Sex Coach

by M. S. Parker

  Not for me .

  * * *

  L ater that night, as I sat in my room, I powered up my laptop and started a new document. There were actually two ideas in my head, but only one would work for an article .

  At least right now .

  I might write the other one, way, way, way down the road, but not anytime soon .

  For now though ...

  I tapped out the title .

  There's Something To Be Said About Anticipation .

  Humming under my breath, I wrote the first few lines, then sketched in the rest of the details, giving it enough of an outline that Aunt Blair could get an idea .

  Then I sent it off to her .

  That done, I turned out the light .

  I had something to anticipate myself. Maybe I should take notes .

  Jake and I had another date tomorrow, snow be damned .

  Twenty

  Jake

  S ometimes the job came with perks .

  Right now, I had a front row seat, opening night, to what was predicted to be one of the best plays to hit Broadway for years to come .

  Whether or not it would was yet to be seen, but so far, I was impressed .

  My client for the night was the female lead, and I was more arm candy than anything else, but it happened that way sometimes. Personally, I didn't mind at all because every time I thought about upcoming jobs that included things like the afternoon delight I'd teased Michelle about, then the delights we'd both shared, I had what could mildly be described as misgivings .

  Another way to describe those feelings was...hell, I didn't even know .

  Lost in a brood, I missed one of the lines on stage that sent the audience into a gale of laughter, and I forced my attention back to the cast, watching as my client came strutting out wearing little more than an old-fashioned teddy and stockings. She held a martini glass in one hand, and her pale blonde hair was piled on top of her hair and artfully disheveled .

  She was beautiful and elegant, sleek and sophisticated, the kind of woman I could have only dreamed of being with a decade ago – the kind of woman it hadn't even occurred to me to dream about, if I was being honest .

  Yet the sight of her, even dressed in a way that set that ripe, sexy form off, didn't do much more than cause a low-level bump of male appreciation. It wasn't even lust. I'd been with her, more than once, and she was the kind of lover I enjoyed the most – one who enjoyed giving as well as receiving .

  But I had no desire to send a quick and dirty message about how maybe she should go commando under her gown after the show – which I'd done before. It was part of the job .

  I had no desire to hunt down any place in the theater where the two of us might have a chance at five minutes alone. Even her dressing room was a risk on opening night, and she preferred not to try it there anyway .

  All I wanted to do was finish up the job as quick as I could and leave. If I got out of there before midnight, I might be able to catch Michelle .

  And that was the last thing that should be on my mind as one of the most desired women in New York City strolled across the stage and laid a hand on the chest of a supporting actor and purred, "You stand there looking at me like you can't think of anything you want more ."

  Judging by the look in his eyes, it wasn't all an act .

  I wondered if I could talk him into making a move on her tonight...getting me off easy .

  * * *

  "I t's too bad I don't have time for...more ."

  "Hmmm, my love, you have no idea." Leaning in, I pressed a kiss to my date's neck, although my brain was a million miles away and I had no desire at all for... more .

  The leading lady was one Eden Faulkner, one of the elite actresses from Broadway, and under most circumstances, I would have been content for anything and everything she had in mind .

  The thought of passing her off to the supporting actor who'd seemed so intrigued by her had seemed more and more promising right up until she introduced us, and he took in my measure, then excused himself, claiming he had a prior engagement .

  "He's got a thing for you," I'd pointed out .

  "Oh, I know. And he's adorable ...I'm considering it ."

  If only he'd waited around a little longer .

  Circumstances had changed over the past few weeks – circumstances being Michelle – and if Eden hadn't requested my services well over a month ago, I wouldn't be here .

  Hell, if Eden and I hadn't had an established arrangement for nearly a year, I wouldn't be here. I was already trying to figure out if I'd continue the arrangement or not when she slid a hand down my spine, her hand resting just above my ass .

  "You're so clever at finding...moments, Jake. Do you think you could find us one? This opening night was a bitch, and I'm all in knots," Eden said, leaning in to murmur in my ear .

  I glanced over at her, dread creeping in. I'd been worried about this. She had a thing for sex in risqué places. The last time, we'd almost gotten caught, and I'd warned her then that we couldn't have that happen again. I had already prepared an out too .

  More, I'd prepared that out with some vague thought in mind that I wasn't interested in sleeping with her. Not when I was doing this...whatever I was doing with Michelle .

  "Pet, there are more people here right now than there were at the last opening, and we almost got caught then. Remember what I told you ?"

  She laughed, a loud, lusty sound that echoed around us. "I was hoping you'd forget. Aw, well. It's your beautiful face I want with me more than anything else right now ."

  "That's because you're considering an interlude with that actor. What was his name again ?"

  A slow smile curled her lips. "René. His name is René. And...perhaps you're right ."

  A fan came scurrying up, one of the few who'd been granted all-access passes, and I faded quietly into the background as both Eden and I preferred while she spoke and signed an autograph book .

  "Hello, Jake ."

