Unbreakable

by Colette Davison

  3 Mac

  Mac met Michael and Edward a little after one at a small Thai restaurant a few streets away from the gym he worked at. He’d managed to grab a quick shower before leaving the gym, which meant he wasn’t turning up sweaty and gross.

  Before he went to the table, he took a moment to watch them. They were gorgeous together. Where Michael had straight blond hair and what Mac liked to call ‘superhero features’, Edward had a more European vibe to him. He had dark curly hair, a straight Roman nose, and a strong, square chin. They sat at a right angle to each other, holding hands and staring into one another’s eyes. He loved them both and adored them together, but he was jealous of what they had.

  “All right, you two, break it the fuck up.” Mac didn’t give a shit when the people at the table next to them turned and gave him a sour look. He simply flashed them a grin and then sat down, opposite Michael. “What’s wrong?”

  Michael stared at him. “Nothing’s wrong. Why does anything have to be wrong?”

  “When was the last time you two invited me out for a slap-up lunch?”

  Edward handed him a menu. “When we told you we were going to make things official with a civil partnership.”

  “We had a meal after the ceremony. You were definitely invited to that,” Michael recalled.

  Mac rolled his eyes. They all knew damn well that they’d gone out as a trio far more recently than that. Cinema, Pizza Hut, and a few beers after was one of their favourite evenings out. It hardly counted as posh, though.

  “Something’s going on.” Mac glanced at the menu, making a quick decision. “Are you thinking of adopting?”

  Michael, who had been sipping some water, almost spat it out across the table.

  Edward smiled at him and then shook his head. “Not yet. Although I am working on him.”

  “You two would make great dads.” Mac meant it. They were so attentive and caring that he knew they’d give a wonderful home to a child of any age.

  Edward glanced at Michael and then back to Mac. “We’re thinking of buying Barry out.”

  It was Mac’s turn to cough and splutter. “Fucking hell. Seriously?” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you guys have that much cash?”

  “I’ve got a bit of inheritance money,” Edward said. “And I put my redundancy payment into an investment package.”

  “I’ve got some savings too,” Michael added.

  Mac whistled. “Wow. Okay. You two do realise Horns is a dive, right? Barry’s running it into the ground.”

  Edward nodded. “Which is why we’re hoping he’ll sell us the property and the business cheap.”

  “And you’ve got ideas for how you’ll turn it around?”

  They paused as a waiter arrived at their table and took their order.

  When they were alone again, Michael leant on the table. “We’ve been throwing ideas around. I’m not going to argue that Horns is a dive, but we want to give it a new look, a new vibe, and a new name.”

  Edward laid his hand over Michael’s. “We want to make it somewhere that guys like us want to work.” He gestured around the table at all three of them. “We all enjoy what we do.”

  “Most of it.” Mac bobbed his head from side to side. “I like the pole dancing. Stripteases are okay as long as you’re not stuck behind the curtain with a handsy pervert.”

  Edward nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly, but that’s one of the things we’d change.”

  “There’d be proper rules to protect the dancers. No touching, for a start,” Michael chimed in before nodding to Edward to continue.

  “We want to put cameras in the booths to make sure customers stick to the rules.”

  “We’d pay the dancers, so they’d never have to go home empty-handed,” Michael said. “It’d probably only be minimum wage, but on top of the money from stripteases…”

  “It’d be a great incentive,” Mac agreed.

  “We’re planning on running theme nights, with promotions on drinks, to get people through the door,” Edward picked up. “And we’d give up on the escalating fees for multiple dances because we all know that we lose out on a lot of business because of it.”

  “We’d have bouncers on the door and inside to get rid of any troublemakers,” Michael continued.

  Mac stared at them both as they were talking, awed by their enthusiasm and their ideas. “A lot of the things you’re talking about are going to cost you a fuck-ton of money, long before you start making any. Have you really got the capital to cover buying the business, doing the place up, rebranding, hiring new staff, and paying the dancers?” He checked things off on his fingers as he spoke.

