“I guess that depends on what you mean by good.”
“Interesting. Difficult greens. No clowns or ponies or carnival music.”
Instead of the amusement he hoped for, he received the suspicious narrowing of one dark eye. Hiding a sigh, he realized it wasn’t only her friends she didn’t want him to meet. She didn’t want to be seen with him at all.
“Never mind. I’ll just update your computer’s operating system after breakfast. I know some good freeware you might want to try.”
Something in her face softened. “Are you that bored?”
“Of course not.” He sat up straighter. “I happen to be a computer genius. Plus, I snuck a peek at your system yesterday, and you are in desperate need of a multipurpose codec. I don’t know how you manage to watch videos on that thing.”
“Jack…” She paused a long moment before her chin came up. “Chimera Green is the best, but it’s also the busiest because it has other stuff like batting cages and go-carts. Go Go Putt Putt is obviously for kids. I’d say our best bet is Arg, Me Hearties.”
His lips twitched. “Arg, Me Hearties?”
For the first time all morning, she smiled. “Pirate themed.”
“You don’t say.”
They stared at each other, lips twitching, for a full second before bursting out laughing.
“It’s Talk Like a Pirate Day all year there, Jack, I kid you not.”
He fought for breath. “That’s it. We’re going. I have got to see this place.”
“I have to warn you. I am terrible at mini golf.”
His chuckles wound down to the occasional guffaw. “Please tell me you don’t hate it.”
“Bite your tongue.” But she grinned. “I love it. I’m just terrible at it.”
“Fair enough. What time do they open?”
In less than an hour, he pulled his Envoy into a parking spot barely ten yards from a cinderblock building painted and extended in front to look like a pirate ship. Plaster cannons poked out of the sides at regular intervals. Two masts that looked remarkably like adapted telephone poles shot up from the roof, and several sails flapped in the languid breeze. He killed the engine and sat staring for a long moment.
“Boggles the mind, doesn’t it?”
He nodded, caught between wide-eyed and highly amused.
“Every time someone finishes in under par, they fire the cannons.”
“No way.”
She snickered. “They have them set up with compressed gas and sound effects. The guy checks your score card, types in the number and hollers ‘Fire all!’ and it’s like a touchdown at Tampa Bay.”
Shaking his head, he opened his door and stepped out. “I love this place. I don’t even have to go inside to know.”
“It’s definitely something else.”
He kept his hands safely in his pockets as they walked toward the building so he wouldn’t accidentally put his arm around her or grab her hand. She walked close to him, and that was enough for now. Besides, she wasn’t hiding her eyes or darting glances around to see who might catch her with a male prostitute. She seemed relaxed and even grinned up at him when he opened the door for her.
“Ahoy, mateys!”
The chorus came from all sides, and he fought the urge to snicker. She nudged him with her elbow, and he looked down to find her eyes twinkling.
“Hope you brushed up on your pirate lingo. The desk is over there. I gotta go use the little wench’s room.”
He watched her go with a grin and nearly laughed again when he saw the signs on the bathroom doors. Wenches and Mateys. Good God.
“Welcome aboard, mate. How many rounds would ye like?”
Carefully hiding his amusement, he paid for a single round, not wanting to push his luck with her. If all went well, he hoped she’d grab a late lunch with him before he drove back to the city. He ought to try another heavy petting session to make up for not being in the mood last night, but he might not be able to fit it in.
While he waited for her to return from the little wench’s room, he looked over the decor with a wide smile. Rigging and nets draped every wall. Wooden casks and barrels stuffed up the corners, some with fake rats squatting on them. The walls were painted like wooden slats, the ceiling crisscrossed with heavy beams. And the crowning touch, an honest to God cannon, squatted against the far wall, a pile of cannonballs beside it.
A hand on his arm turned him from his lollygagging, and he didn’t bother hiding his amusement. “This place is a riot. How often do you come here?”
She quirked her crooked grin. “Just the once. The course is a little too distracting to really work on your game, and my game needs serious work.”
“I gotta see this.”
They picked out putters, then pushed through the far door leading to the course. He stopped just outside.
“Oh. My. God.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
A scale-model ship capped a blue-tinted hill, all billowing sails and storm-tossed waves. Water hazards with real running water abounded. Alligators, a squid and an octopus guarded various holes. And, of course, a sinuous, coiling sea serpent.
“I love this place.”
She laughed and took his arm, heading for the first hole. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
At least he didn’t make fun of her pitiful play. Gabe smiled softly as Jack took a careful, narrow-eyed stance. He’d been extremely patient, even at the squid hole where she’d gone a good eight strokes over par before taking a mulligan so they could just move on. Those tentacles were impossible.
But he hadn’t said a word, though he’d managed three holes-in-one and had come in at least at par on every other hole. It was…sweet, though she felt like a total amateur.
His sure stroke guided the ball over the little wooden bridge, bounced it off an open, spilling treasure chest, and scooted it up onto the plateau green. One shot, and he was barely a foot away from the hole. Was there anything he wasn’t good at?
Groaning, she set up her own shot and tried to mimic his confident stance. She really did enjoy mini golf, but she was used to playing with her friends, who were almost as bad as she was. They went to laugh, not to fire the cannons.
