Unbreakable

by Colette Davison

  He tapped his finger on the counter, deliberating before replying. Can I come over?

  It was going to be impossible to tell Mac what to wear if he didn’t know what was in Mac’s wardrobe.

  Uh. Yeah. Sure. I guess.

  LOL! I’ll need your address.

  Mac sent a text straight back with his address.

  I’ll be right there.

  *

  It took Russel about half an hour to get to Mac’s place, which was inside a grotty block of flats. The lift stank of piss, so he decided to take the stairs, which honestly weren’t much better. Annoyingly, Mac lived on the top floor. By the time Russel reached the top, he was sweating like a pig, which was hardly an attractive look. The corridor he stood in was open to the elements, except for a concrete barrier that was about waist height. He stood and fanned his shirt against his chest, trying to capture some of the cool air that was blowing over the barrier to dry his skin; not that it helped much. Even more horrifyingly, he was sure he probably stank. He made a mental note to start carrying deodorant around in his coat pocket. Once he was as decent as he was going to get, he rang the doorbell.

  “Hey.” Mac showed him in.

  Russel tried hard not to wrinkle his nose. The flat smelled stale, as though the windows were never opened. It looked like Mac had been halfway through cleaning and washing up, but there were still some dirty plates in the sink, covered in suds, and piles of crap around the tiny living room.

  “Sorry about the mess.”

  “It’s fine. You should see my place.” Or not. Russel’s flat was meticulously clean. He couldn’t abide mess, dirt, or clutter. Mac’s flat was literally making his skin crawl.

  Mac led him through to the bedroom. The big guy’s face went red as he quickly picked up dirty socks, boxer shorts, and a couple of gold jockstraps and shoved them into an almost overflowing wicker laundry basket.

  “Shit, I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s fine.” Russel wasn’t sure how many times he could say that convincingly. “Show me what you’ve got.”

  Mac turned and stared at him, eyebrow raised. “I’m pretty sure you’ve already seen what I’ve got.”

  “In glorious detail.” Russel folded his arms. “But I meant your clothes.”

  Mac opened his rickety wardrobe before turning to his tall chest of drawers to pull open a drawer full of T-shirts. Russel would have loved to be able to say that they were neatly folded, but they’d all just been stuffed in.

  “Oh, boy.”

  “What?”

  “You need to learn how to fold.”

  He began to lift T-shirts out of the drawer, either tossing them onto the bed or folding them neatly before laying them on top of the chest of drawers, ready to go back inside once he’d gone through them all. Needless to say, the number of T-shirts that ended up on the bed—the ones he was actually considering letting Mac wear—was very small. Not that he was entirely happy about dictating what Mac wore, but the big guy had asked him to do exactly that, so who was he to complain?

  At some point, Mac went to lounge on the bed. He smirked as he watched Russel work, sometimes laughing.

  Russel glared at him. “What?”

  “The faces you pull! Maybe I should take photos.”

  “Don’t you dare!” He lifted up yet another T-shirt that was riddled with holes. “Do you really still wear this?”

  Mac nodded. “It’s one of my favourites.”

  “It’s falling apart.”

  Mac shrugged.

  Russel rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. “You really need to take a shopping trip with a personal shopper.” He started putting the neatly folded T-shirts back in the drawer. “There, doesn’t that look better?”

  “I guess so.”

  Russel turned and surveyed the small handful of T-shirts on the bed, grimacing. “Is this really all you’ve got?” He returned his attention to the chest of drawers and opened the next one down.

  “Hey!” Mac put his arm out. “Don’t!”

  It was too late. Russel lifted out a rather large sparkly purple vibrator and held it up for Mac to see, eyebrows raised. “I really had you pegged as an exclusive top.”

  Mac’s face had gone a shade of red that was so violent even the fake tan couldn’t smother it. “Put that back!”

  “Do you know what I don’t get?” Russel turned the vibrator over in his hands. “How you can live in such a cesspit but keep your dildo perfectly clean.”

  “My dirty plates aren’t going up my arse,” Mac growled.

  Russel burst out laughing. “I should hope not!”

