by Claire Kent
He hesitated, running his tongue along the line between his lips.
“Were you going to?” she prompted, making sure she didn’t sound annoyed or pushy.
“I don’t know.”
“I’m sorry about the other day,” Lori said, trying once again to make herself clear. “I did it all wrong. I’m sorry if I hurt you. Or... or if I treated you thoughtlessly.”
Ander let out a small breath. “It’s all right. I understand why you made the decision. I just think there were other options than the one you chose.”
“There were,” Lori admitted, her belly twisting with nerves. She couldn’t—she just couldn’t—let Ander offer her another option. If it was something even close to what she desperately wanted, she wouldn’t be able to resist taking it.
And their messy relationship would only get messier.
“But this is the only option that can work. Don’t you see?” Her voice cracked in her earnestness. “I’ve been paying you to fuck me for months. And I’m not the only woman who does. You’re a male escort. I can’t stand the thought of you with your other clients. I hate them. Hate them. I’m not going to be able to get over it. And even if you were to quit later on, we still have this unnatural dynamic between us. Taking away the money isn’t going to magically fix things. I don’t know what you... what you want from me, but all we can be now is friends.”
Ander stared at her for a long time. But she could tell he was actually thinking about what she said. Finally he nodded his head.
Lori let out a gust of air. For the first time, she felt a flare of hope. “Please, Ander, don’t shut down on me. I think... I think we could really help each other. I still want you in my life. I need you in my life.”
He finished off the last of his scotch and stared at the table for an agonizingly long time. Until at last he murmured, “I need you too.”
“OKAY!” LORI CALLED out from Ander’s kitchen. Very carefully, she carried a small chocolate cake with caramel icing and ten lit candles over toward the living area. Since all that separated his kitchen from his living room was a granite-topped counter, she made it without incident. “It’s ready.”
Ander had been reading on his sofa while Lori prepared his cake. As she approached, she saw him close the book and discreetly tuck it into his leather case, which was set on the floor near the couch.
He’d been doing that a lot lately—removing whatever book he happened to be reading from her sight. She didn’t comment on it though. Just grinned as she set down the cake.
“Happy birthday to you,” she began to sing, with exaggerated jollity and mostly on key.
Ander made a face as she began, but by the time she’d finished the song and clapped her hands, he was chuckling. Then she watched him expectantly as he leaned over to blow out the candles.
“Did you make a wish first?” she demanded.
“Of course.” Ander’s mouth twitched as he examined the cake whose preparation had taken hours of her morning. “Did you make this cake yourself?”
“Yes. And don’t you dare laugh at it. Baking is not one of my talents. But I did the best I could.”
“It looks great. You shouldn’t have gone to all the trouble.”
She slanted him an indignant glare. “Why the hell shouldn’t I have gone through the trouble?”
Ander’s lips twitched again.
Feeling a rush of warmth at the familiar sight of his handsome, amused face, Lori explained, “I couldn’t fit all thirty-four candles on your little cake.”
He gave her a cool glare from under his eyelashes that made Lori giggle. Then he admitted, “Yesterday was my birthday, you know. Not today.”
She handed him the knife so he could cut them both a slice and place them on the plates she’d laid out on the coffee table earlier. “I know. But you were the idiot who scheduled an engagement on your birthday. So I had to make do and move the celebration to tonight.”
Lori would never admit it, but she was a little hurt that Ander had done such a thing.
They never talked about his work. She knew he was gone in the evenings sometimes. He took his case, and he never said a word about what he did. He must have cut back on his clients significantly, as he’d told her he was doing. He wasn’t gone more than two or three nights a week now.
It had been two months since she’d been Ander’s client. After running into each other in the hotel bar, they’d slowly fallen into a friendship. At first it had been a little awkward. Lori was nervous around Ander, and Ander was rather standoffish. But they’d grown gradually more comfortable with each other, and now Lori saw him or talked to him almost every day.
But she hated that he hadn’t retired from the male escort business. She still hated the thought of every one of his clients and everything he did with them. Hated that he wouldn’t stop objectifying and devaluing himself—which might not be part of everyone’s experience as an escort but were certainly part of his. She wouldn’t judge him, knew the reasons that led to prostitution were too complex for her to truly understand.
But she wanted Ander to stop. And he hadn’t.
In some ways, it was safer this way. As long as he continued in his profession, there would be no remote possibility of a romance developing between them. And that barrier made it easier for Lori to get over a lot of the confusion and self-delusion she’d suffered before.
She still hated it though. Every time Ander picked up his case and went out to meet a client.
He’d even scheduled an appointment on his birthday, when he must have known she’d want to celebrate it with him.
For the last month, he’d had an engagement every Wednesday evening. It was worrisome because she was afraid it might be a regular client, and regular clients were somehow more threatening than occasional ones.
After all, look how deeply she’d fallen herself when she’d been his regular client.
“I’m sorry I was busy last night,” Ander said softly, as if he’d read at least some of her thoughts.