  Michael and Edward stared at each other for several long seconds.

  Michael puffed his cheeks out and exhaled slowly. “It does sound like a lot, doesn’t it?”

  “That’s because it is a lot.” Mac splayed his hands on the table. “Look, I think it’s a great idea, and I really don’t want to rain on your parade, but I love you guys, and I don’t want to see you throwing your money away. Maybe if the place was doing better… If it had decent punters coming in through the door every night, I’d tell you to fucking go for it. God knows, I’d rather have you two as my bosses than dick-faced Barry. But shit, you guys, if you can’t make it work, you’ll lose everything.”

  And so would he. Even if Barry was the shittiest boss in the history of shitty bosses, Horns was still a second home to him. Mostly because of Michael and Edward, but still, he couldn’t stand the thought of losing the club or his friends.

  Edward leant back in his chair, his arm casually draped over the back. At thirty-two, he was older than Michael and Mac by five years and generally the more level-headed of them all. “We’ve been doing projections with a financial advisor. I honestly think we can make this work.”

  Mac poured himself a drink of water from the carafe on the table, mostly so he wouldn’t have to make eye contact with either of them; he didn’t want them to realise he wasn’t enthusiastic about their risky idea. “Well, okay, then. I wish you both luck.” He hated that he’d sounded so half-hearted. He did want them to do well, but not if it meant putting their livelihoods and makeshift family at risk.

  “We’d like you to come in with us,” Michael said.

  Mac shook his head with more finality than he’d intended. “I don’t have that kind of money, and even if I did, I’m sorry, guys, but I can’t take that kind of financial risk. I’m practically living hand to mouth as it is.” It was probably a dick move to hope that if he didn’t back them, they wouldn’t be able to go ahead with their fanciful plan.

  “We’d only be asking for a small financial investment,” Edward said. “We’ve got a bit of a shortfall. In return, you’d be a full partner. We’d all have an equal say in the business and equal pay.”

  “Once it starts making money,” Michael added. “Which it will. At least think about it, Mac? You’ve got some great ideas. Like putting practise poles in the changing rooms.”

  Mac grinned. “That was a good idea, wasn’t it?” But even having his ego stroked wasn’t going to be enough to entice him into their hare-brained plan. “I can’t, I’m sorry.”

  He hated the look of disappointment etched on Michael’s face and the way his best friend looked away from him. Edward seemed to be taking the rejection much more coolly.

  Edward nodded, flicked out his napkin, and laid it over his lap. “That’s a shame. It would have been great to have you with us, Mac.”

  Mac steeled himself, knowing he had to give them some kind of an explanation. Given that he’d dashed their hopes and possibly ruined their plans, he owed them something resembling the truth, even though he didn’t want to say it out loud. “I’m not at a place in my life where I want to take any risks.”

  “And working in a pole dancing club isn’t taking a risk?” Michael smiled thinly.

  Mac brushed his comment off with a small laugh. “Not as big of a risk as you guys are planning on taking. It’s also why I wo
rk two jobs.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t get on board.”

  Edward tapped the table. “No worries. I understand. Thanks for hearing us out.”

  “No hard feelings?” Mac’s stomach was churning; luckily, they both grinned at him immediately.

  “Never,” Michael said. “We’re friends first.”

  Edward nodded. “Always.”

  Mac let out the breath he’d been holding; he didn’t want to lose either of them.

  Right on cue, their waiter returned with steaming plates of food, which helped to divert them away from their conversation. Not that Mac had much of an appetite left. He’d potentially just fucked over his friends’ plans. He didn’t want to take a risk and lose what little financial security he had. Okay, so that was a good reason, but it didn’t make him feel any better about saying no, because he wasn’t convinced he would have said yes, even if he had had the cash, making him the biggest jerk alive.

  4 Russel

  “Well, shit.” Russel hung up the phone with a dramatic eye roll.

  “No luck?” Sonya glanced up at him as she picked at a slice of double chocolate fudge cake.

