As he turned on the water, he couldn’t help a smug smirk. Gabe hadn’t been walking quite right this morning, either, though she hadn’t breathed a word of complaint. At least his years of experience weren’t going to waste.
He stepped into the spray and soaped, his mind wandering to his plans for the weekend. Truth be told, he didn’t really know what she did in her spare time. He knew that she read and watched movies. Baked. Listened to great music. Danced almost as terribly as he did. Worked a lot and hung out with friends.
But what else?
A frown snuck onto his face. What did she like to do? She obviously had a toned, slender body, so she surely exercised. She’d mentioned Tae Bo aerobics, but was that it? Did she like to run? Maybe they could go for a jog this evening if she wasn’t too worn out from work.
But what if she hated running? He tried to jog every other day, and he would enjoy her company. Unless, of course, she hated it. Good grief.
And what about mini golf? Tennis? Bike riding? He hadn’t seen a bike anywhere. Of course, he hadn’t been looking for one, but if she used it regularly, wouldn’t she keep it handy?
Did she like anything he liked?
He ducked his head under the spray and appropriated a bit of her shampoo. Luckily, it didn’t smell flowery or fruity. Clean, but not overwhelming—rather like her. Breathing in the scent, he smiled. He could almost feel her hair tickling his nose. All those curls. They hung down past her shoulders when wet. He’d had no idea her hair was that long.
So what if he didn’t know her likes and habits? He’d find out soon enough, if he played his cards right. And if their interests didn’t line right up, well, what of that? They could find new stuff to do together and keep their separate hobbies for when they needed time alone. If that wasn’t what building a relationship was about, he didn’t know what was.
Besides, tricking her into telling him about herself was half the fun.
Squeaky clean and naked as the day he was born, he stalked down the stairs for the jeans he’d left slung over her couch’s back. They hadn’t quite made it to the staircase. Neither had his boxer briefs, either of their shirts, or her bra. He grinned as he snagged his pants by a belt loop and swung them over his shoulder. He might feel awkward about the conflict between making love and having sex, but she seemed to feel no such distress. Her efforts to lead him upstairs by the johnson hadn’t felt awkward in the least.
He whistled happily as he went back upstairs for a clean pair of underwear. It was time to return the favor.
At first glance, nothing on her street seemed different. A second glance, however, cured her of that misapprehension. Old biddies lined the street.
Mrs. Minnett sat in her sag-seated lawn chair on her porch. Mrs. Tarrington stood ostensibly watering her flowers, but no water ran from the hose, and she wasn’t looking at the flowers. Rose and Ava Chauncey, the spinster twins, rocked in their yard swing. Even the old poop three doors down—the one Gabe had long since written off as a recluse—had unearthed and made no attempt to conceal her attention. The grouch leaned against her mailbox, staring directly at Gabe’s large side yard, where all the other ladies seemed to be trying not to obviously look.
What on earth?
As she climbed out of her car, she waved at the Chauncey sisters. They’d brought her homemade chicken noodle soup the last time she caught the flu, and they always checked in on her since. Now, though, they didn’t seem to notice she was home.
Her forehead wrinkling with confusion and curiosity, she walked around the front of the house to see what was so interesting in her side yard. Was her shed on fire or something?
She cleared the corner, caught sight of the scene in the back corner of her yard, and stopped mid-step. A laugh bubbled up in her throat, but she held it back desperately, even biting her lower lip as it trembled with her urge to crack up completely.
Jack stood just outside her shed’s open door, naked to the waist, sweat gleaming on his perfect physique. His damp jeans clung to his thighs and butt. His hair—usually the adorably tousled bed-head style—hung in his eyes in damp tangles. Her lawn mower, a cantankerous old hunk of junk that had seen at least half as many summers as she had, sat silent and smug on the ground before him. If it were a sensible thing, it would cringe at his feet from the furious glare on his handsome, flushed face.