Lori shook away her heavy thoughts. She was silly to brood about it. Her friendship with Ander was thriving, and it was much better than what they’d had before. Yes, she missed the sex. Sometimes so much she thought she would explode. But it felt like they were building something real between them—even in such incongruous circumstances—so she wasn’t going to gripe that it hadn’t worked out like a fairy tale or a silly movie.
Beaming at him, she said, “That’s all right. We’ll just pretend your birthday is today.”
They ate cake and drank Burgundy, which Ander insisted was a perfect complement to chocolate cake. They chatted easily until Lori brought up a subject she’d been pestering Ander about for almost a month.
“I need to send in the little card that says I’ll attend the wedding,” she said, trying for a casual tone. “I should say it’s me and a guest, right?”
Ander eyed her, mild but unwavering. “Only if you’ve found yourself a date.”
Lori huffed. “Don’t be that way, Ander. You know I want you to come with me.”
“And you know that I can’t. I have other plans.”
“Well, your plans are ridiculous. What kind of fucking client would hire you for an entire month? I mean, that’s just selfish and creepy.” Lori was so annoyed her teeth practically snapped together. She hadn’t believed Ander when he told her he’d be out of the country next month—for the entire month—on work. But evidently it was true.
The thought of some other woman having Ander at her disposal for a whole month made Lori ill. And it wasn’t just jealousy—although there was certainly plenty of that. It was the thought of Ander being on call for all that time, expected to please some woman’s smallest wish for so long.
It couldn’t possibly be good for him.
“Lori,” Ander said, an edge of warning in his tone.
“I mean it,” she insisted, her voice thickening as her emotions rose. “Ander, just cancel that job—whatever it is. I don’t care what kind
of fortune she’s paying you. It’s not worth it. It... it worries me.”
Ander’s eyes scanned her face, first questioningly and then almost tenderly. He reached out and put a gentle hand on her cheek for just a moment before he removed it. “I’ll be fine, Lori. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Well, I do worry about you,” she muttered, disappointed that he hadn’t changed his mind about that job. But he’d been doing this for years. Surely he knew his limitations, and it wasn’t her role to interfere. To lighten the mood, she added, “You’re sometimes kind of stupid, you know.”
At his arched eyebrows, she snickered. “I’m not saying you’re the only one.”
Ander smiled at her, and she recognized the gesture as a peace offering. She smiled back.
There was no reason for her to obsess about this. Ander was a grown man, and he had to make his own decisions. All she could be was his friend. As long as he didn’t push her away, she would be content.
As she scraped the last of the icing off her plate, Lori couldn’t help but return to her previous concern. “But can’t you come to the wedding with me anyway? I have to go. You know he was my best friend in high school. I can’t miss his wedding.”
“I don’t expect you to miss his wedding,” Ander said imperturbably. “There’s no reason you can’t go by yourself.”
Lori groaned and rubbed her face. “I don’t want to go by myself. It will be so awkward. I mean, I was in love with him for so long, and he knew it. Can’t you take a day or two off from your engagement that month and fly back to go with me? I’ll pay for your airfare and everything.”
Ander slanted her a sharp look.
“Not like that,” she gasped. “I didn’t mean... Obviously I didn’t mean I’d treat you like an escort. I just meant, if you’re nice enough to come all the way back, you shouldn’t have to pay that extra money.”
His nod showed he understood she hadn’t meant to imply he was at her service, but he hadn’t changed his mind. “I’m not coming back, Lori. You don’t need me to go to the wedding with you.”
“Yes, I do!”
“No, you don’t.” His tone and his eyes were unyielding. “You just want me to go so you won’t feel insecure, but you have nothing to feel insecure about. You’ve done remarkable things with yourself since you left high school. You don’t need to drag a man along with you as a prop to give yourself value in their eyes.”
Lori scowled, her flash of anger intensified by her suspicions that he was entirely right about her unconscious motivations. “That’s arrogant and obnoxious,” she snapped. “There’s nothing unusual about wanting to bring a date to a wedding. Anyone might feel awkward by themselves.”
“Anyone might,” Ander allowed, not at all affected by her indignation. “But you want me to come because you still feel second best. I won’t support those feelings. Ever. Go by yourself. And prove that having a man doesn’t equal success.”
One part of Lori almost melted at the bland words—it was as if he’d seen into her soul and knew exactly which wounds still needed healing. But another part of her was frustrated and annoyed.
For so long, Ander had done anything she wanted. His role in her life had been to please her because she’d paid him to do so. And moving away from that was sometimes a hard transition. It was hard to recognize that Ander’s will was just as strong as hers and that he could be even more stubborn.
When it didn’t matter to him, he was still accommodating and considerate, but she’d never be able to push him around.
The fact that she was just learning this now was one more sign of how unnatural their interactions had been before.
She curled up her lip to show him she wasn’t pleased. “I could always take someone besides you.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “You’re more than welcome to do so. Any possibilities?”
Lori sniffed. “Phil Rothe is available again.” To her delight, she managed to say the words without cracking a smile.
Ander choked on stifled amusement. Then he couldn’t stifle it. Lori watched with a tender ache as he laughed openly, his face transformed with warmth and his body shaking with the tremors of his hilarity.
