My Gigolo (6 page)

“I’m willing to waive the fee.” He smiled a little, though his eyes still watched her cautiously. “I could just get a hotel room, but…I’d rather stay here. Just this once.”

She weighed her response, running through the possible pluses and minuses in her head to avoid making an absolute ass of herself. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings after such an amazingly good lay, but did gigolos usually spend the night afterward?

Then again, it might be nice to sleep tucked in someone’s arms, to maybe wake up to a little midnight nookie, if he felt generous. All at no extra charge.

She shrugged. “Okay. What do you eat?”

The wariness in his eyes disappeared, and he snorted. “Food. What do you eat?”

She felt yet another blush on her cheeks. “Hey, you never know. You’ve gotta do some pretty careful menuing if that body of yours is any indication. I don’t want to mess you up for other women.”

He gave her a strange, hard look, then grinned and pulled away, carefully holding onto the condom. The grin faltered as he slipped out of her, and his eyes closed for a moment. She fidgeted and wanted to cover herself as he sat back on his heels between her legs. He opened his eyes and stared down at her, and she very nearly reached for the sheets.

“Japanese.”

Another blink. “Huh?”

“I eat Japanese. Do you like sushi?”

“Oh. I dunno, really. But I love hibachi.”

He leaned down, dropped a light kiss on her forehead, then climbed out of bed. “Good. Let’s get cleaned up. I’m buying.”

What had possessed him to ask her on what amounted to a date? It was definitely a first, and he had long since lost track of all his firsts.

In the twenty minutes it took for the
maître d’
to open a hibachi table, he discovered that his impromptu date was a well-liked and relatively well-known person. The revelation surprised him. He couldn’t explain it, really, but she seemed like the kind of person who would only have a few close friends and be terribly shy in public. Yet three servers and two departing patrons paused to exchange friendly words with her while he stood with his hands in his pockets, feeling superfluous.

But what did he really know about her? Nothing, and that was probably how it should stay, bizarre overnight stay or no.

The
maître d’
—who had greeted Gabe with a broader smile than was surely necessary and a hearty, “Hello, my friend! Very good to see you again. Who your new friend?”—finally sat them at a classic hibachi table surrounding a grill. A real couple sat at the opposite end, all holding hands and arms around shoulders. Jack sighed. What was he doing here?

She turned from her study of the other restaurant patrons. “All right?”

“Just thinking me thinks.”

“Change your mind?” Her grin seemed a bit forced.

“Nope.” The quick answer set her at ease, so he went a little further and put an arm around her shoulders, his smile widening when she looked surprised and a little flustered. “You?”

Blushing, she shook her head, then returned her attention to the room around her.

“Looking for anyone in particular?”

It occurred to him suddenly that she might not want to be seen with him. He frowned, wondering if he should keep his arm to himself and try to look like a friend instead of someone who had just had sex with her. Who had just been
paid
to have sex with her.

“Nope. I always look around when I get here. I almost always see someone I know.”

“Would it be bad to be seen with me?”

She shot him a curious frown. “Why would it?”

He raised an eyebrow, and she blushed.

“Oh, good grief. No one knows you. And what would it matter if they did? Everyone thinks I’m eccentric for not dating, anyway.” She grinned crookedly. “It might actually step me up in their estimation.”

Snorting, he took his arm back and joined her in looking around the room. A server appeared and took their drink orders, and he smiled as Gabe chatted amiably with the girl, actually listening to her rather than just making small talk. The waitress seemed to know her and was unsurprised when Gabe called her by name. When she moved on to get the other couple’s drink orders, he nudged her with his elbow.

“Just how often do you come here? Everyone seems to know you.”

She shrugged. “I eat here a couple of times a month, if I can afford it. Their steak and scallops are to die for.”

“Are you sure you want to be seen here with me? It might raise questions.”

Her forehead wrinkled into another frown. “Will you quit worrying about that? I’m more likely to be praised for my good taste or teased for finally breaking down and dating than anything else.” The frown softened into a rueful grin. “You may be instantly recognizable in the Big City, bud, but here, you’re just a good-looking guy with a girl who’s been brought here on too many blind dates.”

