One Night Only

Home > Other > One Night Only > Page 8
One Night Only Page 8

by Stewart, Lynsey M.


  She nodded lightly, sitting up and straightening her back. ‘What do you do when you’re not working or studying? Do you have any hobbies?’

  ‘Sleep. I like sleep.’

  ‘I bet you do!’ She laughed. ‘An active boy like you.’ Her smile lingered as she watched me. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I visit family. I like to look after myself. I do fitness competitions, Ironman triathlons, marathons,’ I said.

  ‘In between sleep,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘You got it.’

  She rested her head on her hand and smirked. ‘When are you free to see me?’

  ‘For a night with an escort?’

  She scrunched her nose. ‘Or a few hours.’

  ‘I’ll take you out on a date, Stacey.’ She smiled as I added, ‘No pressure to do anything you’re not comfortable with.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She took a deep breath. ‘When?’

  ‘Saturday night.’

  ‘You’re not fully booked?’

  ‘I’m clearing my diary just for you,’ I replied.

  She bit her lip again. A tug and a grip. Bashful. Sexy. A sigh escaped her.

  ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

  8

  Stacey

  I wrapped my leopard print scarf around my neck, tucking my chin in as the beachfront breeze stole the breath from my body.

  ‘Why are we doing this again?’ Skye asked as she pulled her hood down to her nose. I laughed as she disappeared under a mass of bright pink fur.

  ‘To clear my head before the big date. Get some perspective. Calm myself down.’ Reggie was lolloping across the beach, stones skidding out from under his paws. He had his Union Jack coat on. It was freezing but my British Bulldog was hardcore.

  ‘I knew there must be a good reason for freezing my arse off on Brighton Beach during my lunch break,’ she replied. ‘I was struggling to grasp it until you put it out there for me.’

  ‘Thanks, Skye,’ I said, looping my arm through hers. ‘I know your Saturdays are precious.’

  ‘Always precious, but anything for you.’ I threw a stick for Reggie. He completely ignored it. Typical Reggie Kray style. ‘So, how are you going to play this tonight?’

  ‘Oh, Christ. I don’t know,’ I replied. ‘I’ve thought about it all week, swung from planning it with meticulous detail to winging it and treating it as an everyday, normal date.’

  ‘I think that’s the best option. Try to make it as relaxed as possible until you’re ready to do the jiggy jig.’

  ‘Hey!’ I said, pushing her away. She stuck out her tongue and looped our arms back together. ‘I’m not even thinking about that.’

  But I had and I was. Matt’s bulging forearms landed in my thoughts with a hefty thud. I could see his white t-shirt stretched across the muscle, his strong jawline, and his green eyes that had a hint of copper sparkle and kind twinkles.

  ‘I’ve never seen that expression before,’ Skye said as she looked puzzled. I hadn’t realised we’d come to a stop and Reggie was busy wooing a Pug.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s a mixture of something. Kind of like the look you have on your face when you’re peering into the glass cake domes at the café, trying to decide which piece you’re going to have.’ I bumped her with my shoulder as we continued walking. ‘But also like the face you get when you’re writing. Like it’s the only thing that helps you breathe, or keeps you grounded.’

  ‘What are you trying to say?’ I asked, gulping harshly as the wind took my breath again, or maybe it was my prediction of where this conversation was heading?

  ‘I’ve tried to hold my tongue when you’ve talked about him all week. I’ve smiled when I heard you on the phone to him, laughing your arse off and flirting up a storm. Nodded as you tried to convince yourself that this would be one night only, a way for you to fully immerse yourself into the head of someone and why they would pay for an escort. Not because really, you like his thighs and would like to feel them squeezing your own.’

  ‘And your point is?’

  Skye laughed as I avoided her eyes and gazed across to the impressive iron skeleton of Brighton’s West Pier. ‘My point is that you can’t hide anything from me. You like him and that’s dodgy ground. Very dodgy ground. He’s an escort, and do I even need to point out that you’re writing an article? After tonight, it’s likely you’ll never see him again. You need to keep things professional. He’s paid to make women feel good. He’s paid to flirt and give compliments and act all gentlemanly. Don’t be sucked in.’