She lined up her shot, pulled back, and whacked the ball. It didn’t even make it over the bridge, but bounced off a railing post, went airborne and plopped into the water.
“Crap.”
Jack chuckled and carefully stepped into the pebbled scenery to bend down and fish out her ball. “You weren’t kidding. You are terrible.”
“Thanks a lot.”
He wiped the ball off on his T-shirt and put it back on the mat for her. “Nothing that can’t be fixed. Let me show you. Assume the position.”
Blushing because she knew exactly what he planned to do and wasn’t sure she could concentrate on mini golf with him pressed up against her backside, she bent slightly and lined up her putter again. Sure enough, he came up behind and wrapped his arms around her, settling his hands over hers.
“Did you plan this?”
He huffed a soft laugh. “No, but it comes in handy. Now, your stroke is too hard for mini golf. You lose finesse when you just haul back and club it. Plus, you tend to angle the putter head when you swing so hard. It messes up any aiming you might have done.”
“Might have? Am I that bad?”
Not answering, he pulled her hands into the backswing and guided them forward, holding her arms steady with his own. The ball clattered over the bridge, bounced off the rock edging, and landed square in the loot spilling out of the treasure chest.
He let out a shout of laughter and gave her a squeeze.
“Some help you are, jerk.”
“My God, that was great! I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“How am I supposed to putt from there?”
Laughing harder, he rocked her a little bit and gave her another squeeze before letting go. “I don’t know, but I think straddling will be required.”
&
nbsp; “You did that on purpose.” Despite her accusing tone, she couldn’t completely hide her own grin.
“Oh, come on.” He strode across the bridge and over to his own ball on the green. “Would I do something like that?”
Grumbling, she trudged over to the treasure chest and glared down at her disobedient ball. “You sound like Phil.”
“Your friend Phil?”
She glanced up at the change in his tone. Uh-oh. Back to dangerous ground. “Yeah. He always pretends to be innocent when something turns out exactly the way he wants it to.”
His face was still, devoid of the laughter from moments before. He stared down at his shot, lining it up with more attention than was surely necessary for a pro like him.
“How about the other one. Doug, was it? Is he the innocent type?”
Her own face carefully expressionless, she watched him sink another ball at a stroke under par. “Not hardly. He likes to push his luck. If there’s a joke that goes just a step too far, he’ll tell it. Phil tends to be more observant of people’s boundaries.”
“They sound like good friends to have. Always keeping you on your toes.”
“They are, and they do.”
Four strokes later, she finally cursed her ball into the hole, and they moved to the next one, the infamous sea serpent. The beastie squatted directly in a water hole, and the only way to get from island A—the putting mat—to island B—the green—was to slide the ball up its tail, through its coils, and out its mouth. She sighed.
“We’re gonna be here all day.”
“Have faith.”
Much to her unladylike pleasure, even Jack didn’t get his ball in the right spot the first time, so she didn’t feel too bad that it took her three tries to even hit the tail. But when she did finally get it right and the ball popped out the serpent’s mouth and right into the hole with his, she couldn’t restrain a whoop and a jump.
“I did it!”
Grinning, he swung her around in his arms. She hugged him back and cheered until she heard the people a few holes behind them laughing, too, and realized that they were very much in public. Just anyone could be passing by, watching her make an idiot of herself with someone who was probably her boyfriend. Worse, she had to remind herself why she cared.
Abruptly pulling away and lowering her eyes so she couldn’t see the confusion on his handsome face, she fidgeted with her putter until he turned and retrieved their balls. She felt bad, like she’d kicked him in the no-nos with steel-toed boots, but she made no effort to right the damage. She couldn’t allow herself to be so attached to him.
He wasn’t hers, but she was no longer sure that she didn’t want him to be.
Chapter Seven
What Your Gigolo Does While You’re Away
He was wasting his time. Every time Jack thought he might be making progress with her, Gabe spiked his guns with some offhand comment or action to remind him that she had no intention of being part of a relationship.
At least he could console himself with the thought that it wasn’t just him. She’d years of practice at evading the girlfriend shackle.
Shaking his head at how badly he’d botched something as simple as mini-golfing that afternoon, he walked down his apartment’s hallway, shed clothing on the way to the shower and considered the possibility that he might actually lose. Despite his charms—and he knew she wasn’t completely immune to them—he might eventually have to chalk Gabe up as a failed mission. What then? Back to escorting?
The thought brought him no comfort. He no longer had the stomach for such sport, as lucrative as the practice had been. Plus, he might lose the ground he’d made up with his dad, and he couldn’t stand that. The old man had sounded so proud, so relieved.
No. He was done with that. So…what?
He stepped into the shower and tried to wash away Gabe’s scent. He’d never get to sleep tonight if his bed smelled like her and she wasn’t there. He’d learned that the hard way. Worse, she’d linger in his sheets for days. Of course, that might be his imagination, but he didn’t want to risk it.
Freshly scrubbed, he stepped out of the steaming shower and, finally finding a grin, shook off like a dog instead of bothering with a towel. He scruffed his fingers through his hair, ruffling it to make sure it didn’t need a follow-up head-banging session, then ambled back up the hallway in search of something to eat.