She sounded a little bitter and he was tempted to pry, but it was really none of his business. He let it pass and leaned back with the sushi menu, trying to decide between his favorites. Torn, he decided on a second opinion.

“Which would you rather try, eel or squid?”

“I don’t really do sushi. I have no idea what’s good. Pick whatever you want. I’ll try anything.” She grimaced a little. “Just don’t tell me what it is.”

“Like to live dangerously?”

She fidgeted with her chopsticks. “Not really. I’d just rather form an unbiased opinion without the ick factor of knowing that what I’m swallowing used to be something slimy.”

“Probably a good plan.”

The waitress returned and passed out drinks, then took their orders. He settled on eel for an appetizer and the filet for dinner. Gabe ordered steak and scallops, grinning as the server admitted that she’d already written it down. He was glad to see her order what she wanted, not what she wanted him to see her eat. He hadn’t been on a real date in years, but he remembered that unendearing feminine habit all too well.

The
maître d’
seated a group of three guys—likely from the local college, if their team logo sweatshirts were any indication—between him and the other couple, and the server quickly added their drink orders to her list. Gabe sat quietly for a few moments and then, much to his surprise, leaned over his lap and tapped the guy beside him on the arm. The guy turned, raising an eyebrow.

“I love your hat. Where’d you get it?”

Jack looked up and hid a snort. A Kansas City Chiefs cap. He should have known she would be a Chiefs fan. It was so…
Gabe
. Now that he thought of it, hadn’t the flour on her old T-shirt half-hidden a Chiefs logo?

College Boy, though, made no effort to hide his grin. “At Arrowhead, of course. Nowhere else to get a good Chiefs hat. You a fan?”

Gabe beamed. “Rabid. You watching the Pro Bowl tomorrow?”

“Eh, maybe. I don’t like it as much as the Super Bowl.”

She scoffed, leaning an elbow on the table ledge. “Oh, I like it way better. I get to see most of my favorite players in the same place. What’s better than that?”

The conversation deteriorated further when College Boy’s buddies joined in. One was a Steelers fan, but the other poor soul claimed not to like professional football, much preferring college ball. He was quickly heckled into amused silence.

More orders were taken. Another couple squeezed in between the college kids and the poor, neglected couple at the far end. And finally, the chef came out to entertain them.

Jack didn’t say much, but he enjoyed watching Gabe interact. The chef recognized her and gave her a laughing, “You come again? I think I chase you away last time!” She blushed, but took it with good grace. She even laughed when he brought up a particularly bad blind date he’d witnessed, though Jack didn’t think blushing quite covered the spectacular color of her face as the college boys joined in the teasing and asked for more of the gory details.

“You’d be surprised how many penalties fit an over-handsy date.” She ticked them off on her fingers, trying to keep a straight face. “Illegal use of hands, encroaching, neutral zone infraction, illegal touching, illegal man downfield…”

College Boy #1 howled laughter, drawing curious looks from other tables. “He should have pulled out some opposing flags. Pass interference comes to mind.”

“Sounds more like roughing the passer.” College Boy #2 snickered. “What a riot.”

Jack merely grinned as the penalty flags got more ridiculous. How on earth had he formed the impression that she was shy? Had her sister suggested it? He didn’t remember. It didn’t matter.

She was lively and entertaining. And adventurous. She tried his eel appetizer without complaint and admitted that it was pretty good. She used chopsticks with ease. She chatted easily with strangers and passing acquaintances alike. She even chatted with him, gently nudging him into the conversation when he’d been quiet for too long. She talked about her friends and about Mike, though she didn’t mention any other family. And she talked about football.

She really did know her stuff, there. It wasn’t just the surface dressing some girls adopted to fit in with the guys. College Boy #2 led most of the conversation, but she held her own, topping his Pittsburgh stats with impressive Kansas City feats almost every time. However, she graciously admitted when her team was beaten, especially when it came to their end-of-season win total. Pittsburgh had finished ahead by a good four games, not counting their two post-season match-ups.

He ate and she talked, and she didn’t seem to mind when he slipped his arm around her shoulders as she chattered. He pretended not to notice when she casually placed a hand on his thigh while laughing at College Boy #3’s protest that everything they’d said was negated by the fact that professional football players were paid too much. And when all the food was eaten, the chef thanked and tipped and the last drink partaken, neither he nor she complained when they stood and joined hands to walk out of the restaurant.

