A Model Escort

by Amanda Meuwissen

  Cal could definitely use another drink, but as he struggled with what to say in response, the playlist over the sound system beat him to it. “You Don’t Know Me” started to play but it wasn’t the Ray Charles version or any of the others Cal knew, though it was still sung in a smooth, male voice.

  Owen leaned back and smiled as he listened. “You know what we’ve never done at all those fancy events?”

  “Hm?”

  “Dance. Will you dance with me, Cal?”

  Cal laughed, but he couldn’t say no to such an innocent request. “All right, Owen,” he said, and stood to offer him a hand.

  Giggling himself, Owen accepted it and let Cal pull him into the open space of the apartment. Cal slid his right hand around Owen’s waist, but Owen shrugged him off and grabbed his right hand to stretch it outward.

  “No, I lead,” he said.

  “And why is that?”

  “I’m taller.”

  Cal snorted. “By a quarter inch maybe.”

  “Still counts,” Owen said, holding firm to Cal’s hand and sliding his arm around Cal’s waist instead. “Larger person leads.”

  Cal was larger, even if only slightly, regardless of that quarter inch, but he conceded and rested his free hand on Owen’s shoulder. “Okay, but just so you’re prepared, I don’t know how to do this backwards.”

  “I can do both, so I’ll just have to teach you how to follow.” The glow to Owen’s cheeks brought on by the alcohol made it impossible to refuse him.

  “Then lead on, Scarlet.”

  Owen led Cal into a simple foxtrot to follow the song, but even though Cal stepped forward several times and nearly crushed Owen’s feet, he didn’t falter, merely leaned into Cal so he stepped where he was meant to.

  “How does a data scientist know how to dance so well?”

  “I took ballroom in college,” Owen said. “I loved it. Haven’t gotten to show off my skills much lately, though.”

  They swayed and turned and moved across the floor, smoother with every verse. Cal had always loved and hated this song, because it was beautiful but sad. A tale of missed chances, of opportunities not taken. But Owen was right here, in his arms, their bodies touching in time with each step. Owen pulled him closer, near enough that their cheeks brushed.

  Humming along with the song, he revealed a lovely voice to go with those dancing skills. There were still so many surprises he had in store for Cal.

  He was stronger than he believed of himself. He’d still be slaying this new chapter in his life if not for Harrison showing up to toss it into chaos. Owen just needed to be reminded of that, of how precious and powerful he was, how worthy of the love Harrison had never truly given him.

  Their hands drew inward, trapped between their chests, with Cal’s other hand at Owen’s neck, urging him closer until their foreheads pressed tight. Owen’s humming faded, and the music drifted into the next song… just as Cal pushed past that last inch separating them and met his lips to Owen’s.

  CAL was kissing him. Owen almost tripped forward and toppled them both to the floor, but thankfully he froze long enough to turn any remaining attempts at dancing into swaying in place and then just… kissing.

  “The Way You Look Tonight” overtook the previous song as Owen’s lips parted, and he felt Cal’s tongue press the advantage. It made him tremble to finally taste him, coffee and chocolate like the beer they’d shared and so good.

  Owen’s head was that perfect haze of cotton and clarity. His grip on Cal’s waist tightened, just as Cal’s grip on his neck did too. This was what he’d wanted. The way Cal tilted his head to push the kiss deeper, the low noise he made, the heat from his body, it was all so thrilling and perfect, just like last night when they hadn’t tried to be anything but friends.

  Unlike tonight—when Cal was being paid.

  Owen’s stomach twisted like being wrung out to dry. He was paying Cal for this. Cal was doing his job right now. A normal scheduled night because Owen was a client, not a friend. They weren’t friends. He was such a fool.

  “S-Stop,” Owen gasped, pushing away from Cal until he stumbled backward. “I don’t w-want you to d-do that. I didn’t ask you to do that,” he said more forcefully, not meaning to sound angry, but he was panting and flush and couldn’t breathe after knowing Cal’s embrace like that.

  Shock and distress marred Cal’s face, left standing with his hands hovering to mark the spot Owen escaped. “I’m sorry,” he said, taking a step back as well. He looked mortified. “I’ve never gone against a client’s wishes before. I should… I should go.” Turning on his heels, he beelined for his blazer.

  “Wait!” Owen chased after him but wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sorry.”

  Cal stopped, hand gripping the back of the chair with his jacket, and looked back at Owen over his shoulder. He always held himself together, poised and professional, but his face scrunched in this dreadful look of misery. “You don’t need to apologize, Owen. This was my fault. It was careless of me. Habit.”

  Habit? Because Owen was a client and that’s what Cal did for his clients. “R-right….”

  How did that look of misery keep getting worse? “I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s okay.” Owen took a step forward because he had to fix this, even if it stung. He just wanted to fix this so Cal looked at him normally again, and they could pretend none of this ever happened. “You know, I don’t want to think anymore tonight. Can we… can we curl up on the sofa and watch a movie?”

  Cal sputtered a laugh, broken and false sounding. “Sure, Owen. We can do that.” He turned to face him fully, but his hand hadn’t left the back of the chair, and it was gripping so hard. “Whatever you want.”

