Will You Be My Escort

by Meg Harding

Both of the twins are looking hard at him. “Oh my God,” says Dorian. “You’ve finally got a sex drive again.”

  Jackson makes a garbled noise of protest.

  They appear to be delighted at the situation. “You’re going to try to date your fake boyfriend who happens to be an escort?” asks Denver.

  Jackson motions at the boards halfheartedly. He’d like to ignore the reality of Aaron’s livelihood. The thought of him being just a job to Aaron makes his chest feel tight. “We’re supposed to be learning.”

  “We can learn after you answer our questions.”

  He sighs. “I’m not ready to date,” he says. “But I was thinking I could use this as a trial run to maybe get back out there. A vacation fling.” He’s left them speechless. He takes the opportunity to change the subject, going right in to how they should paddle and getting them acquainted with the one small step. The next time they stand up, when their paddles sink into the water, they don’t go tumbling.

  He lets his board drift toward Aaron, who’s sitting on his own and practicing paddling. “Were you watching me?” he asks, a tiny pleased smile cracking his lips.

  “Yeah. You made it look easier.” Aaron slants him a look from beneath lowered lashes. He started the lesson with sunglasses on. They’re nowhere to be seen now.

  “Do you surf?” asks Jackson, suspecting the answer is no. He lowers to a seat on his board as well, putting himself on level with Aaron. Their feet bump in the water.

  Aaron shakes his head. “I swim, and that’s about it,” he admits. Aaron clings to his board as a wave rolls them up and over.

  He reminds Jackson of a wet poodle, with his hair all plastered to his forehead and a disgruntled expression on his face. His eyes are squeezed shut, lips pursed. The movement of the water has pushed their boards closer together. Their knees are knocking. Jackson reaches out, fingers shaking a little, and pushes the wet hair back from Aaron’s forehead. It’s not in his eyes—it’s not that long—but it is dripping salt water down into them. That’s always unpleasant. His hair is stiff from the salt, not in its normal fluffy and soft state. Aaron’s exhale is hot over his wrist. Jackson shivers.

  “That better?” he asks and has to clear his throat since the words come out so husky.

  “Much,” says Aaron. “Thank you.” Aaron moves away, bringing a hand up to run it through his hair and finger comb it. There’s the faintest pink tint to his cheeks, darkening his dusky skin.

  “Did you put on sunblock?”

  “Yes,” says Aaron, laughing. “And I brought some so we can reapply it.” He waves his hand at his nose. “Your nose is already going red.”

  Jackson can feel it. He’s going to have to slather lotion on it when he gets back to the room to keep the burn from peeling. He smiles. “I can stand the color that’ll come from this. Gotta keep my tan going strong. You’ve seen Laurence. I could end up pasty like him if I don’t watch it.”

  Aaron rolls his eyes, probably because Laurence isn’t anything near pasty. “I don’t know about a tan, but I can already see some freckles making an appearance.”

  Jackson twists and turns to see what Aaron’s talking about. He startles when strong fingers grasp his chin and nearly falls off the board. Once Aaron has his attention, he brushes his thumb over the bridge of Jackson’s nose, sweeps along his cheekbones.

  “Right here. Itty bitty freckles dusting along.” He withdraws much too quickly for Jackson’s liking.

  There’s an odd look on his face, his brows furrowed and the corner of his bottom lip sucked in between his teeth. “What?” asks Jackson. He pats at his face. Is there something on it? Is there a shark behind him? He turns around and scans the ocean for fins but doesn’t see anything.

  “Nothing,” says Aaron. “Eyes are just hurting from the sun.” He waves his hand when Jackson faces him. “My sunglasses came off on my second fall. I’m going to have to get new ones later.” He squints his eyes as if to emphasize his point.

  Their instructor claps his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Our lesson will conclude in five minutes. I’d like to see you all up and standing now please.”

  Jackson smiles at Aaron. “You heard the man.” He stands easily, his board barely swaying from his own motion. Aaron wobbles as he stands, and Jackson reaches out to him, holding on as Aaron straightens. He pays more attention to Aaron’s paddling than he does his own, and he feels oddly full of pride when Aaron goes the whole five minutes without falling over.