The laugh escaped, and she put a hand to her mouth, hoping he hadn’t heard. No such luck. His eyes flashed—either from irritation or from catching the sun, she couldn’t be sure—and she finally just let it all go.
“Oh, Jack, how long have you been trying to start that thing?”
He scowled. “Just tell me it’s broken. Seriously. If it’s not, it will be.”
Laughing harder, she walked up to him and put her arms around his waist, glad that working on a weekend meant she could wear jeans and a T-shirt and get his sweat all over her without fear for a delicate fabric.
“It’s old. And persnickety. You have to pull the old ‘gas down the exhaust’ trick or you could throw your back out and still not crank it over.”
He groaned, settling an arm around her back. “Now you tell me.”
“You didn’t ask.” Another little snigger snuck out. “So how long have you been entertaining the neighborhood watch?”
His chest and arm flexed as he looked up. “Oh, God. At least I’ve only had my shirt off for the last half hour or so.”
She gave him a squeeze, and he obligingly wrapped both arms around her. He smelled like sweaty man, but it wasn’t a bad smell. She closed her eyes and breathed him in.
“Thank you for trying to mow my lawn for me, but I’ll just do it tomorrow. It’s probably too hot to mow, anyway. Plus, it’s lunchtime. I’ll make you one of my world famous sandwiches.”
He snorted. “World famous, huh?”
“Well, famous to those who matter, and those who matter are the world.”
He tensed against her, and her soft smile froze on her face.
“Does that count me?”
She tensed, too, cursing inwardly. “I guess that depends on what you think of my sandwiches.”
The moment spun out, something passing between them. She had no idea what it was, and she mentally sighed with relief when he pulled away and smiled down at her.
“How about you show me how to get this hunk of junk started, and I’ll mow while you lay your best smack down on some sandwiches?”
A crooked grin quirked her lips. “Got a screwdriver?”
He spent the afternoon feeling like the new prize rooster strutting in front of all the old hens, but he finished the lawn so Gabe didn’t have to and felt pretty damn good about himself. He didn’t destroy a single flower bed or even injure himself. Not bad for not having mowed a lawn since he was a kid.
Gabe sat in her terribly green porch swing and watched him. More accurately, she watched the old women watch him from their porches. The one time he remembered to look directly at her as he passed by, he caught a strangely smug smile on her face, as if she wanted her neighbors to see her with a man in her yard. He did his part, leaving his shirt off and pausing every now and then to bend over and take a drink from the hose, even splashing himself once for effect. He didn’t doubt that she appreciated him mowing her lawn, but it probably didn’t hurt that he looked damn good doing it.
She rewarded him with perhaps the largest sandwich he’d ever seen.
“Good God. I haven’t seen this much meat since I saw a cow on TV.” He eyed the creation doubtfully. “What’s that green stuff?”
“Alfalfa sprouts. They taste better than lettuce.”
Shooting her a suspicious glance, he hefted the meal-on-bread. It smelled good, anyway. Couldn’t screw up ham and turkey too much.
The first bite was heaven. The second, ambrosia.
“Gabe, this is the best sandwich in the history of the world.”
Of course, with his mouth full, he doubted she understood a word. He didn’t care. His stomach roare
d to life, and he dug in with a will.
She watched with a crooked grin, picking at her much smaller concoction and offering him chips and a tall glass of iced tea.
“Thank you for mowing. I don’t mind doing it myself, but it’s nice to not have it hanging over my head during trial time.”
He nodded, his mouth too full to comment.
“And it was kinda fun to watch the Old Biddy Patrol drool.”
Grinning, he nodded again and tried to swallow.
“Can you eat faster without choking?”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Because those wet jeans and all of that sweat is turning me on so bad I can barely think straight.”
He coughed and put down his sandwich, reaching for his tea. Swallowing hard, he cleared his mouth enough to swig down half the glass and wash away the lump. Gasping from the near-choking and eyes watering from immediate brain freeze, he tried to grin.
