Will You Be My Escort

by Meg Harding

  “Because you never went on proper dates,” says Jackson. His brother told him. “I remember. Georgina had to help him deal with the baseball crisis.”

  Jackson lowers his legs slowly and lies down on his stomach. He props his arms up and stretches his back. He can see that Bastien’s eyes have flown open, and he’s glaring up at the sky.

  “Crisis?” Bastien asks, a bite to his tone.

  So maybe Jackson could have used a better word. “He didn’t use that word,” he hastens to say. “Georgina took to calling it that later on.”

  Bastien doesn’t look mollified.

  Jackson thinks he should probably shut up now.

  “TRY THIS,” says Aaron, using his knife and fork to transfer a chunk of fish onto Jackson’s plate. It’s dripping chunks of something yellow and red. Pineapple and peppers maybe? “It’s really good.”

  Around them everyone is either eating or roaming up and down the buffet table to find food. There are so many options it’s almost too many. Jackson hadn’t known what to pick, just that everything looked good, and he definitely couldn’t eat it all. On the stage across from them, men and women are dancing, bare skin gleaming in the firelight.

  He spears the fish on his fork and pops it in his mouth. That’s pineapple all right. He chews slowly, trying to figure out what everything is. There’s peppers and onion in the salsa mix on top, and he thinks the fish is salmon, but he could be wrong. It is good, though. Spicy and sweet at the same time.

  “I like it,” he says. They’re sitting so close that their legs are pressed together from thigh to knee, and Aaron is a long line of heat against him. It’s an effort to keep his leg from bouncing with nerves, and he’s half tempted to give in to the urge to see if Aaron will rest a hand on him to hold him steady. He really likes that. “Do you want something of mine?”

  “Surprise me.” Aaron’s gaze takes in his plate. “What do you like?”

  He contemplates all of the food he’s piled on it. How is he supposed to pick one thing?

  Aaron laughs. “Don’t overthink it. You’ll know what you want to share when you taste it.”

  Jackson narrows his eyes. “For someone who doesn’t do yoga, you’re awfully Zen.”

  A forkful of some colorful rice mix ends up on his plate. “Well,” says Aaron, “the opposite could be said of you. You’re awfully un-Zen for someone who does yoga. Isn’t that supposed to relax you? Lower stress?”

  Jackson cuts off a corner of his mahimahi that’s covered in sesame seeds and has some as-of-yet unidentified sauce over the top. He sets it on Aaron’s plate. “There,” he says. “Was that picked with little enough thought?” He smiles to make it clear he’s teasing and not actually snappish. He is not good at this. He can tell other people what to do just fine in situations like this, but when it comes to himself, it’s like all his knowledge has gone out the window. He thinks that’s highly unfair.

  He needs the night to move on to the dancing part. He can let his body talk for him.

  He makes the mistake of sipping on his wine while Aaron tastes his mahimahi. He chokes on it when Aaron makes a little moan of delight.

  His broad hand is resting in the center of Jackson’s back a moment later. “Are you okay?”

  Jackson coughs and clears his throat. Why must Aaron be so vocal when he likes his food? This is the pancakes all over again. “I’m fine. Swallowed wrong,” he says. He likes the warm pressure of Aaron’s hand along his spine. Would it be weird if he leaned back and made sure Aaron couldn’t move it? Yes, very weird. So maybe he won’t do it. He needs to distract himself. “Are you liking Hawaii?”

  “Of course.” Aaron laughs and takes his hand back. His long fingers break a bread roll in half. “It’s so gorgeous here, and everyone is nice. I’ve done my share of traveling, and you don’t always get helpful locals.”

  Jackson knows exactly what he means. “Where else have you been? Maybe we’ve been to some of the same places.”

  “If we’re talking out of the country, I did a tour of Italy a few years ago. I’ve been to France and Spain. Jamaica and Mexico.” He smiles. “Canada. But I don’t know if that counts? It almost feels like going to another state since it’s right there.”