  That pride quickly turns to secondhand embarrassment as he watches Aaron race one of his cousin’s girlfriends. They’re both… not great. Probably equally as bad as the other. Jackson’s not going to lie. He’s feeling a little embarrassed for the girl too. They’ve got an audience of random beachgoers crowded behind them as they watch. It’s turning into a spectacle. He’s seen a couple phones out.

  “What’s going on?” asks one guy.

  “Racing competition.”

  “They’re not professionals, are they?” He sounds appalled.

  Jackson puts his head in his hands.

  There are little orange floats anchored in the water, and each individual race doesn’t end till they’ve got from one to the other. The waves have chosen this moment to become more constant—though he wouldn’t say they’re rough, by any means. But the two of them keep falling over. He’s watching them chase their boards down and climb on more than he is any paddling.

  This, he thinks, is like when he’s watching a movie and the characters do something horrendously embarrassing and he has to cover his eyes because he’s feeling for them. Except he knows these people. It’s really happening in front of him.

  He has to close his eyes after the woman falls over and loses her paddle. He can’t watch her chase after it as the tide pulls it out to sea, and the waves send it briefly back toward shore. She’s swimming in circles trying to get it.

  “I think they should call this one a draw of the maximum time,” he mutters, hand over his eyes so he can’t see if for some reason he feels tempted to open them.

  “I don’t think there is a maximum time,” says James, voice tinged with horror and mirth. Like he can’t decide which emotion should win out. “But if it makes you feel better, I think Aaron’s going to get there in the next minute or two.”

  “Is he on his board?” He starts to lift up his hand.

  “Well, no. But he’s almost reached it!”

  Jackson pulls his knees to his chest and bangs his head on them.

  James pats his back. “I’m sure he’ll do really well at one of our other activities. Do you want to bet that Bastien will do better than him?”

  Jackson turns his head and lets one eye peek out to stare at him incredulously. He can see Bastien on the other side, and he looks torn between being pleased James is confident in him and peeved that he’s being bet on.

  “I’m not betting with you,” he says.

  There’s a round of cheers, and he straightens. Aaron’s sitting on his board, a foot past the orange float. He rides it in to the shore like that and looks beyond relieved to leave it in the sand. He plops into a seat beside Jackson, ignoring that half his ass is in the sand and will be covered in it when he stands.

  “I don’t like paddleboarding,” he says. “I think I should get to pick an activity so I get to do something actually fun.”

  He sounds like he’s joking, but…. “Like what?”

  Aaron looks at him in surprise. “You really want to know?”

  “I do.”

  He digs his toes into the sand, expression thoughtful. “Parasailing. I’ve never done it, but I’ve always wanted to.”

  “We can do that,” says Jackson. “The next time we have something in the morning or at night, we’ll spend the afternoon parasailing.”

  “Should we arrange it with everyone else?”

  If Aaron weren’t watching him, he’d bang his head against his knees again. “No,” he says. “We could do it just us? Unless you want everyone th
ere. But I mean…. It would be good to have a little time away from everyone, yeah?”

  “All right.” Aaron’s giving him that same look as he did earlier. Jackson wants to know what it means.

  “Jackson,” calls his mom. “You’re up.”

  He boosts himself to his feet with a hand on Aaron’s shoulder. It’s hot from the sun, but it doesn’t appear to be even a little pink yet. “Wish me luck.”

  Aaron snorts. “Good luck.”

  He’s racing Christopher, his aunt Matilda’s third husband. Christopher (who he refuses to call uncle) is thirty-five years young. The two met on a cougar cruise. He likes him. He’s a funny guy. But an uncle, he isn’t. He used to be a professional surfer.

  Jackson’s got his work cut out for him.

  They’re about neck and neck, halfway through the race, when Jackson registers the sound of cheering. He can just about make out the sound of Aaron’s deep baritone amongst the chanting of his name. It spurs him on. His arms burn with the effort to move the paddle faster, to get there first.

  He can’t help feeling disappointed when Christopher beats him by something ridiculous like two seconds.