  ‘I know. You’re not telling me anything I haven’t already thought about. I’ve drawn the same conclusions as you, so don’t worry.’ I sighed. ‘I’m clear what Anna wants and by this time next week, the article will be finished and my night with an escort will be a distant memory.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Stace. I’ve emotionally supported you through some shit relationships. Let’s not add “heartbroken by the escort” to the list,’ Skye said. She was smiling, but there was truth stamped all over her words.

  I’d spoken to Matt three times on the phone during the past week, and I hated to admit to myself that I was starting to like him more with every one. But that was crazy, wasn’t it? He was so far to the left of the line of what I expected an escort to be like. In fact, he’d hurdled over it and was sprinting off into the distance. Our conversations were easy, and I could feel a buzz in my cheeks from all the smiling. He wasn’t afraid to make fun of himself and he’d continued joking about his current career, which I was starting to hate. Memories of him telling me he was a sure thing resurfaced and I wanted to shake him, tell him he was worth more, that he had a bigger goal and needed to remember that.

  ‘Have you spoken to him about his expectations of the date?’ Skye asked. ‘In other words, is he leaving his condoms at home or bringing them with him and lubing up?’

  ‘I told him I’d like to keep my options open.’

  ‘OK,’ Skye said, turning to me. ‘Ground rules for the date. Do not let him blind you with his obvious niceness. Do not look at his defined shoulders and do not, under any circumstances, drink any alcohol.’

  ‘Your obviously low opinion of how I handle myself is causing me some distress.’

  ‘I’m serious, Stace. How the hell is this even allowed to happen? Isn’t it illegal to pay for sex?’

  ‘I asked him about that little loophole.’

  ‘It’s not a little loophole, it’s huge and gaping,’ she replied.

  ‘Apparently, the agency he started working for had a “no sex” policy, but made it very clear that whatever happens on the dates is a private matter between Matt and his clients.’

  ‘In other words, they know it happens, but they pretend it doesn’t,’ she replied. ‘That’s because they don’t want to end up in prison.’

  ‘He works for himself now, so technically he would go to prison.’

  ‘This is mind-blowing,’ Skye said, making the action of an explosion with her hand. ‘I don’t get it. I mean, why would anyone pay for sex when you could go out to a club and get it for free?’

  ‘I’ve been talking to him about his clients. A lot of them have loneliness in common. He meets women who want the experience of being romanced by another man because their marriages are little more than a sham. Isn’t that sad? He talks about them with respect, almost protective of them and their reasons for hiring him. There’s only been a couple of occasions where he hasn’t felt respected and he’s ended dates because of it, often getting abuse when the night didn’t end with sex. I’m happy he has a client base that works for him now.’

  ‘Do you think it’s more acceptable for a man to pay for sex than a woman?’ Skye asked.

  I shrugged. ‘Possibly. I guess it’s sexism in a raw form, isn’t it. You could rephrase the question by asking if it’s more acceptable for women to charge for sex than men? Does it make Matt more of an enigma because it’s more accepted for a female to offer sex for money?’


  ‘Spoken like the true journalist you are,’ Skye replied. ‘Is that your angle for the article? Are you going to talk sexism and power?’

  ‘No, Anna wants it to focus on Matt.’

  ‘You can’t be happy with that?’

  ‘I’m not,’ I replied, watching as Reggie chased a seagull and Reggie was winning the chase. ‘Reggie Clifton! Come here.’ He reluctantly retreated, returning to my feet. I stroked behind his ears to lull him into putting his lead back on, and we headed for the steps. ‘I’m going to try to work things into the article. We’ll see how it goes. If Anna doesn’t like it, she won’t approve it for publication, and that will be that.’

  ‘Then maybe you should treat tonight as just a date. Ask him your questions and come home.’

  ‘I need to get into the mindset of a woman who regularly meets with him,’ I replied. ‘The whys and the reasons and what they get from him.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s all this is?’

  ‘Yes,’ I lied.