It didn’t matter that it was all pretend. It didn’t matter that she removed her hand from his as soon as they reached the parking lot. For a moment, he felt like a real person again—something he hadn’t realized he missed.

There would likely be more sex. There would definitely be sleeping and cuddling. And in the morning, there would probably be breakfast. Then, there would be a very final goodbye.

Frowning as he unlocked the passenger door of his SUV for her, he decided that he’d do well to remember that.

“Thanks for breakfast.”

They both fidgeted at the end of her sidewalk, the glaring morning sunlight refusing to hide their discomfort. His smile was obviously forced, but Gabe overlooked it. For some reason, her smile was forced, too.

“No problem.” She shifted and stuffed her hands into her pockets. “Thanks for Japanese last night.”

“My pleasure.”

Were they supposed to kiss? Hug? Shake hands? Exchange phone numbers? She didn’t know, and the quiet stretched out entirely too long.

She shouldn’t have agreed to dinner with him last night. She knew that now. That had made it too much like a date, which made this the Morning After. The whole reason she’d agreed to letting him do his thing in the first place was because it wouldn’t be awkward later. Well, she had totally bollixed that one.

“I’d better go.” His hands twitched at his sides as if they wanted to do something he wouldn’t allow them to do. “Goodbye, Gabe.”

“Yeah. ’Bye, Jack. Or Blade, if you prefer.”

He smiled, but his eyes didn’t. “It’s been sweet, and I don’t say that to everyone.”

“Get outta here already.”

He did, climbing into his ridiculously swank SUV and driving away without so much as a wave. He obviously did a booming business if he could afford a ride like that. Or maybe he had a day job, too. She hadn’t thought to ask. She probably wasn’t supposed to ask.

Frowning, she checked her mailbox—mostly for something to do with her hands—then went back inside. She should call Mike, tell her thank you. She should start the cake so it’d be cooled and ready to frost well before the Pro Bowl this afternoon.

She should
not
think about how he had felt inside her. Or she should, but not in conjunction with how comfortable and warm waking up next to him had felt. She could have the one. She shouldn’t have the other.

The phone rang, and she jumped, realizing she’d been standing in the living room and staring at the door for God only knew how long.

“Hello?”

“So how’d it go, kiddo? You didn’t call last night, so I got tired of waiting.”

“Well…”

“That bad, huh?” Honest sympathy lurked in her sister’s voice.

“That good, actually. But kind of bad, too.”

Before she quite knew how, she found herself telling her sister almost everything. She hadn’t intended to, but the more she talked, the more she couldn’t stop herself.

“I shouldn’t have let him stay. It just made everything weird, and now I feel like I did something wrong.”

Mike made sympathetic noises, then broached a question Gabe didn’t want to answer. “Did you…like him?”

She grunted, sitting on the couch’s arm and slouching. “Sort of. I dunno. I wasn’t really thinking about it. Sure, he was nice and all, but he was just supposed to be a good lay. You know?”

“It’s okay to find him personable, Gabe. It’s his job to be nice. But you’re not supposed to
like him
like him.”

“I know. And I don’t…really. I just, I dunno, feel like I should have asked for his number or something. Do you think he was mad that I didn’t? I didn’t figure it was any of my business, and it’s not like I’ll ever see him again.”

“No, you were right not to. I’m sure he didn’t expect it of you.”

Her sister didn’t sound disappointed in her, so she let go of some of her unease. She had done the right thing. He was a male prostitute, and a good one, apparently. He’d probably left a trail of disappointed hopes longer than his trip back to Kansas City. Well, she wouldn’t be one of them.

The conversation shifted to other things, and she moved on with a smile.

The Kansas City city limits greeted him with open arms, but he couldn’t quite find a smile. He was home, but what did that mean? He had perhaps three friends outside the business, none of whom actually lived close enough to visit. If he went to his favorite restaurant—and by the way, just what
was
his favorite restaurant?—would anyone recognize him there as a favorite customer? Not likely. If he were recognized at all, it would be as the resident gigolo. Escort. Whatever.