  The café around the corner from where they worked always had delicious home-baked cakes, so they made it a point to go on their lunch break at least once a week.

  Russel swapped his phone for a steaming mug of coffee, splaying his pinkie finger out. “None whatsoever. I am definitely not used to being turned down.” He took a delicate sip.

  “I’ll go with you.” Sonya gave him a hopeful smile, her eyebrows raised and eyes wide.

  “I’d love you to go with me, but no one is going to believe I’m straight.” He sighed. “I can’t believe none of my friends want to go to Remy Lawrence’s birthday party.”

  To be fair, his ‘friends’ were people he occasionally went clubbing with rather than bosom buddies. On top of that, many of them were coupled off and hadn’t wanted to ‘cheat’ on their partners. How was pretending to be his boyfriend for one night cheating? His single friends were apparently all busy. If they’d invited him to such a prestigious event, he’d have cancelled any plans he had. But that was him, not them, and hey, not everyone wanted to go to posh parties. He got it, it wasn’t their thing, and they were too polite to tell him that over the phone. Not that it helped him.

  “I’ve only got three days left. Where am I going to find a hot fake boyfriend at such short notice?”

  “You could always tell Gerald that you can’t go.”

  Russel gasped. “Take that back! Do you know how big of a deal this is? Not only are we talking about getting to be in the presence of the gorgeous Remy Lawrence, but it’s my chance to show Gerald that I can do more than page layouts.”

  He felt like he’d been working as the layout guy forever. Okay, so four years was hardly forever, but it was still too long to be doing something he didn’t really enjoy. What he really wanted to do was report on fashion. To that end, he’d written some ad-hoc articles and presented them to Gerald before, but apparently, there hadn’t been room in the magazine. Ever.

  Sonya shrugged nonchalantly. “Hire an escort?”

  Russel opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. “I have no idea how much that would cost. Do you?”

  Sonya gaped at him. “How the hell would I know?” She pinched off a chunk of cake and popped it into her mouth. As she chewed, she glanced up and beyond Russel. “If you’re that desperate, why don’t you ask the stripper you were mooning over on Monday morning?”

  Russel straightened his back and tilted his head. “You know, that isn’t such a bad idea.”

  Sonya stared at him, eyebrows raised. “I was joking!”

  “I know. But he was gorgeous.” He set the coffee mug down and touched his forefinger to the underside of his chin. “He would look hot in a suit.” He imagined the dancer’s bulging curves under a tight-fitting white shirt. No, scratch that, magenta pink. He pursed his lips as heat made his face flush.

  “Oh God, you’re about to have an orgasm over him, aren’t you?”

  Russel swatted the air with his hand. “Don’t be silly.”

  Sonya pressed her lips together. “You’re mentally dressing him up.” Her tone was flat. “Or undressing him. Or both. Dressing him and then undressing him.”

  Russel grinned. “You know me so well.”

  “Better than you know yourself.” She ate a bit more cake. “But seriously, you can’t go up to a complete stranger and ask him to be your date.”

  “Boyfriend,” Russel corrected. “And why not?”

  “It’s just—” Sonya shook her head. “Oh, forget it. You’re probably crazy enough to do it.”

  “Well, it’s not as if we’re strangers. I’ve seen him naked.” He closed his eyes, remembering the sultry lighting, thumping music, and that gorgeous oiled and tanned body. His admiration for the dancer hummed in his throat.

  Sonya batted him over the knee. “Oh, stop it.”

  Russel opened his eyes. “Jealous?”

  She stuck her tongue out at him. “I just don’t want to be seen with a guy who can’t control his dick in public.”

  “Oh, honey, that rules out at least seventy-five percent of the guys on the planet.” He leant across, picked up her part-eaten slice of cake, and took a huge bite. “Including your fiancé!”

  Sonya’s mouth opened into a round O, and she let out a shocked squeak.