  I couldn’t deny I was looking forward to seeing him again. He was lovely. Interesting. He seemed like a good guy, but he was also a man who sold sex for a living and I didn’t need that complication in my life. Being cheated on or just not being enough for a man were my biggest reasons for wishing to remain single. Adding not being able to cope with the number of women my boyfriend bonks every night would not help matters. I should be running in the opposite direction, not counting down the hours until I saw him again. It was hard to imagine dating him, getting to know him as a love interest, despite knowing he was spending the night with someone else.

  How could you immerse yourself fully in his life? How could you bring him into yours? Imagine introducing him to friends and family, or even colleagues at a party. ‘You look familiar, oh yes. I bought you as a present for my ninety-year-old mother who wanted one last fling before she carked it. Bravo, you. She had a marvelous time.’ No, it was time to refocus and keep clarity. I was off the market. This was just a job. Not a potential hook-up or springboard to sizing up if he was boyfriend material. This was work. This was me delving into my subject matter to create a more informed article. Like a method actor who kept the accent between takes.

  ‘Stop thinking about his biceps. I can practically hear your libido,’ Skye said as we made our way back to Turnip The Beet.

  ‘Holy crap. Why do I find myself in situations like these?’

  ‘You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.’

  ‘Will you ring me halfway through the date, just to help me keep focused. Chant “this is work and work only” down the phone, with a few repetitions of “you do not need this complication in your life” before ending the call with “all relationships suck, especially ones with a male escort.”’

  ‘Will do,’ Skye replied. ‘Come on, you need to get ready.’

  ‘Can you take Reggie home for me? I have a wax appointment in five.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Stacey!’

  ‘What? I’m waxing for myself, not for him! A woman can take pride in a well-maintained vagina, can’t they?’

  Skye gave me an eye roll and I tried to convince myself that waxing my bikini line meant absolutely nothing more than keeping myself well-landscaped simply because I had standards to uphold, and not because I was keeping my options open.

  9

  Matt

  ‘Are you kidding me?’ Stacey said, doubling over and covering her mouth with her hand. ‘What the hell? You’re amazing!’

  I held up the basket of gifts wrapped in cellophane and held together with a bright pink bow. ‘I couldn’t come to our date empty-handed now, could I?’

  She took it from me and peered through the creases. ‘Tampons, rubber gloves, pan scrubbers, and…oh my God! Plasters! You remembered that?’ She tipped her head and a cute line appeared down her forehead. Just as quickly, it disappeared. ‘Is this your smooth escort side coming out? Is this part of the full experience?’

  ‘No, I would normally bring flowers. What kind of escort would I be if I brought them tampons?’

  Fuck, I hated saying that. I didn’t want this to be a night in the life of an escort. I wanted this to be a date. Our date. I wanted to get to know her better, chat to her about my favourite television programmes, the series I binge-watched. What I ate for breakfast, my family, my friends. I wanted to ask about her life, every fucking part. Normal stuff. But this wasn’t normal, this was a fair representation of my life and all its abnormalities.

  ‘Hey, you,’ I said softly, leaning in, losing my breath.

  ‘Hey,’ she replied, biting her lip, a blush blooming. ‘So, what happens next? Do we go in? Grab a drink? Eat?’ She was nervous. I could tell, because she ended every word with a higher pitch.

  ‘I tell you how you beautiful you look and not because it’s a line, but because it’s true.’

  ‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’

  ‘I do,’ I replied, smiling. ‘You figured out my first escort rule. Tell them they’re beautiful. Score some brownie points.’ She laughed as she shook her head before shyly giving me eye-contact. I pushed my hands into my pockets, suddenly unsure of what to say next as her laugh tapered out. ‘I’m glad you came. I wasn’t sure if you would.’

  ‘Couldn’t miss the best date of my life now, could I?’

  ‘I hope your expectations aren’t high,’ I replied.

  ‘What? Come on. I’m paying for this service. I want to be wined and dined and given the choice of a good seeing to after.’ Her laugh sparked the interest of people causally walking past. They all turned to see where the glorious noise was coming from. They smiled, unable to help it. One man almost walked into a telephone box.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you,’ I said, caught in her spell.