  Mac got off the bed and went to grab the vibrator. Russel held it away from him, although he realised the big guy could have easily wrested it from him.

  He tutted and wagged his finger back and forth, loving the way that Mac obediently backed down. He’d obviously read Mac completely wrong, or maybe he’d just made a series of assumptions based on his build. He berated himself from doing so. People made assumptions about him all the time because he was so petite.

  “What other toys have you got?” he asked, genuinely curious. You could tell a lot about a man based on his toys.

  “None of your bloody business.”

  “You’ll show me one day.”

  “No, I fucking won’t.”

  Russel smirked at him and then returned the dildo to the drawer, shutting it firmly. “Do you really want me to tell you what to wear?”

  “If you actually want to impress Remy fucking Lawrence, yes.”

  Russel sighed. He ducked round Mac and grabbed a navy-blue T-shirt off the bed. “This one.” He went to the wardrobe and, after rummaging through the contents for a couple of minutes, pulled out a black leather jacket. “With this. It’s simple but effective. If you’ve got some indigo jeans without rips or holes, that would be a bonus.” He jerked his thumb towards the door. “I’ll wait through there.”

  Mac shrugged. “You’ve seen it all before.”

  Russel felt a pulse of lust in his groin. “Yes, I have.” And he would gladly see it all again. He looked at the bed, wondering if it was safe to sit on. Unsurprisingly, it hadn’t been made.

  “They’re clean sheets.” Mac’s voice was gruff. “I changed them yesterday morning.”

  Russel nodded smartly and sat down, legs crossed. He didn’t try very hard not to stare at Mac as he stripped out of the tatty clothes he had been wearing and changed into the things Russel had selected. Well, he had been given permission to stay and look. Disappointingly, Mac was wearing pale blue boxer shorts and not one of the gold jockstraps. While they were tacky, they were much more revealing.

  “Will I do?” Mac asked.

  “Give me a twirl.”

  Mac gave him a withering look. Russel laughed and turned his finger. Grumbling under his breath, Mac did a slow turn.

  “You’ll do.”

  “Thank fuck for that.” Mac checked his watch. “Do we need to go? He didn’t actually give us a time to turn up, did he?”

  Russel pursed his lips. “Do you know, I don’t think he did. Huh.” He glanced down at himself. “I really could do with getting changed as well.”

  Mac’s brow furrowed. “Why? You look great.”

  Russel grinned. “Why thank you, but these are just some clothes I threw on this morning. I need a carefully put-together outfit.” He lifted the collar of his shirt away from his skin and sniffed, wrinkling his nose. “Plus, I stink; I really need a shower.”

  “I have a shower.”

  Russel tried not to grimace, he really did, but he knew he’d dismally failed.

  “Fine.” Mac huffed out a sigh. “Let’s go back to yours, and then we can head to Remy’s country castle from there.”

  Russel laughed. “It’s not a castle!”

  “Whatever. It’s big, ugly, and fucking pretentious. Makes you wonder what he’s making up for.”

  Russel laughed so hard his chest started to ache, and tears welled up in his eyes.
“You’re awful!”

  “I’m right. The guy’s a fucking weirdo. Let’s get this over and done with, and then hopefully, we’ll never have to see him again.”

  Russel stopped laughing abruptly. He blinked to clear the tears from his eyes. “Or each other?”

  Mac’s Adam’s apple bobbed violently. “I… guess so.”

  Russel gave Mac a sad smile. “Shame.” He rolled his shoulders back. “Okay, let’s go. We’d better not keep the delectable Remy Lawrence waiting.”

  9 Mac

  How one man could spend so long in the shower, Mac didn’t know. Almost two hours later, they finally arrived at Remy’s cock extension of a house. Mac was half convinced they were going to get turned away, but when they got out of the taxi, they were met by the attendant who had led the proceedings the previous night. Mac guessed he had to be a butler, although he hadn’t realised that anyone besides the Queen still had butlers. Jesus Christ, Remy really was a pretentious arsehole.