  It stung worse when Cal started to take off his sweater, assuming Owen meant—

  “No.” He held out a hand for Cal to stop. “Just… like this. I want to stay dressed tonight. Okay?”

  Everything Owen said, everything he tried to do to reset them seemed to make things worse. Cal’s hands dropped to his sides, and his expression schooled into something managed and cold. It was awful. “Okay, Owen.”

  “S-stop that,” Owen sniffled, unable to hold back the tears rushing to the surface. “I’m s-sorry, please don’t l-look at me like that, I didn’t m-mean—”

  A blur swooped toward him, Cal moving so quickly as that stony mask dropped away to bring back the misery, but at least he soon had his arms wrapped around Owen to pull him closer. “Hey, shhh….”

  Owen sobbed into Cal’s shoulder harder than he had their first night together, holding him back so tightly, he feared he’d bruise him, but he couldn’t help it. He always made things worse. He always made everything worse. But for weeks Cal had helped him believe that maybe he could get a few things right.

  “It’s okay. I’m sorry. We’ll start over,” Cal said with the softness and understanding Owen was used to. “Quiet night, just you and me, anything you want. I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just angry at myself for making you uncomfortable. It’s okay.”

  “R-really?” Owen nuzzled Cal’s neck, wishing he wasn’t leaving his shirt damp.

  “Really. Come on.” He smiled when he lifted Owen from his shoulder and brushed the tears from his eyes.

  They sat on the sofa with Owen tucked against Cal’s side. He pulled up the Godzilla movie, which should have been wonderfully silly, and they did laugh and point out moments they loved to each other, but it all felt tainted now, stifled in layers of things left unsaid.

  Owen wished he could recapture what they had last night. He wanted to kiss Cal, but not when it was paid for, not when it was required. Despite the strides he’d thought they made before, he didn’t know where they stood now.

  It was the first time they ended a paid night without shedding any clothing, and instead of being optimistic when Cal left, Owen felt hollowed out and empty.

  He’d ruined everything. Even if Cal wanted to kiss Owen outside of business, outside of money and obligation, h
e wouldn’t want that after tonight. There was a cavern between them that Owen had deepened because he was too insecure to ask for what he wanted, even up to the moment when Cal left with that same press of lips to Owen’s cheek but none of the same hope.

  CAL knew now that he couldn’t have his heart’s desire, because when he’d tried to take it, that’s when Owen, for all his understanding and attempts to care for Cal without judgment, for one unfair moment remembered what Cal was… and recoiled.

  Chapter Eight

  OWEN had never seen someone punch the bag off the hook before—and he was the one who’d done it. He hadn’t even been picturing Harrison’s face, much as it would have been justified.

  He’d been picturing his own.

  “Everything all right?” Lorelei asked, retrieving the punching bag from the floor and hefting it up with impressive ease. He helped her lift it higher to rehang it on the hook.

  “Not really,” he said when he couldn’t avoid looking at her, and went on to explain in as few words as possible how Harrison was in town and making his life miserable. He left out that his bad mood was more focused on someone else.

  “Let’s work on your disarming techniques,” she said. “You’ve been getting better, but it’s an important skill to master now that you’ve been using the shooting range. Most people won’t mug you with only their fists.”

  “Okay….”

  Waiting for her to retrieve a toy gun, which was sometimes replaced with a rubber knife, Owen followed her onto the mat. Each time she came at him brandishing the weapon, he dodged, deflected, or attempted to take the gun from her. He was fairly skilled now at succeeding when attacked from the front or side, but from behind it was still a challenge. He always tripped up in ways that would have caused the gun to go off or seriously cut him if his attacker had a knife.

  “Wait… just… let me clear my head,” he huffed after his third failed attempt to thwart her.

  “Your head won’t be clear in a real attack.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Instinct. Confidence. Try again.”

  Two more times Owen failed. Then two times in a row… he succeeded. On the next attempt, he felt more assured, but as he readied himself for Lorelei’s assault, it wasn’t the gun he felt at his back but a hold on his left arm.

  Alarm bells sounded in Owen’s head, accompanied by something he didn’t expect, because it wasn’t fear that surged through him, it was anger.

  Not recognizing the howl that left him until he spun, Owen whirled Lorelei around and pulled her tight to his chest. The gun dropped from her slackened grip, and he kicked her feet out from under her to slam her down to the ground. Glaring at her panting, grinning face, he realized with a rush what he’d just done.

  “I’m sorry!” he reeled back before lurching forward again to help her up.

  “Sorry?” She let out a boisterous laugh. “That’s what I’ve been waiting for, Owen. You did it.”

  “I… did?” He blinked around them as if some other evidence needed to be discovered, but the proof had been there in the motion of his reflexes. “I did.”

  “And you’re going to do it at least two more times before I let you go today.”

  Urg. Lorelei was the best, but she was also a little evil sometimes.

  Instead of only two, Owen succeeded four out of five more times disarming her when she went for his weak spot, and the one time he missed, he’d still managed to knock the gun away. It made him excited to hit the shooting range next, a small but important win in what felt like a sea of losses.