  “You did good,” says Aaron. “Don’t beat yourself up.”

  Jackson decides to be a little brave right then. He taps Aaron’s knees, getting him to spread them, and he settles in the vee. Aaron’s chest is a wall of heat against his back. Aaron’s stiff at first, but after a few minutes, the tension leaks from his body and he wraps one arm around Jackson’s waist.

  They watch the rest of the races like that.

  AARON’S DOZING on the living room couch, Jackson’s legs tangled with his as he watches some documentary. His phone buzzes against his hip. He’s comfortable, doesn’t want to move, and so he thinks maybe he’ll just ignore it. But it keeps going.

  Jackson kicks at him lightly. “Will you answer that?”

  Grumbling, Aaron fumbles for it and swipes to pick up the call. “’Lo?” Being out in the sun all day—combined with having to control his suddenly wayward hormones—is exhausting.

  Georgina’s voice filters over the line. “Can you meet me on the beach?”

  He’d like to not move from the couch for several hours, but this is a conversation that needs to be had. “Yeah. Give me a minute.”

  Jackson does not look pleased when he starts to get up.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Meeting Tristan for a walk,” he lies. “We haven’t really had much time together so far.”

  “Oh.” Jackson looks to the TV and back to him, his blue eyes wide and reminding him of a particularly sad puppy dog. “Will you be gone long?”

  The twins are studiously not looking at either of them from where they’re stretched out on the second sofa.

  “Probably not. I won’t wake you up if you’re planning to go to bed soon.”

  Jackson’s sigh is weary as his gaze darts away. “Never mind,” he mutters. He’s twisting his fingers in his lap.

  “I’ll try not to be too long,” says Aaron. He wonders when the hell he lost his objectiveness. Why is Jackson the one who’s tugging at heartstrings that haven’t been yanked in years? He gets a small smile in return, and before he can stop and think about it, he leans down and presses a kiss to Jackson’s forehead. Jackson stills beneath him, his breath audibly hitching. Aaron swallows hard, feeling like there’s a rock lodged in his throat. “See you later.” He beats a hasty retreat.

  “You’re killing me,” he hears one of the twins say. Without being in the room to see whose mouth is moving, he can’t yet tell their voices apart.

  “Just kiss him already.”

  “He’s totally not going to say no.”

  He shuts the balcony door to his room behind him and leans against the cool glass for a minute. Well, if he had any doubts, they’ve now been dispersed. Their balcony is really just a slab of concrete that leads right onto the beach, so he continues on, easily spotting Georgina standing by the water.

  Her feet are bare, the water drifting around her ankles. They walk farther down the beach, not too much, but enough that they won’t be visible from their condos.

  “I talked to the twins,” she says, foot kicking out to send water spraying in front of them. “Apparently Jackson thinks a fling with you would be a good way to ease himself back into things.” She bites her lip. “In the end, how you handle this is up to you. But if you want my opinion, I’d prefer you not sleep with him. Since I’m paying you and all. Would be weird.”

  “I think,” says Aaron slowly, not able to believe he’s about to say what he’s going to, “that whether I sleep with him or not, you shouldn’t pay me. It doesn’t feel right.” It feels beyond wrong, and he doesn’t need the money. They’ve paid for his trip already—and he argues they would have done so either way—so this is just a vacation. That’s all. No work. He wants to help Jackson because he genuinely likes him. Way more than he should.

  He crossed that line after only spending a few hours with Jackson, he realizes. He’s put very little thought into breaking his rules this time around. But, he tells himself, it’s been a long time, and he knows what this is. It’ll be different. Already Jackson is something else.

  Georgina nods. “Please don’t hurt him.”

  Aaron won’t make promises. He can’t. But he thinks if anyone ends up hurt in this whole thing, it will be him—whether he’s prepared or not. Jackson just wants a fling. Aaron doesn’t know what he wants, but he suspects it’s not the time they have left. Logically, he should tell Jackson no. Realistically, he doesn’t think the word will leave his mouth. For the first time in a very long time, he wants.