“I can eat later.”
Smiling wickedly, she scooted his chair sideways away from the table and straddled his lap. He shoved anything breakable or spillable out of reach, then wrapped his arms around her and leaned up for her kiss. He was sweaty and smelly and dirty, but she didn’t seem to care. She kissed him like she was trying to climb inside and squirmed against him, her hands stroking up his arms and down his back.
“God, you smell good.”
If she thought so, he wouldn’t argue.
Another tongue-filled kiss. “I don’t even want to go upstairs. Do you mind?”
“Nope. Here’s fine.”
More kissing and a lot more stroking and squirming. He didn’t stand a chance against the onslaught. Luckily, he didn’t want to.
Her shirt disappeared. His jeans magically unbuttoned and unzipped. The phone rang.
She stilled against him, her teeth clutching his bottom lip, and listened to the second ring. And the third.
“I’d better get that. It might be my boss. He’s about the only one who calls my land line.”
He understood, though her words were muffled by his lip, so he nodded. He groaned as she slipped from his lap and sucked on his lip until she pulled away completely and picked up the phone.
“Yeah?”
He leaned back against the chair, his hands clenching on his thighs. His arousal already ached, and he probably looked ridiculous slumping back in a chair with his legs splayed and his jeans unzipped, his erection bulging in his underwear. Thank God for mini-blinds.
“I can’t tonight.” A pause. “I have plans.” She rolled her eyes. “No, not plans. Just plans. I’m busy.” Her eyes met his, and she bit her lip. “Maybe next weekend. I dunno. I gotta go, Phil.”
But she listened for a few more moments, slipping a hand into her jeans pocket and shaking her head. Finally, just as he began to wish he could tuck himself back into his pants and zip up, she groaned.
“Phil, I am busy. If you and Doug want to catch a movie, go right ahead. I’ll go another time. Thank you for asking, but I can’t talk right now.” She dropped her head back and slumped her shoulders. “I gotta go!”
She snorted and said a quick goodbye, then hung up the phone.
“Sorry. Where were we?”
He grinned and patted his thighs. “I don’t know where I was, but you were right about here.”
“Oh, yeah.”
Jack liked zombie movies. Could he be any more perfect?
Gabe leaned back against him in the flickering glow from the TV, a bowl of popcorn in her lap and his arms around her, watching cheesy, black-n-white horror movies and wondering if this could so quickly become a habit. Probably a bad habit.
He reached for popcorn, his chest flexing at her back with every movement, and she smiled, glad he couldn’t see her sappy expression. He’d been such enjoyable company the whole afternoon. Witty and charming. Handsome and helpful and relaxed. And he hadn’t said anything to kick up her guard even once.
Unfortunately, that was part of the problem. He was entirely too easy. Easy to like, easy to please, easy to get along with. How could she keep him at arm’s length when all he had to do was smile to get her to bring him in close? What kind of a fool would she be to fall for such practiced charms? To think they were real?
Swallowing a grumble at the turn of her thoughts, she pushed up from the comfort of his body and put the popcorn bowl on the coffee table.
“Ready for bed?” His tone flowed like honeyed whiskey. He had the best voice. Did he practice it, too?
“Not really. I just need to get up for a second. Want anything from the kitchen?”
He shook his head, but she felt his eyes boring into her back as she left the room. She needed to get away, both from him and from the false contentment he represented.
Shutting the bathroom door behind her, she leaned against it and let her head loll back. She knew better than anyone that life never offered anything perfect without demanding a steep price in return. Even if Jack did want something more than the good, simple thing they had going, she couldn’t have it. Wouldn’t dare to have it. She couldn’t imagine the astronomical hidden cost.
But every time she spent more than an hour out of the sack with him, she felt her resolve slipping. She wanted to remain single for the rest of her life. She’d promised herself after the last relationship…after Eric…that she’d be beholden to no one for her own happiness, that she would hold no one else’s happiness in her hands. Too much was at stake in matters of the heart to play with a cavalier attitude.