“You go right ahead and take Rothe to the wedding,” Ander said at last, laughter still evident in his voice. “That would prove... something.”
Giving up her bad mood, Lori leaned back against the sofa cushion and smiled up at Ander’s face. “I guess I’ll have to go by myself.” For good measure, she muttered, not quite under her breath, “Jerk.”
Ander’s lips twitched. “Did you just call me a jerk?” He stood up and picked up the plates to carry into the kitchen. “Want some more wine?”
“Sure,” she replied absently. Her eyes had come to rest on Ander’s leather case on the floor, and she experienced a sudden, very familiar surge of curiosity.
Impulsively she leaned over, opened the case, and pulled out the book Ander had been reading before.
He hadn’t wanted her to see it for some reason.
She stared at the cover. It didn’t look particularly clandestine or exciting. Some sort of history book on early Aegean art and architecture. Glancing at the spine, she saw a sticker from a university bookstore. She flipped through the pages and noticed most of them were marked in the margins with Ander’s small, precise script.
Vaguely baffled on why he would have wanted to hide such a boring book, she pulled out a few sheets of paper that were folded and stuck inside.
It was a syllabus for a graduate-level class on ancient Mediterranean archeology. A class that, from the time listed under the title, met Wednesday evenings from six to nine.
She was staring down at the syllabus blankly when suddenly it was snatched away. His jaw set and lips pressed tightly together, Ander glared coldly as he pulled the book out of her grip as well.
“What is this?” she rasped. “Are you taking an archeology class?”
“I put the book in my case because I didn’t want you to see it,” he bit out. “Will you ever get over this childish habit of snooping?”
“No,” she said, brushing off his cold tone. “That’s what I do. Ander, tell me what’s going on. Are you taking that class? On Wednesdays?”
Despite her confusion and a little pang of hurt that he would have kept something like this from her, another feeling was starting to swell in her heart.
Hope.
Ander stared at her stonily for another minute, but gradually his face relaxed into tired resignation. “Yes. I’m taking the class.”
“And it meets on Wednesdays? That’s where you were last night?”
“Yes. That’s where I was.”
“What about your clients? Your engagements?”
Ander rubbed a hand over his smooth, bald head, and he looked rather uncomfortable as he admitted, “There are no clients.”
“What?” Her whole body was shaking with shock, bewilderment, and expectation.
Meeting her eyes, Ander said simply, as if he weren’t upending her entire world, “I have no clients anymore. I’ve retired.”
“But all those evenings you’re gone—with your case?”
Reluctantly Ander pulled up his case and set it between them on the couch. He opened it and tilted it over so Lori could see inside. No condoms, DVDs, vibrators, or props. Just books, pens and pencils, a notebook, and a small laptop. “I don’t go to meet clients. I have classes, seminars, or go to the library to study.”
Lori sprawled back on the couch, so overcome she felt limp and weak. “I can’t believe this. You’re working on a degree?”
Ander nodded and looked a little sheepish. “A PhD in archeology.”
“And the job all next month?”
“A field project on Santorini.”
“Oh God, Ander,” Lori said hoarsely. “Why didn’t you tell me? We’re supposed to be friends. You’ve been lying to me all this time.”
Ander leaned over and pulled her up again so she was sitting upright. He kept hi
s hands on her shoulders, their weight warm and strong. “I’m sorry, Lori. But yes. I was lying to you.”
“For how long?”
“A long time.”
Suddenly Lori’s heart started to hammer, and her blood began to throb through her veins. “When did you stop seeing clients, Ander?” she whispered.
Ander took a breath and moistened his lips. Then he admitted in a raspy voice, “You were my last client.”
Somehow she knew there was more. “And when did you stop seeing all the others, Ander? You told me you were cutting back.”
“I was cutting back. Cutting back on all of them but you. Sarah Jacoby was the last.”
“Oh God!” Lori felt like the world was spinning around her. She pulled out of Ander’s hands and got off the couch. She paced the room restlessly, not even seeing the wide expanse of sunny windows, the solid, historic furniture, or the books and art that were scattered around.
When she felt like she could breathe and speak normally, she returned to Ander on the sofa. “But why?”
It took a long time before Ander answered. Then he said without a trace of his normal eloquence, “I... I didn’t want to do that... to myself. Anymore.”
And it was enough. Lori understood. There might be more to the explanation—in fact, she knew there must be more since he hadn’t stopped seeing her as a client—but Lori didn’t need it. Not until Ander was ready to tell her.
He’d understood everything she did about how unhealthy that job was for him. Understood it far earlier than Lori had hoped. Months ago now.
His retirement was not a dramatic gesture made in hopes of achieving a romantic fantasy. He’d done it for himself—because the man he’d been for the last ten years wasn’t who he wanted to be.
There was another question she needed to ask, but she wasn’t yet ready to ask it. Wasn’t yet ready to hear the answer.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she asked instead, reaching out to put a hand on his knee so he’d know she wasn’t mad.
Ander exhaled thickly and shook his head. “A lot of reasons. Your being my client made it difficult for a full confession.”