets, so she indulged him further by throwing together a few monster sandwiches and ignoring his heckling on the subject of their size. Just to spite him, she added more turkey. Unfortunately, his smug smile left her wondering if that hadn’t been his plan all along.

Swaddled in comfortable pajamas, they collapsed on the couch with sandwiches, soda, and re-warmed macaroni and cheese. Smiling with utter content, she settled back against him and balanced her plate on her outstretched legs. His chest flexed as he reached for his Coke, his heart thudding at her back and his musky, perfect scent all around her. She could get used to this.

It was kung fu instead of zombies on the TV, but the similarity to an earlier such homey scene didn’t completely escape her. She wondered for a moment why she didn’t feel disappointment, that sinking sense of things going wrong, the need to remove herself from the situation and think things out. Then, shrugging, she let it go. It probably didn’t matter anymore.

“How was work this week?”

She swallowed a mouthful of mac and cheese and cleared her throat. “Good, I guess. You?”

“Surprisingly good.”

After a moment of waiting for elaboration, she went on. “Any new and fascinating clients?”

“Nope.” Again, he didn’t elaborate.

“Oh.”

Studly Asian men kicked each others’ asses on the screen for a long, quiet moment. Just as the action regained her interest, he spoke.

“I talked to my dad this week.”

“Oh?”

He took a bite of sandwich and chewed for a long moment. “Before he called a couple of months back, I hadn’t talked to him in two years.”

She blinked, turning to look up at him over her shoulder. “Why not?”

“I smarted off to him about being a male prostitute and never called back.”

“Oh.” For a long moment, she debated changing the subject. “So what changed?”

“I don’t know, really. He just called out of the blue. We’ve talked a couple of times since. I think it’s gonna be okay between us.”

“What about your mom?”

“I haven’t talked to her in three years.”

“Still?”

“Still.”

To avoid saying “oh” again, she kept her mouth shut. So that’s why he hadn’t talked about his family before. But he was doing so now of his own volition. Was that good or bad?

“Any siblings?”

“Nope.” The word was muffled by a bite of sandwich.

“Oh.” Damn it. “So what do you do on Thanksgiving and Christmas?”

Instantly regretting perhaps the stupidest and most thoughtless question to ever cross her lips, she sat up and turned around, putting a hand on his chest and nearly dumping her sandwich to the floor.

“I am so sorry. That came out all wrong.”

But he merely grinned and opened his arms, plate in one hand and can in the other. Relieved that he wasn’t mortally offended at her tactlessness, she lay back against him and resettled her late night snack.

“I really don’t celebrate the holidays except the occasional Halloween.” He shrugged. “I used to call Dad, at least, but not last year. I will this year, though.”

“You don’t spend them with friends? Co-workers?” She forced a snicker. “Clients?”

He chuckled. “You’d be amazed at how quickly the holidays force people to be monogamous. Apparently, it’s a sin to hire an escort during Christmas unless you’re already alone.”

“I’ll bet. Do a lot of married women call you?”

“More than I like to think of. They usually say they’re single, but most of them have a suspicious tan line around their left third finger.”

“That’s…kind of sad.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

A little lull fell between them, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. She realized that he’d quite efficiently changed the subject, but she wasn’t sure it was her business to bring the conversation back on track. She wasn’t sure he wanted to talk at all, but he’d seemed ready to finally identify himself beyond his job, and she hated to lose the opportunity to learn more about him.

“Would it be awful to ask why you don’t talk to your mother?”

He paused just long enough that she began to worry she’d overstepped her bounds. He didn’t tense up, but she sensed him debating his answer. Finally, he shrugged.

“When I graduated college—undergraduate level, anyway—she had a girl already picked out for me to marry. We were a perfect match, in her opinion. Our families had been friends for generations, though I’d only met the girl twice. It seemed perfect.” He snorted. “Until I refused to even date her.”

“Not your type?”

“I don’t know, really. Like I said, we barely knew each other. I just didn’t appreciate Mom picking someone for me without my input, and I told her so.”

“Well, I’d think so.”

“She insisted that I just needed time to get used to the idea, so I up and moved halfway across the country to get my master’s at MMSU.”

“From the west or from the east?”

“East, by way of Boston. Home of old money and Yankee stubbornness.”

She sniggered. “For some reason, I think you’re more suited to California. Plus, you don’t have a Boston accent.”

“I lost it pretty quick out here in the boonies. It was too distinctive. Anyway, she was furious at me for leaving, so she cut off my allowance. I’m fairly certain she thought it was a severe deterrent. Instead, I got a job.”

“At Briggs’.”

“Hole in one. She didn’t know that, of course, but she did know that I could suddenly pay my own way.”

“But she found out?”

“Oh, no. She still doesn’t know.” He paused for a few bites of mac and cheese. “No, what put her over the edge was the girl getting engaged to someone else. She called and demanded that I come home and win her back.”

“You never had her in the first place.”

“Exactly. Didn’t want her, even. But that didn’t matter a particle to Mom. So when I told her I was a grown man with my own income and my own means—”

“She thought the silent treatment would show you the error of your ways.”

“Why am I telling you this story if you already know it?”

“I like to hear you talk.” She blinked and tried to cover. “You don’t usually talk about yourself. I get the feeling you’re not used to it.”

“You want to hear me talk about myself?”

Oh, so careful. “I like to know my friends.”

He leaned over and put his Coke can and empty plate on the coffee table, and she half sat forward, dreading the moment when he stood and walked away. So when his arms wrapped around her and pulled her back against him to hold her close, she nearly sagged with relief.

“All right, then. She told me she wouldn’t speak to me until I came to my senses. That was over three years ago. The first time Dad called back, he told me that the girl has since gotten married, so I guess I’ll never have to come to my senses.”

“You don’t plan on ever making it up with her?”

He shrugged and rested his chin in her hair. “We were never exactly close. I was a trophy child, I think. Mom and Dad both come from old money, and it was just expected that she would provide him a son and then go on with her charities and volunteering and match-making.”

“But she’s your mother.”

“And not much has changed since we stopped talking.”

She wanted to protest. She rarely thought about her own parents. She didn’t remember them and couldn’t imagine them being better than Aunt Tab and Mike, but to have a mother within calling distance and not make the move…

But it was none of her business, and telling him to forgive and forget was definitely not in her job description. She was fairly certain that such interference wouldn’t be appreciated. So she changed the subject.

“What did you study?”

“Come again?”

“You moved here to go to MMSU. What did you study there?”