  I didn’t want to go inside yet. She was standing under a streetlight and it illuminated her to the point of greatness. She had tied her red hair back into a high ponytail. Ariana Grande-style, a piece of her own hair wrapped around it to keep in place. Classy. The light was making it shine and I could pick out the different tones. Amazing. I couldn’t look away until I started admiring her face. Subtle dark eyes, a slick of light pink lip gloss. Beautiful. She was wearing a long navy coat, a total contrast to the light fabric of her blue silk dress that had some kind of embroidery to the top, and was cinched in at the waist and flowy. Heels and a bag thrown across her body made her look like some kind of high fashion hipster who didn’t have to try hard to look that fucking fabulous.

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘I could eat a horse, Matt, I ain’t gonna lie.’

  I laughed at that. ‘Let’s go in and eat then.’

  ‘Is this the normal format. You ask if they want to eat first?’ I held the door open for her and she froze, biting her lip as she did. ‘Is this necessary chivalry? Do they want you to open doors for them?’

  ‘Stace,’ I said, taking her hand. ‘I want to open the door for you. You’re going to struggle to do it with a basket full of rubber gloves.’

  She smiled widely. Fuck, it couldn’t get any bigger. ‘You’re right. OK. Thank you.’

  ‘Good evening, sir…madam. Do you have a table booked with us?’ the waiter asked as we approached the front desk. I’d chosen the restaurant mainly because I’d never been here before and for some reason, that was important. I didn’t want familiarity tonight, I wanted totally new.

  ‘Do we?’ Stacey asked, taking off her coat and draping it over her arm.

  ‘We do. Yes. Under Mr Shaw.’

  ‘And Stacey,’ she said, putting her hand on his elbow. ‘Where are we sitting? I hope it’s a good spot.’ She peered at his name badge. ‘Alain. Are you French?’

  ‘Yes, madam. Follow me,’ he said, grinning. Someone else she’d put under her spell within two seconds of meeting her.

  ‘Oh, this is lovely. Merci.’ She handed him her coat as he laughed, her Essex accent not blending well with the French. Amazing. ‘Alain, would you mind putting that somewhere
for me?’

  It was like we had arrived at an old friend’s for dinner, not a fancy restaurant. He held out her chair and when she caught me staring at her, she shyly sat down. She clasped her hands together, elbows on the table, and it allowed me to admire the small freckles dotted across her arms.

  ‘You’ve trimmed your beard,’ she said, pulling down an imaginary one on her chin. ‘Nice. I like it.’

  I instantly felt for mine, scratching my hand across the scruff. ‘I have a client who likes it shorter.’

  ‘You change your appearance for a date?’ She looked horrified.

  ‘No, I trim my beard,’ I replied, shaking my head.

  ‘What if they asked you to shave your head? Or…have a nose job?’

  I cleared my throat in an attempt to stop myself from laughing. ‘I’d say, “Sorry but you’ve obviously chosen the wrong escort.”’

  ‘Good! Don’t go changing.’ She laughed. ‘You’re perfect as you are.’

  ‘A fitty,’ I replied, smirking.

  ‘Yeah. A proper sort.’ She smiled before resting her hand on the waiter’s arm, who was at the next table. I wondered if she realised the weight of her words, how much they made me smile because they were genuine, but mainly because they came from her. ‘Excuse me, can I get another fork? This one has a questionable piece of crust on it and I’m not willing to take a chance. Is that OK with you?’ She smiled broadly, infectious and warm. ‘Thank you, darlin’. I don’t want to be a pain, but you know…standards.’

  She shrugged and offered that friendly smile again. The one I was beginning to love, where her nose wrinkled in persuasion. He slowly backed away, fork in hand. ‘You would think things would be better in a classy joint like this. I wouldn’t eat off a crusty fork of my own let alone someone else’s.’ She smiled shyly.

  Who was this woman? A woman I was smitten with. I’d never even said the word before, never understood the meaning, but looking at that confident smile and her open eyes? Yep, smittenlicious.

 

‹ Prev