by E. Davies
I didn’t have a problem being blunt about my lack of a sex life, even if it surprised and worried people around me. Hell, some people had implied that if I fucked some guys, I’d get over Hugh faster.
Like I needed to get over him. The hole had long since healed in my heart. I just hadn’t met someone else worth handing it over to.
Darren laughed richly. “I know that feeling.” He nodded toward the rest of the bar. “Every time I try to hook up, I end up with someone I’m not clicking with, and I cut it off. Some people say that means I need to give it a chance.”
“Some people are wrong,” I told him firmly. “Not that I’m biased.”
“Of course not.”
“What do you do?” Darren looked genuinely interested in the answer.
“Architecture. You?”
“Electrician.”
“Neat,” I answered, my attention caught by the guy moving up behind Darren. A handsome one, too—definitely not a bad looker.
In fact, the longer I looked, the more I found to like. The guy had wavy chin-length hair, and the beautiful, dark kind of eyes that showed his soul. He looked calm and centered.
He had pretty pink lips, and the kind of cheekbones that could kill a man. He knew exactly what he was doing, judging by the way he swiveled his hips to face me, though his hand was braced on the bar next to Darren.
“Evening,” he greeted us both. He sounded surprisingly sober considering the time of night.
I wasn’t expecting Darren’s amused smile. “I’m not paying, baby.”
It took my brain a few seconds to catch up. I’d been propositioned by women like this before, when I was out for drinks with some of my better-dressed and straighter coworkers, but never a man.
“Even if I flutter my eyelashes?” He wasn’t looking at Darren, though—he was looking at me, his voice light and teasing, but his gaze intense.
It had been a long damn time since anyone had looked at me like that.
“Even if,” I repeated, but my voice sounded hoarse even to my ears.
It had been just as long since my dick had reacted to anyone like this.
I had to briefly relearn how to keep it at bay—thinking of baseball usually did the trick, but I found myself suddenly wondering how this guy kept in such good shape. His arms were bulging in all the right places, like he’d come straight from a ranch.
And, weirdly enough, he sounded like it. His drawl became even more apparent when he said, “Shame. I’ll keep trying.” I’d heard that accent before, but I wasn’t sure in which part of the South.
“You do that, baby,” Darren told him and squeezed his shoulder with a smile. “My friend and I aren’t looking.”
“Looks like I got here too late.” He clicked his tongue in disappointment, but he winked at me anyway, and I felt my cheeks flush hotter than the sun.
Fuck. I wasn’t equipped for this conversation. I hadn’t flirted in years. “Too late and charging too much,” I said with a regretful smile. No way was I gonna get caught out by some hot cop.
“Unless…” He held my eyes for long enough to suggest he’d been thinking of a freebie, then grinned. “Fair enough.” His pocket chirped, and he pulled out his phone a moment later. “Pardon me,” he added, waving slightly as he headed off.
I caught the glint of a black loading screen in the background, and even I knew it had to be Grindr.
“You know him?” I made myself ask instead of staring after that perky ass, the broad shoulders, and the unmistakably flirtatious toss of his hair that he gave as he left, glancing over his shoulder.
“Yeah, he’s tried to pick me up a few times. Or… have me pick him up, I guess I should say,” Darren added.
“You don’t think he’s a cop?”
Darren thought for a moment and then shook his head. “Nah. He’s been coming here for a couple months now. Just a normal kid hustling.”
I immediately felt bad for thinking incredibly dirty things about his lips. “Kid?” I questioned, frowning toward the bouncer. Now that I’d hit my thirties, anyone in their twenties was a kid as far as I was concerned, but if he weren’t of age? There was a moral obligation to help him out.
Darren shrugged. “His Grindr age is exactly twenty-one, so he’s probably like, twenty-four.”
I half-smiled. That was something of a relief. Plus, the age difference wasn’t as bad.
Not that there was any reason at all for me to be thinking about the age difference between us. I couldn’t afford to have my career go down in flames if I got arrested.