Even if Jack weren’t a male prostitute, she simply couldn’t be with him, couldn’t tie him up like that. It wasn’t fair.
But oh, to lie on the couch, safe in his strong arms, and point and laugh at B movies while snarfing popcorn—
It was a pipe dream. It was a stupid, dangerous fantasy, and if she were even half as smart as she credited herself, she wouldn’t allow the luxury of pretending it could be real.
Her resolve again firmly in place, she flushed the unused toilet, washed and dried her hands, then rejoined him in the living room, though she sat slumped in the armchair instead of with him on the couch.
“Better?”
“Much.”
The movie played on. They watched silently. Gone was the banter about zippered zombies and big-haired bimbo heroines.
Finally: “Why didn’t you go to the movies with your friends?”
She blinked. With all of the forced ignoring, she’d almost fallen asleep. She peered at him in the semi-dark, her eyes bleary from staring at the TV. He studied her, his face strangely intense.
“Huh?”
“Your friends called earlier. Why didn’t you go with them?”
“I didn’t even think to.” Not entirely true, but she had been distracted, what with his wet jeans clinging to him like that. She blushed and was glad for the TV's unsteady light. “Besides, I didn’t want to leave you here alone again. Wouldn’t be hospitable of me to leave a guest alone twice in one day.”
“I wouldn’t have minded going with you.”
She couldn’t make out his expression. Frowning, she carefully weighed her words.
“I didn’t think about it. Did you want to see a movie?”
“I wouldn’t mind meeting your friends.”
He sounded even more careful than she did. What was that look on his face? She felt her eyebrows coming together in a frown. Was he speaking his own language again?
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I don’t want them to get the wrong idea.”
His face was as immobile as stone. He didn’t even blink, but somehow she knew she’d said the wrong thing.
“You’re probably right. Look, I’m pretty zonked from all that mower-cranking earlier. Wanna hit the sack?”
She forced a smile, though her features felt frozen. “Sure.”
He stood and offered her a hand up. She took it. He didn’t pull her in close, and the distance between them suddenly felt like half the world.
And then he smiled,
his eyes softening. “How old is that thing, anyway?”
“The mower?”
He nodded, and she found a more realistic smile.
“At least half as old as I am. Aunt Tab bought it when I was still in grade school.”
“I believe it.”
She followed him to the stairs, still wondering what she might have said to put that stony look on his face, in his eyes. Did he really want to meet her friends? But why? He barely had time for her, if his infrequent calls were any indication. Did he really have time for more acquaintances?
As she watched him undress and stripped off her own clothes, she couldn't help but frown, though the sight of him disrobing would normally have her licking her lips. If she introduced him to Doug and Phil, they would automatically assume some romantic tie. Jack wouldn’t want that anymore than she did. It'd be hard to explain away, and they would both be subject to a good deal of teasing before the matter settled. It wasn’t worth the trouble.
So what had she said wrong?
Finally, she lay naked beside him, feeling at least an acre of sheet between them though they lay close enough to bump elbows if one or the other shifted. What did he expect of her? What could he possibly get from coming here and mowing her lawn and watching zombie movies? What did he expect to get from meeting her friends? What was he doing to her?
Troubled, she didn’t fall asleep for a long time.
He needed a distraction. If he stayed cooped up in the house with her all day, he’d dig his hole deeper than it already was. It was long past time to take this non-relationship out into public.
Plus, he was bored.
“Are there any good mini golf courses around here?”
She looked up from her scrambled eggs and blinked. Though he’d felt uncomfortable since the night before when he realized she didn’t want to introduce him to her friends, he couldn’t help a tiny smile at that signature slow blink. She looked like a surprised cat when she did it, like she’d comprehend in her own good time and not a moment before.
My Gigolo: The Care and Feeding of a Male Prostitute Page 10