He paused as he entered the living room, though. Something was different. In an apartment as bare bones as his, different was usually a bad thing. It usually meant something was missing.
Frowning, he studied the room for a long moment before it hit him. The answering machine light was on.
A grunt of perplexity escaped him. He rarely used his land line, much preferring his cell. He hadn’t even given the number to Gabe or Mike. Or Regina, for that matter. Who…?
He had put the number on some of his applications. Maybe someone wanted an interview. He brightened. Maybe one of his few interviewers actually wanted to hire him.
Practically sprinting across the living room, he jabbed at the play button and leaned down on the end table with both hands.
“You have one new message. Received Friday at 4 p.m.”
The pleasantly robotic voice ended and a real one began.
“Mr. Savage, this is Dale calling from Channel 14. I’ve reviewed your application and spoken with Garrett, the gentleman who interviewed you, and I have great news. We think you’re perfect for the help desk position you applied for. We’d like you to have a little more recent experience in a phone-in help position, but you have more than the required education and we advertised that we would train if necessary. I think you’ll really fit in here. Garrett says you’re a quick learner and already know most of the software you’ll be dealing with, as well as all of the hardware required. If you’ll call us Monday morning after 9:00, we’ll set up a meeting to hash out the fine print. Welcome to the team, Jack.”
His smile should have lit up the entire room. He had an actual, honest to God, paying, legitimate job. He reached for his cell and scrolled to Gabe’s number, then paused, his smile falling.
He couldn’t tell her. How could he explain it? Why would he need a job if he were still an escort?
The best news in over a month, and he had no one to share it with. Just when he thought he was making progress…
Straightening his shoulders, he scrolled down a few entries. There were two people he could brag to, anyway. Three, if he counted his dad. And by God, he was in the mood to celebrate.
Sometimes, Mike hated her cell phone. It never failed to ring when she had her hands full of something complicated.
Rinsing baby shampoo off her hands in the bath water and wiping them on her jeans, she turned to glare at the little piece of plastic on the bathroom sink that was supposed to make life easier. She fumbled it off the edge and stared at the number, frowning.
She didn’t have time for this.
“Ivy, honey, don’t splash so much. Mommy has to answer the phone.” She flipped the cell open and tucked it between her chin and shoulder. “Hey.”
“Mike?”
“Yeah, Jack.”
“Are you busy?”
“Extremely. Ivy, no eating soap. I just got you out of diapers; I don’t feel like putting you back in them for the rest of the day.”
Her sister’s male prostitute sexual partner chuckled. “Ah, bath time. I’m sorry. I can call back later.”
“No, talk now. Just do it fast.”
“Will do. I have good news, and since I can’t tell Gabe, you’re the next best thing.”
Stilling, she sat back on her heels to think that over, but he went on before she could really get her thoughts straight.
“I got a bona fide job! It’s just a help desk position, but it’s at Channel 14 News. Isn’t that great?”
She blinked. “That is great. Congratulations.”
“I thought I’d completely blown the interview, but Regina must have put in
a really good word for me. I’m pretty excited, actually. It even pays better than I was expecting, though nothing like what I’m used to.”
He sounded giddy. His words ran together with obvious excitement, and she could almost see him pacing as he spoke. He’d really done it. He’d really quit escorting.
“Hey, Jack?”
“Yeah?”
She smiled a little. “I’m really proud of you. I’m glad I gave you Gabe’s number.”
He didn’t respond for a long moment. Ivy babbled to her bath toys, but Mike barely heard. In many ways, she’d been wrong about the man she’d hired. And in many ways, he was no longer that man.
Finally: “That means a lot, Mike. Thank you.”
The phone beeped in her ear, and her good feelings dimmed with returned irritation. “I have another call, but I mean it. I’m proud of you. Even if things don’t work out with Gabe, you’ve done right by her. And by yourself, if I can say so without offending.”
“No offense taken. I’ll let you go. I gotta call Regina, anyway. And my dad. I can’t wait to tell him.” He seemed to realize he was running on and brought himself up short. “Hey, Mike? Thanks for…you know. Everything.”
“I didn’t do anything. You did it all yourself.”
“If you think so.”
“I do.”
“All right, then. Goodbye.”
He hung up, and she took the other call without looking at the number.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Sis.”
What a coincidence. Returning most of her attention to her daughter, who was currently trying to eat a sponge, Mike grinned.
“What’s up, kiddo?
“Oh, not much. Just wanted to talk. Do you have time?” Gabe didn’t sound like herself—a far cry from Jack’s near-mania.
“Well, if you don’t mind me interrupting every two minutes to tell Ivy to quit eating her tub toys, I got time.”
“I don’t mind.”
No smart remark. No sarcasm. Mike’s grin disappeared.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” But she didn’t sound all right. Mike didn’t have to see her to know that she had turned back into the quiet, big-eyed little girl from so many years ago. Not good. “I just…need to talk. I need…advice, I guess.”
My Gigolo: The Care and Feeding of a Male Prostitute Page 11