  “It counts,” says Jackson, helpless to do anything but smile back. He loves the way Aaron’s dark eyes crinkle at the corners when he grins. His lashes are insanely long. As a blond who puts on mascara to make his own look lush, Jackson is appropriately jealous. “I’ve not been to Spain or Jamaica. But I’ve been to the others for work several times. Which was your favorite?” He’s so glad his mom isn’t sitting near them. This is not a conversation an established couple would be having.

  “You’ve never been for fun? I really liked the nontourist parts of Italy. The small beachside towns where no one speaks English, and you’re left all on your own to explore. There’s something about those places that has a kind of magic to it.”

  Jackson has to finish chewing his mouthful of tuna before he can respond, and when he does, he’s derailed by Aaron sweeping his thumb over the corner of his mouth. “Uh,” he says intelligently.

  Aaron smiles sheepishly. “You had sauce making a break for it. What were you going to say?”

  Jackson has no idea what he was planning to say. He blinks. “Um.” He can’t remember what the question is. He shakes his head, hoping that’ll rattle his sense into place. They were talking about travel and Italy…. “I really liked Italy. Beautiful beaches.” Aaron gives him a funny look, and Jackson feels the blood rush to his cheeks. He ducks his head toward his plate.

  Luckily for him, the music around them picks up, and the dancers onstage disappear only to come back a minute later with blazing torches in their hands. He’s seen them do this before, but it never loses its awesomeness.

  “Oh,” he breathes, reaching out unthinkingly to grab Aaron’s forearm. “You’ll love this.”

  Onstage the dancers are beginning to whirl the lit torches around, literally dancing with fire. It’s mesmerizing, and the fire leaves flickering trails of blurred lines behind as they spin and move almost too quickly for the eye to catch.

  Taking a deep breath and not looking away from the impressive display taking place before him, he slides his hand down without breaking contact and lets his palm rest against Aaron’s. His exhale is a shuddering sigh of relief when Aaron entwines their fingers. Jackson doesn’t mind holding hands like this, when they’re sitting there and not moving. It’s sweet, he thinks. Intimate.

  It makes it very easy to tug Aaron up to dance when couples start heading for the floor.

  Aaron goes easily, and once they’re on the dance floor, he swings Jackson to face him and drops his hand to grab his hips. Jackson wraps his arms around his neck, lets his fingers play with the short curled hair at the base of Aaron’s neck. Their fronts are pressed together, no space left between them. Jackson feels short of breath just from this.

  And then the dancing begins.

  The music is drum heavy, perfect for lots and lots of hip movement. Jackson is a pro at moving his hips, and apparently so is Aaron. What little air he has left punches from his chest and refuses to come back as Aaron’s hips roll indecently against his. It’s the most uncoordinated he’s ever felt, trying to keep up with the rhythm when his mind doesn’t want to focus on anything other than how his stomach feels like there’s molten lava sloshing around in it.

  Resting his head on Aaron’s shoulder, he mouths lightly at his neck. He hears Aaron’s breathing catch, feels the way his fingers flex against his hips. Growing bolder, he kisses up till he can suck on the sensitive skin behind his ear. Aaron’s exhale is a wavering shudder.

  “Jackson,” he says, voice strained and husky.

  “Mhmm?” He swipes his tongue over his skin, tastes him. This isn’t part of his plan, though he supposes it is flirting of a certain kind. He didn’t factor in how irresistible the long stretch of Aaron’s neck would look so close to his face. It’s weird. He’s never
had this urge to be so touchy with any of his other dates. He certainly didn’t like it when they acted like this.

  “What are you doing?”

  He pulls away, averts his eyes to a random point over Aaron’s shoulder. His face feels like it’s on fire. “Oh,” he says, stomach sinking to his feet. Why did he have to choose now to do something new? “Do you… do you not…. That is to say….” He can’t spit it out.

  Aaron steps back, but he moves one of his hands to the middle of Jackson’s back and pushes. “Let’s take a walk.”

  That’s supposed to be Jackson’s line.

  “Sorry to steal your thunder,” says Aaron, chuckling. “I could pretend I didn’t say it, and you did? I didn’t know there was a script.” He smiles, soft and easy. He looks charmed, but it doesn’t help Jackson feel better.