  “Cal’s coming to the gala on Saturday, right?”

  A sea Owen choked on when he remembered his biggest loss—though the water he’d been drinking going down the wrong pipe didn’t help. “Uh… yeah.”

  Owen had scheduled Cal weeks ago for the event, so technically it was still planned, even though it would be the first time he’d see Cal again since last night. The next two days Cal was booked, and Owen felt the lack of him—and resented his time with other clients—more than ever before.

  “I thought things were turning around for you two. Did something happen?” Lorelei asked. Her husband was on the state medical board, so they’d be at the gala as well. Owen loved the various ways his life intersected, like he was right where he should be, like it was fate, but the next few days felt rife with catastrophe because of how many pieces might collide.

  Originally the gala was an excuse to have a Walker Tech and Nye Industries celebration publicly addressing the joint venture—combining efforts to usher in the next era in paralysis treatment and gene therapy for all sorts of ailments. This time Owen would need black tie. But that wasn’t the problem. Given the involvement of Orion Labs going forward, Harrison would be there too. In the same room as Owen—and Cal.

  Assuming Owen didn’t cancel. Or Cal beat him to it.

  “I think I ruined things,” he said, always so easily honest with Lorelei because she had this way of looking through people without any judgment for what they might say.

  “You think you did? You know what would probably help with that?”

  “You don’t even know what happened.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s usually the same answer. Talk to him.” She pushed him playfully in the shoulder, causing him to chuckle miserably at the obvious but overwhelming suggestion. “He’s a good guy. He’s one of my sister’s best friends, and she has very discerning taste. Plus, he obviously cares about you.”

  “I know.” But what if they didn’t care about each other the same way?

  “If it’s confidence you’re lacking, I think it’s time you took a long look in the mirror.”

  Leading Owen by the elbow, she directed him in front of a full-length mirror on the wall of the gym. He was sweaty, hair wilted, glasses smudged, but he couldn’t deny how much more he filled out his damp Voltron T-shirt than he had a couple months ago.

  “You’re not the same man who walked away from Harrison Marsh and uprooted your whole life. You are even stronger than you were then.”

  She always said it like that—that he’d been strong all the way back on that night when he felt his weakest. Cal said it too, that Owen was braver than he knew. Maybe they were right and his biggest flaw was not believing it.

  Squeezing his arm once more, she stepped out of view to leave him with his reflection. It wasn’t just the added muscle he’d acquired from training that was different. He was independent now, successful, forming new relationships, and every last bit of it, he’d earned. He’d surpassed his fears in ways he never thought possible. He had changed, despite a few stumbles.

  The last thing he wanted was to allow Harrison to ruin everything he’d built. But more than that, he didn’t want himself to ruin it either.

  Lorelei was right. He needed to talk to Cal.

  OWEN had been messaging Cal all day but didn’t want to talk over the phone. Cal had to reiterate that his schedule was booked until the party on Saturday, which wasn’t a deflection. He had both Prince and Piper this week. There was very little time to see Owen, and he hated the idea of popping in to see him before either of those clients.

  He wouldn’t be able to get Owen out of his head if he did that.

  He couldn’t get him out of his head now.

  Owen probably wanted to cancel Cal’s services, but his good nature meant he wanted to explain in person. He didn’t mean to judge—he hadn’t meant to recoil from Cal’s kiss—and Cal knew that, but Owen still didn’t want to kiss someone who slept with people for money. If they couldn’t get over that hurdle during one of the most intimate moments they’d ever shared, there was no getting over it in the future.

  I’ll try to make time, Owen, but it might not be possible until Saturday.

  That’s okay! I understand. I just really want to talk to you. Don’t forget black tie!

  At least Owen wasn’t breaking their date for the gala, but Cal was certain it would be their last evening together. Maybe they could sti
ll be friends, but even if Owen wasn’t planning to end things, Cal wasn’t sure how much longer he could see Owen as an escort when he felt this way about him.

  Worse was how that longing followed him to Prince’s door.

  Personal life was never meant to be carried to the “office,” but Cal couldn’t shake it, and Prince wasn’t the type to miss even the slightest distraction.

  The slow trail of her fingernails paused along their course up his thigh. “Calvin?” she prompted with a curious tone, “you are far away tonight. Our time together is hardly enjoyable with you so empty.”

  She was a vision in black lingerie, sheer lace up from her bra to a high collar around her neck, with a full garter belt and thigh-high stockings. Her long hair hung about her shoulders as she straddled him, tied with scarves to the bedposts but not yet blindfolded or gagged like she had planned.

  Usually Cal was hard by now even with his underwear still on, anticipating the games she’d play that he had reveled in for far more months than he’d known Owen.

  “You’ll have to punish me, my dear,” he said to banish his hesitation, “for daring to let my mind wander.”

  Prince had a lovely smile for all the fierce power in her eyes. “Usually I would agree with you, but I think I know where your mind has gone.” She drew those same fingernails gently down the side of his face. “And I cannot compete. The beautiful boy with the innocent smile, yes?”

  Cal felt a shred of alarm.

  “People do take pictures at those events, you know,” she said without any ill will.