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 r
ealized 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.
He absolutely should not have taken that call. It made him feel weird, disconnected somehow. He felt without an anchor.
Gabe had Mike. She had friends to talk about and places to go where she’d be greeted with a smile. She had a house that was so obviously hers. She talked to total strangers without wondering if they would ask about her rates or wonder if she’d ever been with someone of her own gender.
He had…his job.
But he loved his job. Didn’t he? He loved being with a different woman every night. He enjoyed overcoming the occasional shyness and instilling new confidence. The challenge of figuring out what made any given woman coo and sigh thrilled him.
Hell, he had sex more than anybody he knew. He loved being an escort. Wouldn’t change a thing.
But she had friends. Family. A life. He had…other people’s fantasies.
Then again, what was wrong with living out other people’s fantasies? He was in high demand. He was a healthy, active, thirty-year-old man in a sprawling, busy city, and more people knew his name—well, his escort name—than he could begin to sit down and count. He’d had to tell Regina to cut back on his calls just this month. Even he couldn’t have that much sex.
But now that he thought of it, he seemed to remember more and more of the faces he romanced lately. He wasn’t really seeing different women every night. In fact, as he pictured his schedule for next week, he realized that of the twenty women he’d booked, ten were…regulars.
Four of those even had a specific night of the week. He was…a Thursday Night Special. A Wednesday Night Special. A Friday Night Special. Even a Monday Night Special.
He used to refuse Monday nights during football season so he could watch the game. That Sara chick had somehow talked him into giving up his Monday Night Football. Good God, he was as regimented as any husband. When had that happened?
He pulled into his usual parking space and stared up at his apartment complex, looking for anything that made his window and balcony different from anyone else’s. That made it his own. He saw bright red curtains glowing in one window, bright blue in another. Porch furniture sets on balconies. Potted plants galore, though winter had killed off any flowers or greenery long before now.
Nothing in his own window but the standard blinds. Nothing on his balcony but his ten-speed, and he wasn’t the only person with one of those by far.
Did he make any personal impression at all on his surroundings? He thought of white siding and charcoal shutters. He thought of the comfortable-looking porch swing. It was the most hideous shade of green known to man, but he’d wanted to sit in it and swing, just to see if the chains squeaked like they were supposed to. He thought of a loft bedroom, a spiral wrought-iron staircase, a crooked smile, a woman baking her own birthday cake because everyone at work requested it.
He made a mean tuna casserole. Did anyone even know that?
His apartment, too, greeted him with open arms, but instead of the smile he’d tried at the city limits, it received an outright scowl in return. Generic in every sense of the word. Basic furniture. White walls. The only thing remotely unique was his computer center. That, he had blown some serious coin on. Everything else…
He knew escorts who had turned their apartments into pleasure palaces, but he’d made a promise to himself back when he started that he would never bring clients home. Now he couldn’t even remember why. It wasn’t like he didn’t have the money to spruce up the place. He had saved most of what he’d earned over the years. Why hadn’t he at least tried to make
the place more homey?
Vaguely depressed, he dropped his bag on the couch that had come with the apartment and went to his bedroom. Comfy mattress, but nothing special. Plain gray sheets and comforter. He lay back on his boring, generic bed and stared up at the ceiling.
He liked his life. Always had. So why did he suddenly not?
She’d probably called her sister as soon as he left. Had anyone even noticed he was out of town for the night? Was she already hanging out with the friends she’d mentioned with such laughter and fun in her tone? With any of the half-dozen acquaintances who had passed their table?
Who could he call to touch base with? Of whom could he ask all of these new questions?
He did have friends, of course, but none like that. Not here, anyway. There was always Brad out in San Diego. He hadn’t talked to him in a coon’s age—since the other escort had given up the business and moved out West. Maybe he should give him a call tonight. See if the old Brad-meister had any advice for an escort-about-town who was starting to feel like a kept man.
And maybe he’d see if Brad had an extra room he could use for a while. A vacation—especially to sunny California—might be just the thing to get him back on his feet.
If worse came to worst, he could always work on his tan.
A long-time paralegal, Gabe knew how to keep a secret. Confidentiality training was part of the hiring process at any law firm. She never shared details of her cases—not with Doug or Phil, her closest friends, or with Mike, to whom she told everything else.
She would never in a million years know how her own secret got out so quickly.
“So, who is he?”
“Who is who?”
Cheryl Myers, one of the two receptionists at the firm and the only person she considered a friend both outside of work and in, perched on the edge of Gabe’s desk and smiled saucily.
“Whoever put that glow all over your face.”
My Gigolo: The Care and Feeding of a Male Prostitute Page 5