But something about meeting the young guy’s gaze made me feel alive in a way I hadn’t before, and he was offering a convenient solution to my problem—wanting to date, or at least learn how to date again, but not having the time for a boyfriend.
I nodded vaguely and finished my drink. “I think I’m gonna get something from the greasy spoon next door. Wanna come?”
“Nah,” Darren said with a smile, but he took out his phone. “Gimme your number and we can hang out sometime. You have WhatsApp?”
“Of course,” I said and laughed. “I’m old, not dead.”
“Old,” Darren repeated with a snort and shook his head.
“Out of the scene, then,” I corrected myself, and he gave me a quizzical look, but sensed enough not to question. No way was I explaining I had a dead boyfriend, but I was over him now and looking to date. Not even telling him that it had been years ago. That made me sound like I had unresolved issues. I’d killed conversations that way before.
After we swapped numbers, I shook hands and waved slightly. “Good luck tonight.”
“Thanks,” Darren said with a chuckle, his eye already on the dance floor. “I’ll need it.”
The evening air was cool—crisp, even. I shivered and pulled my sweater tighter around myself, glad I’d brought that. Gone were the days I’d dress myself in a t-shirt so thin it could double as plastic-wrap and make my way to a club, shivering all the way. I still hated coat-checks, but I’d add a sweater, at least.
Now I was happy to plonk myself into a window-seat booth at Bubbles, the diner the next door down. I didn’t care how many calories were in the breakfast scramble. Didn’t even care whether any hot guys saw me eating it. It was gonna be mine.
“Coffee?” the waitress asked, gesturing with her pot toward my cup.
“Please.” I flipped the cup over and slid it to the end of the table.
“Long night or early morning?” she asked as she poured, and I glanced at her name tag. Tara.
“Both,” I answered. Deciding to make conversation, I added, “You?”
Tara winced sympathetically. “Late night for me. Sunrise means time to sleep, like a vampire.”
I toasted her with my coffee cup, my lip quirking as I glanced toward the curved counter of the diner. “To the night owls.”
She grinned in recognition. “You betcha, honey.”
After she left, I settled back into the cracked seats and smiled. Gentrification—and I knew damn well I had some small part in it—had touched nearly everywhere in midtown Manhattan, but here by my favorite old haunt, there were still hidden treasures.
New Yorkers were a stubborn bunch. We weren’t just gonna give up. I was certain this place had its regulars and a heartbeat of its own as people woke up for early shifts, stayed late, grabbed sober-up food or hangover brunches. And in its way, more than my shiny creations, it was the heartbeat of the city. I was way more interested in the diners than the clubs of New York City. Did that make me old?
Lost in thought, I fidgeted with my phone. I only realized when I’d opened the app store on my phone that I was looking at Grindr.
Fuck. Just because that one guy was on Grindr didn’t mean I needed to jump back on there. If I’d wanted meaningless sex, I could have gotten it a hundred times in the last few years.
But I wasn’t downloading it to look for that. I wanted him.
Which was weird, because wasn’t paying a sex worker th
e definition of meaningless sex? What the hell was I even paying him for, then?
Do we have to have sex?
It sounded like a dumb question. Who the hell would hire a sex worker and then not have sex? Me, apparently. God, my friends would never let it go if they heard about this.
Hell, even thinking about this was the most exciting thing that had happened since the pizza delivery guy showed up at my house instead of the next-door neighbors’. I’d sent him over to them and they’d brought me the garlic fingers to say thanks for not shutting up and taking the free pizza.
I just wanted someone to talk to, and maybe I could find that.
I held my breath, hit Download, and stared into my coffee cup for a few minutes before I screwed up enough courage to actually open it and register. I left my profile blank and started browsing nearby profiles.
The number of guys within a few hundred feet surprised me, and for a moment, I found myself dismayed. What if I couldn’t find—
There. He’d carefully cropped the photo so it didn’t show his whole face, but it was unmistakably the same outfit he’d worn tonight. Clever. I wondered idly how much effort he put into avoiding legal sticky situations.