  Rather than being shown into the house, they were led round the back to a massive lawn upon which Remy was playing croquet. Mac only knew what the game was because he’d seen the Disney cartoon of Alice in Wonderland far too many fucking times growing up. He was slightly disappointed that Remy wasn’t using flamingos as mallets and hedgehogs as balls. Even without those cartoonish theatrics, he could definitely imagine Remy screaming ‘off with his head’ at some point during the afternoon. Briefly he wondered whose head was most likely to roll, his or Russel’s?

  Remy was dressed just as hideously as the night before. This time he was wearing an emerald-green suit with a bright blue scarf tucked into the jacket.

  “Who the fuck does he think he is?” Mac whispered. “The Wizard of fucking Oz?” Another film that had practically been on repeat while he was a kid. Or at least, it had been until his mum had walked out on them all. After that, it had been live poker, horse racing, and the occasional horror movie. He shoved the bitter memories away. “In a minute, he’s going to ask us what we wish for.”

  Russel arched an eyebrow at him. “Please play nice?”

  Mac clenched his teeth and replied with a tight nod.

  Russel took Mac’s hand and then walked forward, waving to Remy. “Remy, hi! Delightful to see you again.”

  Remy took his shot, sending the large black-and-blue ball through a hoop before turning to them. His smile was small but polite. “Russel, Mac, hello. I’m glad you could make it. Do you play?”

  “We can learn, can’t we, babe?”

  Mac nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

  Remy motioned to his butler, who swiftly brought over two more wooden mallets.

  “I feel like I’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone,” Mac hissed. “Do people really live like this?”

  “Remy does. Be nice.”

  “The aim of the game is the get the balls through the hoops in the right direction,” Remy said as though it wasn’t obvious.

  As he spoke, the butler put another ball on the lawn; this one was red and yellow.

  “We play in teams.”

  “But there’s three of us,” Russel pointed out.

  Remy shrugged. “As you two are new at this, you can both play against me. Mac, why don’t you take the first shot?” He smiled, his hazel eyes boring into Mac.

  Mac tugged at the collar of his T-shirt and forced himself to smile. He had no idea what it was about Remy, but he really didn’t like him. Whatever. He took the mallet from the butler and stood behind the ball, painfully aware that Remy was staring at him. Was Remy waiting for him to fail or mentally undressing him? Trying to ignore Remy, Mac took the shot. The ball veered wide of the hoop.

  “Try again.” Remy motioned to the butler to collect the ball. “Let me help.”

  Mac gritted his teeth. He wanted to tell Remy to fuck off, but Russel needed him to play nice. Standing far too close, Remy showed him how to position his hands on the mallet. Remy’s hands lingered on Mac’s for too long, confirming Mac’s suspicion that Remy had been staring at him lecherously. When Remy adjusted the position Mac was standing in, it was all he could do not to walk away. He liked to be submissive, though he rarely got the chance, but this was different and definitely not consensual. He felt like a toy under Remy’s touch, and he really didn’t like it.

  Remy took half a step back, but he was still too close. “Now, take the shot.”

  This time, Mac sent the ball through the hoop. He was rewarded with exuberant applause from Russel and polite clapping from Remy. He made a point of walking over to Russel and clasping his hand.

  “It’s harder than it looks.” He leant in and brushed a kiss against Russel’s jaw, reminding Remy that he and Russel were here together, as a couple. He didn’t miss the narrow-eyed stare that Remy gave them both before striking the black-and-blue ball.

  “My turn!” Russel said, far too enthusiastically. He tugged his hand free of Mac’s and moved away.

  Remy sidled up to Mac as Russel took his shot. “Do you live together?”

  Mac was tempted to say ‘yes’, but he reminded himself that the best lies were grounded in truth. “Not yet.”

  “I suppose it’s a little early in your relationship.”

  Mac smiled and nodded. Russel’s ball veered wide of the hoop. Unsurprisingly, Remy didn’t offer him another shot or assistance.

  “Bad luck, darling,” Mac said as Russel returned to his side. He wrapped his arm around Russel’s shoulders, pulling him close so he could press a kiss to his forehead. “You’ll do better next time.”