  Jackson covers his face with his hands. His skin is hot. He needs to stop blurting out what he’s thinking around Aaron. “No,” he says, voice muffled by his palms. “That’s not necessary.”

  Aaron nudges him forward. “I like that you say what you’re thinking,” he says. “You can stop hiding your face.”

  He reluctantly brings his hands down, and they quickly leave his family behind. It’s easy to slip away with no one paying any attention to them. Aaron leads him far enough down the beach that the lights from the luau are nothing but blurs in the distance. He tows him to the waterline and takes his hand so that when he sits, Jackson is forced to go with him. The water laps up and tickles their toes before receding.

  “I think,” says Aaron, “we should start with what you want.”

  Jackson wants his hand back so he can spin the ring on his middle finger round and round as a distraction. “Um.” He stares out over the water, watching the hotel lights flicker over the rippling waves. “So I was thinking.” He clears his throat. Why couldn’t Aaron have stuck to his plan? He didn’t prepare for a different circumstance. “I think you’re pretty hot.” He cringes. Keep going. Fix it. “And you think I’m attractive? And there’s no reason we couldn’t have some… fun while we’re here.”

  He can’t bring himself to look at Aaron. He wants the ground to swallow him.

  “I got the impression you’re not really a ‘have fun’ in that way type of guy. Your sister implied you’re a serious relationship type of guy.”

  Jackson digs his toes into the sand and takes a deep breath. This isn’t his family. It’s somehow easier to get the words out. They’ve been crammed in his head for a while now. “I’ve always wanted the real deal, and I think I’ve been trying too hard. I’m so busy trying to get this image I have in my head that I’m not… I’m not actually accomplishing anything.” He smiles bitterly. “I’m not oblivious. There’s a whole stage of life I skipped because I wanted something real, and look where I am now. No offense to you, but a fake boyfriend who’s being paid to be here so people will get off my back about me not dating isn’t exactly where I saw myself, you know?”

  He sinks his free hand into the sand beside him, wiggles his fingers to feel the grains trickle over his skin. “I don’t want to be set up. I’m tired of hearing ‘so and so is perfect for you.’ This last year, I haven’t met anyone who makes me want to get involved. And the idea of a fling is… it’s messy. What if I get attached because they’ll be around for a while? But then I met you, and you’re not going to be staying.”

  He rubs at his face. “I know that comes off awful. And you can always tell me no. I’d totally understand. But it’s just that you’re not a permanent fixture, and you’re already here and playing the role. So I thought, you know, it might be fun for you too. And then we go back to our own lives with a new experience, but we don’t have to deal with a messy aftermath ’cause I’ll be in New York, and you’ll be in California.”

  Finally he looks at Aaron. His face is turned away. Jackson squeezes his hand. “Does that make any sense? Should I…. Did I explain it well enough?”

  AS ALWAYS, he has a choice. There is yes, and there is no. He should say no. He wants to want to say no. But what he really wants is to say yes. His gaze tracks the blur of a fish leaping from the water. The tiny splash it makes when it disappears beneath the surface. He thought that he was over this, that he came to grips with the line he was about to cross. It’s not like he hasn’t been expecting this all day.

  Now the moment is here, and he feels frozen. He can’t say yes just because he’s worried about a “no” hurting Jackson. But isn’t that an answer in and of itself? He likes him so much, cares so much about him, that he wants to help him. He wants to see Jackson as he would be had assholes not trampled all over him in his past relationships.

  Does that desire—which shows his own feelings for the man—outweigh the potential negatives? Will Aaron end up with his own heart broken at the end of this vacation? It’s less than two weeks now, he thinks. A person can’t fall in love in so short a time. At the most he’ll become infatuated. And surely that will fade quickly once they leave.

  This started as a job, and now it’s most definitely not. By telling Georgina to keep the money, he’s already made a decision, really. He’s never been one to waffle over what he does. Overthinking never does anyone any good.

  “You don’t need to explain again,” he says slowly, finally turning to look at Jackson. The man looks seconds away from bolting. His teeth are sunk into his bottom lip, and he’s chewing nervously. Aaron reaches out with his free hand, brushes his thumb over the plump flesh until Jackson’s teeth let go and his lips part on a sigh. There are little dents where he’s abused the skin. Aaron rubs them. “You’ve got to stop biting your lips.”