  “This isn’t me saying I’m going to sleep with him,” says Aaron. He would really like to, will honestly probably say yes. But he thinks it’s a massively dumb idea, and he wants to give himself enough credit that he’ll try to show restraint. “This is just me saying I probably won’t say no if he asks.”

  “I’ve really fucked up with this. Haven’t I?” asks Georgina. Her blunt, white teeth worry at her bottom lip.

  It definitely wasn’t the best idea on Georgina’s part, but Aaron’s the one who went along with it. “I think we both have,” he says.

  Chapter Eight

  JACKSON HAS a plan. He thinks it’s a good one. But to make sure, he’s going to run it by Bastien before he does anything. He’s never had a fling before. He doesn’t know if there’s a rule of etiquette he needs to observe. It’s better to check these things first.

  Anyways. His plan. There’s a luau later in the evening, and there’s going to be lots of food and dancing at the beach at night. He’s going to dance with Aaron, and then he’s going to ask him if he’d like to go somewhere more private. He’s not yet sure how he’s going to ask. Every line he runs through in his head sounds unspeakably cheesy. He doesn’t want Aaron to laugh at him. The thought alone makes his stomach turn.

  He pulls Bastien aside when they get back from an afternoon of catch-and-release fishing. Aaron’s gone down to the beach for a swim, and Jackson tells him he needs to recuperate from what he found to be a boring day (it turns out he really doesn’t like fishing) by doing some yoga. Aaron seems to have an odd aversion to the exercise and disappears whenever Jackson does it.

  After a day spent sitting still for so long, Jackson thinks yoga really would be a good idea. So he talks Bastien into doing it with him, right where the beach meets their balcony that’s more of a patio.

  Bastien is amazingly flexible, though somewhat uncoordinated when it comes to the poses.

  They’re doing a simple downward facing dog when Jackson decides now is as good a time as any to spit it out. “I’ve got a plan for tonight. I was hoping you could kind of provide feedback?”

  Bastien turns his head to look at him. “Sure, but you know I’m not some big dating expert. James was a fluke, and look how that started.”

  “You’re a reasonable man. It’ll be fine.” He switches poses, sinking down to his
elbows and spreading his legs wide. “So I was thinking I could dance with him tonight. Be all flirty. Maybe take him for a walk along the beach, and then kiss him.”

  “That sounds good.” Bastien’s rear end wiggles in the air as his legs slip a little too wide, and he scrambles to stop himself from going into a split.

  “It’s the asking him back to the room part that I’m stuck on,” admits Jackson. “Everything I think of sounds cheesy.”

  “Well, you’re already sharing a bed,” says Bastien. “So wouldn’t you just be like, let’s go back to the room?”

  Jackson blinks. That is very simple. Why didn’t he think of it? Probably because it’s almost too easy. “Will he know that means I want to… you know?”

  He can’t see Bastien’s face, but he knows he’s rolling his eyes. “If you say it after you kiss him, I would think it would be fairly obvious. He doesn’t seem like the clueless type.”

  “I’ve been flirting with him nonstop for the last two days, and he hasn’t done anything.” He puts his head on his mat and brings his legs together, slowly bringing them to a straight line above his head.

  “Well, he could be thinking you’re acting since you’re supposed to be fake boyfriends and all. Just a thought.”

  Bastien has a point. Jackson lowers one leg to a diagonal position and holds the pose. “Do I need to tell him what I want?” he asks.

  “In my experience that’s how you have good sex, yes.”

  “Not like that,” says Jackson, huffing from the exertion of holding his position. “I don’t need sex advice. I meant like, do I need to tell him this is a fling? Or will he know?” There’s a loud thump, and Jackson twists his head as much as he can to see that Bastien has fallen over. He’s splayed out on his mat, limbs dangling over into the sand. His eyes are closed. “Are you okay?”

  “M’fine,” says Bastien. He doesn’t move, not even to open his eyes. “Personally I would tell him. You want to avoid any awkwardness later.” His nose scrunches up. “Did James ever tell you I thought we were a fling at first because we didn’t make things clear right away? It’s good to establish these things. Helps avoid hurt feelings.”