  Russel laughed around the soft, gooey cake in his mouth and put the rest back down on the plate. “Good cake.”

  Sonya folded her arms, angled her body and face away from him, and stuck her chin into the air. “I could stop liking you.”

  “You could, but you won’t.”

  She pressed her lips together, forcing a humphing sound through them.

  “Admit it. You love me.”

  Her lips quivered at the corners; she was obviously fighting to stop them curling up into a smile.

  Russel grinned at her.

  She growled in frustration before returning his grin. “Oh, all right, I love you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t hate you sometimes.”

  They both laughed, giving Russel the opportunity to try to steal more of the cake.

  Sonya slapped his hand away. “Get your own.”

  “You’re not eating it.”

  “I am.” To prove it, she picked it up and bit off nearly half of the remaining cake. Crumbs spilt from her lips onto her chin, making her snort and laugh.

  Russel stole the remains of the cake, stuffing it all into his mouth so they both looked equally silly as they tried to chew and swallow it down. He was actually a little sad that he couldn’t take Sonya to the party; she would have been fun company.

  Sonya washed the cake down with some of the vanilla frappé she’d ordered. “Are you seriously going to ask the stripper to be your date?”

  Russel shrugged. “Sure, why not? It’s not like I’ve got a long queue of people desperate to go.”

  She shook her head. “You’re outrageous.”

  He pressed his hand over his heart. “Why, thank you.”

  “It wasn’t a compliment.” Sonya checked her watch. “We’d better get back, or we’ll be late.”

  “We wouldn’t want that, would we?” Russel stood and grabbed his coat, draping it over his left arm. “Wayne might blow a gasket.”

  “He’s an uptight bastard.”

  “Nothing a blow job wouldn’t fix.”

  Sonya laughed loudly, drawing the attention of other people in the shop, as they walked towards the exit. “Are you offering?”

  “If I didn’t think it would get me fired.”

  “Really?” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You’d blow Wayne?”

  Russel shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

  “Because he’s… And he’s…” Sonya threw her hands up and then dropped them to her sides. “You’re shameless.”

  Russel looped his free arm around her shoulders. “Too right, I’m shameless, honey. I
t’s the only way to live.”

  *

  Horns was a dive. Russel still wasn’t sure what had compelled him to go into the club the previous Friday night, and as he stood outside it again, he was tempted to walk away. He might have been shameless, as Sonya put it, but he still had standards. He’d nearly thrown away the shoes he’d worn on Friday because the soles had ended up sticky with whatever detritus was on the floor of the club. But he was desperate. There was no way he was giving up the reporting gig—he didn’t know if he’d ever be given another chance to prove his worth.

  After paying the bouncer the exorbitant entry fee, Russel pushed the door open and walked into the club. He’d heard the music when he’d been standing on the pavement, but it still assaulted his ears. It might have been better if the music had been even remotely sexy, but it wasn’t. He stood at the top of the stairs and surveyed the bar and dance area. There were only three other patrons, sitting near the stage but not close to each other. One of them still had his coat on. Two bored--looking guys stood behind the bar, chatting, not even remotely busy.

  A sexy man with curly black hair was dancing on the stage, doing all kinds of gravity-defying twists and turns on the pole. It had to take some serious upper body strength to pull off those stunts. Disappointingly, the stripper who had danced for him was nowhere to be seen. He was probably in the back, taking a break. At least, Russel hoped that was the case and that he hadn’t returned to the club on the dancer’s night off.

  He wandered down the steps, wrinkling his nose in disgust as his shoes stuck to the floor. He felt like he was moonwalking as he made his way to one of the many empty seats near the stage. Half watching the dancer, he kept glancing around the large room. The bar staff stayed where they were, making Russel wonder two things: why weren’t they dressed far more scantily, and why weren’t they coming round to take drink orders? There should also have been at least one dancer working the crowd—all four of them—enticing guys into the curtained cubicles at the edge of the room for private dances. Not that Russel was an expert, but that’s what he would have done to maximise income.