  Russel’s brow furrowed in a fleeting frown, which he quickly replaced with a bright smile. “I hope so, or Remy’s going to wipe the floor with us!”

  Remy smiled slightly. “I am more experienced.” He moved away to take another shot.

  “He’s a creep,” Mac whispered.

  Russel continued smiling, but Mac could tell the too-wide smile was forced. “Play nice.”

  “I’m trying.”

  They watched as Remy’s next shot made the game look easy.

  “I’m really looking forward to seeing the clothes Sebastian Garrington designed for you,” Russel said as Remy joined them again. “I’ve got all my questions ready for our interview too.”

  Remy looked out at the lawn rather than at Russel. “Shall we enjoy the game first?”

  “Of course!” Despite Russel’s happy tone, he clutched Mac’s hand. “Fun always comes before business, don’t you agree, babe?”

  Mac nodded stiffly, even though he really didn’t. Everything about the afternoon so far felt theatrical from Remy’s outfit to the game that he had to have known his guests wouldn’t be able to play. It felt like he was trying to prove he was superior. About the only thing he was superior about was being a sleaze.

  They spent much of the afternoon playing croquet. Mac and Russel lost spectacularly most of the time, which Russel laughed off. Every time a game ended, Russel mentioned the interview Remy had promised him, but Remy’s response was always the same.

  “One more game, then we’ll go inside for lunch, and you can interview me.”

  Mac could see Russel’s frustration, even though he was trying hard to mask it behind a polite smile. In order to help him relax, Mac took every chance he could to rub calming circles on the small of Russel’s back. He couldn’t help but notice that Remy stared at him during those moments, eyes slightly narrowed and hungry. Mac knew that look. Guys looked at him that way all the time when he was dancing at Horns. At least then he was purposefully on show and not showing affection to another guy. No, not just ‘another guy’, but his boyfriend. Remy was a fucking bastard.

  At the end of their sixth game, Mac had had enough. He was hungry, uncomfortable, and annoyed that Russel hadn’t been given the interview he’d been promised.

  “It’s getting dark. Maybe we should go inside and have dinner?” He chose his words deliberately to make it clear he was pissed off by Remy’s constant stalling.

  “That’s a wonderful i
dea, babe.” Russel squeezed Mac’s arm before looking to Remy. “Do you think maybe we could see the clothing collection that Sebastian designed for you after food? I’d love to ask you questions about how that arrangement came about as part of the interview.”

  Remy pursed his lips and consulted his watch. “I hadn’t realised it had got so late. My uncle is coming for dinner, and I must get ready.”

  Mac glanced at Russel, noting the crestfallen look that dragged all his features down and turned his pale blue eyes into pools of sadness. Almost instantly, Russel made his face bright again with a charming smile.

  “That’s a shame, but I understand. Family comes first.”

  Mac frowned at how forced Russel’s final statement had sounded.

  “Why don’t you both come back tomorrow?” Remy asked. “I’ll show you the clothes and give you the interview then?”

  Russel glanced at Mac, eyebrows raised hopefully.

  Mac shrugged apologetically. “I have to work. So do you, don’t you, darling?”

  Russel’s mouth tugged down at the corners. “Darn it. Yes, we do.”

  Remy smiled. “How about tomorrow evening, for dinner?”

  Russel’s hand curled round Mac’s. “Will you be free, babe?”

  Remy turned his piercing gaze to Mac. “What is it you do? I don’t think you said.”

  “I didn’t.” Mac clenched and unclenched his teeth before carrying on. “I work in a gym.”

  “He’s a personal trainer,” Russel added.

  Remy’s eyebrows raised a fraction. “Do you work with people privately?” His voice was like velvet covering hot coals.

  “Nope.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  Mac turned his hand so he was holding Russel’s, a reminder to Remy that they were there as a couple.

  “Are you free?” Russel was looking up at him, eyes hopeful.

  Mac hitched in a breath. The quick answer was ‘no’. He was due to work at Horns, and Barry would kill him if he didn’t show up. He wanted to help Russel, but he couldn’t risk getting kicked out of the club. When the money was good, it was really good.

  “No, sorry.”