Shrugging, he stood and unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. He could use a shower to wash away some of the stress of the day. Being the go-to guy was exciting, yes, but working with a deadline took some getting used to. As did not sharing the excitement.
But he could always tell her later when he told her the whole truth.
“Gabe?”
She smiled. Jack sounded so surprised to hear from her. After all, it was the first time she had called him.
“I kinda hesitated to call. I didn’t want to interrupt anything.”
“No, no. You’re not interrupting.” Now he sounded pleased. “What can I do for you?”
“I was just wondering what time you think you’ll be down this weekend.”
“Ah, those plans I’m not supposed to know about, I take it?”
She put up a token protest, her smile turning to her more usual crooked grin. “Of course not. You’re getting nothing but a boxed cake mix and some macaroni and cheese.”
“Will you be wearing the boxed cake mix and macaroni and cheese?”
Laughing, she twisted back and forth in her office chair and fiddled with her favorite pen on her desk. “Now there’s an image.”
“Oh, yeah. I’m picturing it now.”
“Who knew you were a food perv?”
“There’s a lot of stuff you don’t know about me.”
“I don’t doubt it.” She was inordinately glad no one could see the sappy expression on her face. “Maybe I’ll ask about some of that stuff sometime. Until then, do you know when you might be down?”
“Aw, it’s so flattering that you can’t wait to see me.”
“Yeah, yeah. Now gimme.”
“I could probably be there by eight. Maybe earlier if I skip the shower and pack ahead of time so I don’t have to stop by the apartment.”
“No, take your time. I don’t want you ending up in an accident or anything.”
“Aw, Gabe, you’re such a softie.”
“Oh, hush.” But she smiled again and bit at her lower lip. “And drive safe. I’ll see you then?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. And I’ll bring my appetite.”
“Sicko.”
“Food-sex Nazi.”
Laughing, she hung up on him and dropped her cell phone into her purse. She stood with a stretch and headed for the front desk, hoping Cheryl hadn’t left for lunch yet. Her luck was in.
“Thank you for calling Donnigan & Callum. This is Cheryl. How may I help you?”
She leaned on the desk’s raised ledge and looked down at her friend with a smile. Cheryl’s phone voice was completely different from her speaking voice. It was almost nine-hundred-number sexy, though never unbusinesslike.
“He’s out to lunch at the moment, ma’am. Can I take a message, or would you prefer voice mail?” She looked up and rolled her eyes. “No problem, ma’am. Hold just a moment while I transfer you.”
Cheryl pushed a few buttons, then took off her headset, her hands fretting at her pretty, if not naturally red, hair.
“Having fun yet?”
“Please, please tell me it’s lunch time.”
“It is. Want some pub fries? I know a great place.”
Wrinkling her nose, her friend stood and brushed at her skirt. “I don’t want to come back smelling like smoke. Can we hit the deli on the corner? I’m not starving, really, just tired of listening to the phone ring.”
“Can do. Besides, I want to ask you something important.”
Blue eyes narrowed and focused like tracking lasers. “Ask away.”
“Oh, no.” Impervious to Cheryl’s penetrating stare, Gabe grinned. “Not until we’re seated comfortably at some place with Coke and food.”
A few token protests got them to the door, and a few more digs for information had them standing in line at the deli. The smallish restaurant was only a block and a half away from the law office, so they were well used to both the walk and the wait.
“Come on. We’re here.”
“I have no Coke. I am incapable of asking important favors without Coke.”
“Aha! So it’s a favor.”
“You are impossible.”
“Just tell me, already.”
But she refused to be swayed until they were comfortably ensconced in a ferny, sunny corner with sodas before them and menus folded on the table. When she’d delayed as long as possible, Gabe folded her hands primly on the table and met her friend’s impatient gaze.
“I would very much like you to join us at Arg, Me Hearties this weekend for Jack’s birthday.”
Cheryl’s eyes widened. “The guy?”
“Yup. The guy.”
“You want me to hang around with you and the guy?”
“And Doug and Phil, of course.”
She blinked, her mouth dropping open. “You’re introducing him to The Friends?”
“Bite your tongue. I already have.”
“No. Way.”
“Come on, are you in?”
“Of course. I have got to meet this guy.” Her eyes narrowed and a strange smile twisted her lips. “Plus, I can’t wait to see Phil again. He is so easy on the eyes, even if he’s a little young for me.”
“Jack ain’t so bad, either.”
“Yeah, but I can’t have Jack, can I?”
Gabe rolled her eyes. “No. And you don’t have to try to jealous me into my feelings. I’ve already admitted them. Back off, Man Hound.”
Cheryl sat back and crossed her legs at the knee, smoothing her business-short skirt straight along her thighs. “Just doin’ what I can with what I got.”
“And yes, I want you to meet him.” She shifted, dropping her gaze to her place setting. “I think he needs more friends, and you guys are the best I have. Plus, I trust you all not to make a scene and make him uncomfortable.”
“A scene?”
She’d come this far. No sense chickening out now. “Well, it’s like this. Remember when I said it wasn’t possible for us to have any kind of relationship?”