  Jackson’s tongue peeks out slowly, grazing over his finger before retreating. Aaron releases a heavy exhale. His cock twitches in his shorts. He hasn’t been this eager since he was in his teens.

  “I’m going to say let’s do this,” he says. “I told your sister to stop paying me. That’s a line I’m not willing to cross. But I want it to be clear that should this become more than either of us can handle, the option to stop is always there.”

  “It won’t,” says Jackson, face set in stubborn lines. “I’m not ready to let feelings get involved in anything just yet. And like I said, you’re going back to California. Living on opposite sides of the country isn’t conducive to a joined future.” He smiles broadly. “This is going to be different. We’re going to have fun.”

  Fun, in the context Jackson means it, is something Aaron hasn’t had in a long time. Maybe, if he’s careful, this will be a helpful experience for him too. If it proves to be too much, he can always back out. The option is there. He grasps Jackson’s chin and tilts his face up. If they talk much more, he’s going to think it to death. They’ve kissed before, brief brushes of lips, but this will be their first real one. Aaron feels absurdly nervous. He’s never felt nervous about kissing someone before. He’s going to chalk this up to the circumstances being so precarious and unusual.

  The first touch of lips is soft, testing. There’s no pressure or nudge for more, just a quick glancing of warm lips. The next brush is firmer, less hesitant, more real. They’re at an awkward angle, necks twisted to make the kiss work, but that doesn’t stop Aaron from steadily deepening the kiss. With his hand on Jackson’s jaw, he can feel the way it works as he kisses back. When he sweeps his hand down, he can feel the bob of Jackson’s Adam’s apple as he swallows heavily. He can feel as well as hear the way the breath catches in his throat. He swallows the noises Jackson makes as he teases his tongue past his lips, dips in for the barest of tastes.

  He shifts so he’s straddling Jackson, so he can clasp his face with both hands and direct him as he wants. Sand moves under his knees, framed on either side of Jackson, and he braces himself so he doesn’t bang their heads together. He’s thinking an injury won’t fit the mood. Jackson makes a startled noise, hands flying up to his shoulders, down to his hips, hovering over his ribs.

  Aaron pulls away, rubs his lips over Jackson’s cheekbone. �
�You can touch wherever you want,” he says, his voice absurdly husky from their activities. “Whatever’s comfortable.”

  Jackson’s nose trails along his jawline, his exhale rushing hot over Aaron’s neck. He settles his hands on Aaron’s hips, tentatively flexes his fingers. Aaron rolls into the motion, encouraging Jackson to grip harder, to leave marks. “I’m not porcelain,” he says against Jackson’s mouth. “You’re not going to break me.”

  The sound Jackson makes is a cross between a high sigh and a whimper. Aaron swallows it down, mouth moving insistently against Jackson’s once more, tongue tangling with his. Everything is wet heat and needy gasps, wandering hands that occasionally dip under his clothes and short nails that brush lightly over his shivering skin. He keeps his own hands on Jackson’s face, lets his fingers explore the hollows of Jackson’s cheeks, the arch of his bones, and the softness of his skin.

  It takes a little while, but eventually Jackson grows bolder. He kisses back harder. His hands slide down, fingers dipping below the waistline of Aaron’s shorts. Aaron can feel him, hard against him, hips doing little mindless hitches up as he searches for more friction. They’re going to need to move this to a bed. Sand is already everywhere. He’s not going to take his clothes off and lie in it.

  He just has one problem. He doesn’t want to stop kissing Jackson. It feels like they’re magnets, and their lips are being drawn together. Every time he pulls away, he finds himself going right back. It’s dark on the beach, though, just faint flickering lights, and he can’t make out any of Jackson’s beautiful features. His blue eyes are nothing but shadows, his no-doubt flushed cheeks concealed. Aaron wants to see the way his cheeks pinken for him. He wants to trace the excitement with his lips and his fingers, watch the flush spread from his face to his chest and maybe lower.

  The noises Jackson makes when he tries to pull away don’t help.