Before I knew it, I was fumbling my way through finding a message button and typing out a greeting. This was probably a stupid idea. At least it was exciting. Whatever happened, I’d have a story to tell later.
I didn’t know if it was my heart, my gut instinct, my dick, or some sixth sense that was kicking in. Something told me I had to know more about him.
4
Kev
So far, none of the messages I’d received tonight had even remotely come close to passing my little test.
It was simple. I’d dropped a few hints as to my profession and rates in my profile, and told them to use a code word if they understood what I was saying.
How damn hard was it to read? Some guys swiped from profile to profile without stopping to read a word, though. The last thing I wanted was someone getting so angry at me trying to charge that they reported me to the cops, especially in today’s climate.
Then my phone went off, and I paid attention. The guy’s profile was blank, but his message made it unmistakable who he was.
Hi, I’m new on this app. We met earlier and I had a few questions, but my friend shooed you away.
He might not be using my codeword, but I knew who that had to be. Darren had been firm in telling me he wasn’t interested in paying—so far, he never had been, but we’d had several great conversations over drinks.
His friend? He was new. At least, I hadn’t spotted him here in the four months I’d been cruising this place. The owners didn’t care much what I did, as long as I wasn’t a nuisance and I didn’t hook up on their property. I was always cautious who I approached, and I usually used this place as a convenient place to show up on nearby Grindr profiles.
This was the cutie with the dark hair and tentative smile, looking a little out of place. He looked like he belonged in a catalog, or maybe a movie about a gay potluck club.
Whatever he did, he was set for money—he had nice brand names on, but inconspicuous. Not like the guys with their Diesel jeans and Versace underwear.
I’d stake my life on it, but still, not literally. I answered, telling him to send me a picture of himself flipping off the camera.
A little insurance for me. If he threatened to go to the cops, it was just naughty enough that he wouldn’t want it sent to his mom by an anonymous Facebook account. I might have been pretty new to this way of drumming up business, but I was quickly learning the tricks to turning tricks.
His answer came quickly.
I’ve never taken a photo like that. How about smiling?
I chuckled under my breath and waived a rule. I knew he was a real person, after all, if this was who I thought it was.
Something taken right now will do.
I knew exactly where the photo he sent back a minute later had been taken. It was at Bubbles—the diner next door.
With a warm lead, I didn’t think twice about ditching Friction and going to meet him. When they had something to hide, startling them worked well. If someone wasn’t expecting me to show up where they were, they were thrown off-balance. Nobody wanted to be caught on security camera with the guy they planned to dispose of later.
Not that I was paranoid, but it paid to be careful.
But although he blinked several times at me when I walked into the diner, his next reaction was a smile. “Hey.” He looked like he’d just finished breakfast, and when I slid into the booth, the waitress approached.
“Coffee?”
I looked at him, and he nodded.
“Yeah. Coffee for my friend here.”
She didn’t say anything as she poured it, which was lucky. She’d seen me in here sobering up after an unsuccessful night—or a successful one—more than once.
I smiled at her, and she turned away and headed for the kitchen. A tiny red flag went up in my brain, so I made a mental note for later.
“Hi,” I greeted. My worry was instantly forgotten when I saw the way he watched me. It was impossible to fake that blend of enthusiasm and trepidation, like a giant kid trapped in a man’s body. He didn’t seem quite sure of what he was doing. That always meant it was my job to put him at ease.
And he was beautiful, too. I hadn’t had a chance to appreciate it back in Friction, but in the diner light, he melted my knees. A man in business casual knew the way to my heart. When he had those blue eyes that just seemed to see my soul? Yeah, sold.
“Hey,” he answered, glancing outside and then back at me. “I didn’t expect you to be hanging out right here still. I mean, Grindr tells me you are. But still.” His cheeks flushed and he buried his nose in his coffee cup.