  At the sound of my name, spoken in a familiar voice, I looked up .

  "Whitley."

  Her lips curved in a smile as she sipped her wine, staring out over the mass of bodies. "You sound so surprised ."

  I was. A bit .

  But I covered and accepted the hand she offered, bending over to kiss the back of it instead of shaking. "Of course not. I recall you telling me you enjoyed the theatre. I assume you're here with your husband ?"

  Her lids flickered, mouth tightening .

  Knowing what I knew about the son-of-a-bitch, I understood why she briefly looked like she wanted to be ill, but the expression faded quickly. She pasted a bright smile on her face. "Oh, yes ."

  That meant I needed to get the hell out of here. "Where is he? I don't believe I've had the pleasure ."

  She waved a distracted hand off to the left. With her face averted, I had a chance to study her profile a bit more closely and could tell her eyes were slightly swollen, a detail she'd hidden almost perfectly with the clever use of makeup. "Oh, he's out there...somewhere. Mingling, I have no doubt. He adores these things. Besides, one of the show's leads is a...friend," she said with a long sigh .

  I inclined my head. Then, with a polite nod, I said, "I should go. I wouldn't want my date thinking I'm being inattentive ."

  She nodded, and I released her hand. But I didn't go to Eden. I faded into the background, watching. Searching .

  He was there .

  The son of a bitch .

  He was there .

  * * *

  E den found me less than ten minutes later, standing in the shadows where I often retreated when I wasn't at her side. She seemed to understand my preference for them. As much as she adored the spotlight, I had a distinct dislike for it. Perhaps that was why we fit together as well as we did .

  "I get the feeling your mi
nd is anywhere but here tonight, Jake," she said on a sigh, hooking her arm through mine. "Don't take that wrong. I'm a bit distracted myself. I'm actually thinking about calling René. But while I'm often distracted at these parties, you rarely let yourself do the same. At least, I've never known you to do so ."

  "Have I been so obvious?" I asked, too tired to play games. The man I'd been watching for so long – years – stood less than fifteen feet from me, completely unaware. Splitting my focus could cost me too much .

  That wasn't about to happen, not when I'd lost so much – given up too much .

  "Hmmm, quite. Tell me, is there a reason you're so interested in the senator ?"

  I tensed before I could stop myself. "Again, I'm being obvious ."

  "Not to the typical layperson." She sipped her martini and waved a hand. "Not even to the non-typical layperson and probably not most people in the room. It's entirely likely, plausible even, that I'm the only one who has noticed you occasionally glancing his way, and how you're very carefully staying at his back where he can't see you." She slid me a curious look. "I notice only because I'm a student of human behavior...and your behavior is a bit odd for you ."

  I clicked my tongue. "And people wonder how you can become a thousand different characters so easily." Turning my attention fully on her, I said softly, "My concern with him is my own, though, Eden. I don't wish to discuss it. I can trust you with that, can't I ?"

  "Of course." She dipped her head. "I've trusted you with a hundred dirty, torrid secrets. Let me trust you with another...stay out of his way, Jake. I've heard terrible things about him." Then she leaned in and kissed my cheek. "Why don't you go...find whatever else had you so distracted even before he showed up ."

  * * *

  I didn't go find Michelle.

  Burrowing into the long top coat I'd thrown over my suit, I walked eighteen blocks to my apartment in the frigid cold, needing the time to clear my head and focus my thoughts .

  As the neighborhood shifted from the tourist trap that was Times Square, I kept alert, paying attention to those who might notice a big guy in a nice coat – that translated to having money – but either nobody noticed me, or nobody thought I'd be worth the trouble .

  And I'd be a lot of trouble .

  I'd been a skinny, gangly kid when I'd gone into prison, but by the time I came out, I'd topped out at six-two and heavy with muscle, thanks to all the time I'd spent in the prison yard. Between taking college courses and all the other shit they pushed on a con, there wasn't much else to do but stare at the wall or work out. One could always sit on their ass, but that had never been me. I'd come out of prison looking like I'd spent those years with my own personal trainer .

  I'd also come out looking like somebody who knew how to bust in a few heads if I had to – and there had been a couple of times when I'd had to, and I'd hated every second of it. Violence had never appealed to me and appealed even less after I'd gotten out of prison. But getting my ass kicked appealed even less .

  I made it to my own neighborhood without any trouble, although I hadn't thought my way free of the tangle in my thoughts. I was a fucking whore who couldn't think past the one woman burning a hole inside me .

  The only thing that had really worked to distract me had been the sight of a man I loathed. What I'd wanted, more than anything, had been to close the distance between us and make him tell me what I wanted to know, but he had bodyguards there and the security from the theater was on hand as well. All that would have done was get me arrested. And with my record ?

  Yeah, I knew how that would turn out .

  My thoughts bounced back to Michelle, and I tried to figure out what in the hell I was going to do about her .