“Of course.”
“It’s because…and please don’t take this the wrong way because he’s a great guy and has become a very good friend on top of everything else. But he’s…” She paused, then continued in a lower voice. “A male prostitute.”
Silence. She didn’t dare look up. She picked at the linen napkin wrapped around her silverware, straightened her place setting, plucked at the corner of her menu. The silence grew until it seemed to block out even the ambient restaurant noise around them.
“Still in?”
“Yes.”
Another quiet fell between them. Thankfully, the waiter arrived to take their orders and remove their menus. Unfortunately, that left her with one less thing to fiddle with.
“Are you going to say anything?”
“I’m thinking.”
She risked a peek. Cheryl sat frowning directly at her but didn’t seem upset or angry. Just deep in concentration.
“He’s not what you’d expect.”
The frown didn’t lessen. “And how would you know what to expect from a male prostitute?”
“Touché.”
Silence again. The waiter brought their breadsticks and honey butter, and she gratefully dug in, glad to have something useful to do with her hands. She’d just taken a bite when Cheryl finally unloaded.
“How on earth did you end up dating a male prostitute?”
She choked on a laugh, sucking a chunk of bread down her throat. She really needed to stop eating with friends. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear they were all trying to kill her Mama Cass style. Thank God she hadn’t ordered a ham sandwich.
A few gulps of water set her aright, and she shook her head. “My sister bought him for me.”
“Your sister?” Cheryl’s eyes looked ready to fall out. “She of the Big Wisdom? She bought him for you?”
Gabe nodded. “For my birthday. I guess you could say it worked.”
Now Cheryl choked, though she hadn’t eate
n a thing. “But how…?”
Shrugging, she picked at her breadstick. “He asked to stay. I said okay. He’s been coming back ever since.”
“And you love him.”
Blushing across her nose, she nodded.
“And you have no idea how he feels about you.”
“Of course I do. He likes me just fine. Plus, like I said before, I’m safe for him. He knows he doesn’t have to be on his game, doesn’t have to pretend, doesn’t have to earn his pay with me. He just…shows up.”
“And you’re okay with this?”
“It’s perfect. I tried to explain it before, but I couldn’t without telling you everything.”
Blinking, Cheryl nodded. “I guess it makes more sense now, in a weird way. And you won’t tell him because you don’t want him to quit?”
“Not for me. I won’t ask him to do that or make him feel obliged to.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know whether to pity you or congratulate you.”
“I’ll settle for you showing up for mini golf and being nice to him Saturday.”
“Oh, I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
“Good. Eat some bread.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Chapter Eleven
Spoil Your Gigolo
He’d promised to drive safely. He hadn’t promised to drive the speed limit.
Thus, he wasn’t terribly surprised to find no lights on in the house when he pulled into Gabe’s driveway. She’d probably run out to get something. If she had left her key on the back stoop, he’d just slip in and stash his duffle bag upstairs. And hide the surprise he’d brought for her, of course.
He schlepped his stuff around the back of the house and smiled when he lifted the mat on the back stoop. The key was right where he’d left it. He couldn’t wait to surprise her when she returned. He loved watching her whole face light up, watching that crooked grin take over. He’d jump through a lot of hoops to see it every day.
Thinking such pleasant thoughts, he let himself in, replaced the key under the mat, and locked the door behind him so he wouldn’t forget later. He didn’t bother turning on any lights on his way through the utility room and kitchen. The evening sunlight illuminated the house well enough, despite the filter of giant oaks to the west. Besides, he knew his way well enough now to navigate in the dark if needed.
He ran a hand over the back of a dining room chair on his way past, musing again on how much he liked this house. It was familiar in a way his apartment wasn’t. Welcoming. The air continually smelled of sandalwood and vanilla, two scents that would likely always remind him of Gabe. Her candles were one scent, and she was the other. The combination did wonderful things for both his heart and his libido.
Grinning at the trickle of heat down his spine, he bee-lined for the spiral staircase. He wanted to stash his clothes and hide her present before she caught him in the act, and he really had no idea when she might be home. Had she needed to work late at the last moment? Maybe she’d like a nice full-body massage when she finally dragged in. He ought to see if she had any baby lotion.
Lost in such pleasant thoughts as he reached the top of the stairs, he didn’t notice her lounging on the bed until she cleared her throat. He stopped mid-step, his grin dropping in stunned surprise, his eyes widening.
“Promise to help me wash the sheets?”
He blinked. She lay naked on her side, her cheek propped in her hand. Before her lay a chocolate cake on a platter and a big bowl of macaroni and cheese. As he watched, she dipped the first two fingers of her free hand into the latter, then raised them to her mouth to lick them clean.
“This is bound to be messy.”
Dropping his duffle bag, he stripped his T-shirt off over his head and shed his jeans and shoes. She watched with a little smirk.
“I take it the cake is from a box?”
“As per your instructions.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I believe there was one more stipulation to your birthday request.”
She dragged the same two fingers through the frosting and shifted to trace a chocolatey line from between her collar bones to her belly button. He had to concentrate on not drooling. God, hadn’t he imagined licking chocolate off of her on that first trip so long ago?