He came off as genuine, and I’d met worse. I’d give him a chance.
“I got a feeling you were interested,” I told him with a smile. I knew how to turn the charm on instantly. I always had—it was a useful skill in life, being able to flirt with anyone. But it was more than that. I could easily find something interesting or charismatic about people. Chemistry was possible with anyone if you just worked hard enough.
This kind of magnetism, though, took me aback. I wasn’t used to feeling it before I even tried.
I was intrigued, despite myself. Enough to give him a freebie? I didn’t know, but maybe. I didn’t want to devalue my product, but a boy had to have fun off the clock sometimes.
“I—I think I am.” His hesitance caught my attention. It was more than shyness or nervousness about legal trouble.
“Spill.” I winked. I was happy to answer questions. Sometimes people just wanted to make sure I wasn’t being pimped out.
He leaned in, his knuckles white on the handle of his coffee cup. His voice was low. “Do we have to have sex?”
It took me a few moments before the words sank in, and I grinned. “No. I’m not gonna make anyone do anything they don’t want to do. Can we start with your name, though?” I teased. “I like to know what to yell out, whether in bed or in the street.”
“Oh! Sorry! My goodness. Where are my manners?” The guy stuck out his hand. “Charlie.”
“Kev.” Normally it was a good idea to use a different name for sex work, but mine wasn’t my legal name anyway. Everyone had called me Kev for so long that I happily used it instead of the much grosser Kenneth Taylor. Most importantly, it didn’t remind me of home. Besides, Kev sounded like a typical gay guy’s name. Generic enough to be forgettable.
“Nice to meet you, Kev.” Charlie looked somehow at home here in the diner, even if he looked like he belonged in a Macy’s catalog.
It was that air of quiet confidence and the real strength that came from life experience that drew me to him.
“You, too,” I said, and I meant it.
I think Charlie heard what I meant, because he gave me the kind of smile that put me at ease. “So, if I wanted to go out for dinner sometime…”
“We can do that,” I told him. It might still lead to sex; fairly often it did when men were testing the ground and wanted to make sure I wasn’t a cop.
“Oh.” He sounded surprised, and perhaps a bit relieved.
“That reassure you?” I drawled, letting my accent come through just a hint.
Charlie nodded, his lips curving up. “You’re southern?”
“Born and bred. Moved here three months ago,” I told him. I didn’t even have to fake a backstory for my clients—yet. They liked fresh meat, and a new, starry-eyed country boy fit many of their fantasies. I planned to keep it at “three months ago” for another three months before I started telling the whole truth.
“How are you liking the city so far?”
Everyone asked me this. It was kind of weird. Was I really gonna say it’s awful, I can’t wait to leave to a New Yorker? Especially one I was doing business with? His gaze didn’t say business, but I had to remind myself that that was all it was.
“It’s great,” I said, and luckily, that was also the truth. Overwhelming and frantically busy 24/7, yes. But nobody gave a damn if you held another man’s hand in Midtown, or sat across from him at a table for two. That alone made New York City worth the move. “There’s always something happening, always someone to talk to.”
He paused for a moment as he took me in, and I realized what I’d just said. The way he was looking at me, I was starting to think he didn’t always have someone to talk to. A lot of my clients didn’t. I wasn’t gonna act like they were all just in need of a listening ear, but some of them? Yeah, they needed to talk to someone about their life who didn’t judge them, who wouldn’t spill their secrets to all their friends and family.
Instead of the life story I half-expected, he shook his head. “I remember moving here,” he told me. “For college. It’s a heady thrill. So, how does this work? Do we set up a time and date? Do you take PayPal?”
He was joking to hide his nervousness, but I appreciated it. He was trying to put us both at ease, even if he was a bit abrupt. Lots of New Yorkers were. It had taken me two months to realize the cashier at the bodega under Adam’s and my apartment didn’t actually hate me. I tried to make conversation with everyone in the city at first, and I’d wondered how many people were having really bad days.