  I'd scared her the last time we were together. She tried to act like I hadn't, but I wasn't a moron. I'd grabbed her wrist without thinking and held her down. It was something I'd done with any number of lovers, save for Whitley, but I wouldn't do that to her, not with her history .

  Of course, her history wasn't too different from Michelle's .

  The thought of it turned my stomach, thinking about what Michelle must have gone through – and her uncle . She'd just been a kid .

  A fat white snowflake drifted down to land on my nose just as I headed up the steps to my apartment building. Shooting a dark look skyward, I muttered, "You better not interfere with my plans for the weekend ."

  Not that I had planned much of anything out, other than seeing Michelle .

  And I was nervous as hell about that .

  Almost scared, to be honest .

  How was I supposed to handle touching a woman that I might scare the next time she drove me a little crazy ?

  Twenty-One

  Jake

  I stood at the window of my apartment, watching the snow come down in fat, heavy flakes .

  I didn't like the look of it .

  I'd finally decided what I should do about Michelle and me, and here the sky was looking like it was about to dump a two-foot blanket of snow on the city .

  In just over an hour, I was supposed to meet Michelle a few blocks north .

  Earlier, she had texted and asked me for my address. Without thinking, I had given it to her although now I wished I hadn't. I lived basic .

  I mean really basic. The money I'd earned, I kept aside and tucked into various accounts, or better yet, in stacks of cold, hard cash which was locked into my safe here in my apartment. I had issues trusting the justice system, the law, banks, hell, pretty much anybody .

  It hadn't always been this way, but ever since that phone call ...

  The phone call .

  That fucking phone call .

  My mind wandered back to that day, hearing Crank's voice, raspy after years of cigarette use, as he said my name. "How ya doin', Jakes? Life on the outside treating you okay ?"

  "I'm doing okay, Crank. What about you ?"

  We didn't talk too often, but I still wrote him, called him once or twice a year. He had another five years left before he had a chance at parole, and I wanted to be the friend to him that he'd been to me, so when he called, I always answered .

  "I'm good, I'm good, kid. Listen...I got this letter. It's from some guy, Marlon McCrane ."

  Marlon.

  Fuck.

  "Don't do this," I muttered, pushing thoughts of him and the call, the letter, all of it out of my mind. I couldn't think about that part of my life and still be level when Michelle got here .

  Lately, Michelle had taken up too much of my thoughts, which wasn't good. I had a mission, something I needed to see through to the end, and not being able to focus on it wasn't good, but how was I to push that sweet, wonderful woman out of my head ?

  Lately, everything in me seemed to be screaming, the mission can get fucked . The mission didn't seem to matter the way it used to .

  At least not until I woke up from another nightmare, starting on that long, slow walk to the car, my head crazy and spinning, people around me laughing...then everything went dark, and I woke up in the hospital where they told me my mother was dead, and I was the reason why .

  "Do you remember anything, son? Anything at all ?"

  The answer had been no, and I wished to hell the sheriff who'd been at my side when I awoke had never told me what happened. I wish to hell he had never said a word, that I had never woken up. But if I'd stayed unconscious and unaware, I never would've found out what happened later. I never would have known about the letter, never would have thought things through and realized there was another explanation .

  The mission might not exist. The mission...getting answers .

  But it was damned hard thinking my way through to the next step when all I could do was think about Michelle .

  The snow continued to fall .

  Michelle and I were supposed to be seeing each other ve
ry soon, but with snow as thick as this was, I had a feeling a whole lot of New York wasn't going to be doing much of anything for the next twelve hours or so. It was supposed to snow clear through early morning, and it would take at least through dawn to get the roads cleared .

  There was a time when seeing all this white stuff would've made me so happy I would've been stupid with it. I'd never seen snow until I move to New York City. By that time, that innocent kid in me had been long dead. That innocent kid who would have loved to build a snowman, maybe gone to Central Park and played in that cold shit all day long. Played the way I'd seen others doing as I trudged around the city, first on my way to odd jobs when I worked under the table, then when I was meeting various clients .

  The knock at the door caught me off guard. Hardly anybody knew where I lived. Hell, hardly anybody other than my clients even knew I existed .

  I didn't exactly cultivate friendships. And none of those clients were going to come here for a visit or to see if I wanted to go grab a cup of coffee – most of them probably didn't even know this piece of New York even existed .

  But even as I crossed the floor, I realized I was wrong .

  There was somebody I knew via the business who knew where I lived .

  I couldn't call her a client, but she did know me through my work. I'd told Michelle where I live. Just over an hour ago. But why in the hell would she be coming here? I'd been checking my phone looking for some message from her that we would have to cancel plans for the night .

  Checking the phone, expecting the message, dreading it all the same .

  It hadn't, though. Not yet .

  My apartment didn't exactly run toward security guards, and the speaker system had long since been broken. The landlord wasn't likely to fix it anytime soon either. So anytime somebody came to visit, they had to climb the two flights of steps to see me. Fortunately, not too many people came to see me. Which, again was how I liked it .