Off came his underwear. He stepped closer and knelt at the edge of the bed.
“You know, a can of frosting would have worked just as well.”
She shrugged and reached out to smear chocolate over his lower lip. “You wanted cake. You got cake. And macaroni and cheese.”
Staring at her, he made a show of sucking the frosting off his lower lip. Her eyes studied the move, darkening with what he sincerely hoped was desire.
“I want you smothered with frosting. Do I get that, too?”
“Only if you promise to help wash the sheets.”
“I promise.” He leaned down and flicked his tongue at the chocolate between her breasts.
Her breath caught. “This is going to take a while, isn’t it?”
“I certainly hope so.”
He did indeed help with the sheets, so she indulged him further by throwing together a few monster sandwiches and ignoring his heckling on the subject of their size. Just to spite him, she added more turkey. Unfortunately, his smug smile left her wondering if that hadn’t been his plan all along.
Swaddled in comfortable pajamas, they collapsed on the couch with sandwiches, soda, and re-warmed macaroni and cheese. Smiling with utter content, she settled back against him and balanced her plate on her outstretched legs. His chest flexed as he reached for his Coke, his heart thudding at her back and his musky, perfect scent all around her. She could get used to this.
It was kung fu instead of zombies on the TV, but the similarity to an earlier such homey scene didn’t completely escape her. She wondered for a moment why she didn’t feel disappointment, that sinking sense of things going wrong, the need to remove herself from the situation and think things out. Then, shrugging, she let it go. It probably didn’t matter anymore.
“How was work this week?”
She swallowed a mouthful of mac and cheese and cleared her throat. “Good, I guess. You?”
“Surprisingly good.”
After a moment of waiting for elaboration, she went on. “Any new and fascinating clients?”
“Nope.” Again, he didn’t elaborate.
“Oh.”
Studly Asian men kicked each others’ asses on the screen for a long, quiet moment. Just as the action regained her interest, he spoke.
“I talked to my dad this week.”
“Oh?”
He took a bite of sandwich and chewed for a long moment. “Before he called a couple of months back, I hadn’t talked to him in two years.”
She blinked, turning to look up at him over her shoulder. “Why not?”
“I smarted off to him about being a male prostitute and never called back.”
“Oh.” For a long moment, she debated changing the subject. “So what changed?”
“I don’t know, really. He just called out of the blue. We’ve talked a couple of times since. I think it’s gonna be okay between us.”
“What about your mom?”
“I haven’t talked to her in three years.”
“Still?”
“Still.”
To avoid saying “oh” again, she kept her mouth shut. So that’s why he hadn’t talked about his family before. But he was doing so now of his own volition. Was that good or bad?
“Any siblings?”
“Nope.” The word was muffled by a bite of sandwich.
“Oh.” Damn it. “So what do you do on Thanksgiving and Christmas?”
Instantly regretting perhaps the stupidest and most thoughtless question to ever cross her lips, she sat up and turned around, putting a hand on his chest and nearly dumping her sandwich to the floor.
“I am so sorry. That came out all wrong.”
But he merely grinned and opened his arms,
plate in one hand and can in the other. Relieved that he wasn’t mortally offended at her tactlessness, she lay back against him and resettled her late night snack.
“I really don’t celebrate the holidays except the occasional Halloween.” He shrugged. “I used to call Dad, at least, but not last year. I will this year, though.”
“You don’t spend them with friends? Co-workers?” She forced a snicker. “Clients?”
He chuckled. “You’d be amazed at how quickly the holidays force people to be monogamous. Apparently, it’s a sin to hire an escort during Christmas unless you’re already alone.”
“I’ll bet. Do a lot of married women call you?”
“More than I like to think of. They usually say they’re single, but most of them have a suspicious tan line around their left third finger.”
“That’s…kind of sad.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
A little lull fell between them, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. She realized that he’d quite efficiently changed the subject, but she wasn’t sure it was her business to bring the conversation back on track. She wasn’t sure he wanted to talk at all, but he’d seemed ready to finally identify himself beyond his job, and she hated to lose the opportunity to learn more about him.
“Would it be awful to ask why you don’t talk to your mother?”
He paused just long enough that she began to worry she’d overstepped her bounds. He didn’t tense up, but she sensed him debating his answer. Finally, he shrugged.
“When I graduated college—undergraduate level, anyway—she had a girl already picked out for me to marry. We were a perfect match, in her opinion. Our families had been friends for generations, though I’d only met the girl twice. It seemed perfect.” He snorted. “Until I refused to even date her.”
“Not your type?”
“I don’t know, really. Like I said, we barely knew each other. I just didn’t appreciate Mom picking someone for me without my input, and I told her so.”
“Well, I’d think so.”
“She insisted that I just needed time to get used to the idea, so I up and moved halfway across the country to get my master’s at MMSU.”
“From the west or from the east?”
“East, by way of Boston. Home of old money and Yankee stubbornness.”
My Gigolo: The Care and Feeding of a Male Prostitute Page 19
