Unbreakable

by Colette Davison

  By the time the curly-haired man had finished his set, he was covered in a sheen of sweat that glistened under the too-bright stage lights. He jumped off the stage, making a bee-line for Russel. At the same time, the well-built blond man Russel had seen dance on Friday night took his place at the pole and began dancing. Still no sign of the stripper who’d given Russel the private dance.

  The curly-haired dancer leant onto the arm of Russel’s chair so his lips were close to Russel’s ear. “You’re very attentive. Do you fancy a private dance?”

  “Yes.”

  The man’s mouth curled into a smile.

  “But not with you. Sorry.” Russel made a point of looking around again. “There was another dancer. Big guy, cropped hair.” He used his hands to indicate height and width as he spoke.

  The dancer chuckled. “Sounds like Mac.” He used his thumb to gesture towards the back. “He’ll be on stage after Michael. Sure you don’t want a dance while you’re waiting?” He winked at Russel.

  “Not tonight, but you are an absolute sweetie.”

  The dancer grinned at him and then moved away to the next customer. Russel was actually relieved when the dancer led the man off into a private booth, although he noted it wasn’t the same one that Mac had taken him into on Friday night. Did the dancers each have a specific booth? Russel didn’t have any kind of clue about the ins and outs of running a strip club, but he guessed the dancers’ wages were mostly made up of money earned from private dances. So yeah, he’d felt guilty about turning the sexy dark-haired man down, but he also didn’t have that much money to throw around, especially considering how much he’d spent here on Friday.

  He watched Michael dance, definitely appreciating the show the man put on, but it wasn’t until Mac appeared that he really sat up and took notice. Mac was just as hot as he remembered. And oh, the oil glistening all over his fake-tanned skin was enough to drive Russel wild. He couldn’t help but imagine sliding his hands over those bulky muscles. Mac was bigger than him in every way, and he just knew they’d look good on each other’s arms. There was something sexy about a vast size difference, and the combination of Mac’s bodybuilder physique with Russel’s waif-like frame would make everyone stop and stare. Even Remy Lawrence. Russel shook himself. He wasn’t going to the party to be the centre of attention; he was going as a reporter. But it wouldn’t hurt for him and his date to look hot.

  Predictably, Michael approached him for a dance, but Russel waved him away without even talking to him. He had his sights trained on Mac. As cute as the other two dancers had been, they weren’t a patch on Mac. At a party thrown by Remy Lawrence, appearances would be all that mattered. Russel was shallow, and he knew it. Maybe that was why he’d never had a lasting relationship.

  He watched Mac dance, eyes growing ever wider as the big man twisted, twirled, and spun around the pole. The beams from the spotlights flowed over his body, highlighting every curve while simultaneously creating deep pockets of shadow. Russel had no idea what any of the pole dancing moves were called, but he could definitely appreciate the way Mac’s muscles flexed and bulged. When he gyrated his hips against the pole or got onto his knees, facing the pathetically sized audience and thrust his hips back and forth, it made Russel’s pulse race and sent blood charging to his cock. It was far too easy to get a hard-on for the man, but that was the point, wasn’t it?

  At the end of Mac’s stage set, Russel beckoned him over.

  Mac leant over him, lips close to Russel’s ear. “You’re back.”

  “You remember me?”

  “How could I forget?”

  Russel pouted. “You only want me for my money.” He showed his pre-prepared note to Mac.

  “And you only want me for my body.”

  “True.” Russel held his hand out to Mac. “Shall we?”

  Laughing, Mac helped him up—not that Russel needed it—and led him to the same booth they’d used before. His grip was powerful and warm as it swallowed up Russel’s thin, dainty hand. Russel couldn’t help but imagine himself with his arm looped through Mac’s, both of them dressed up to the nines, as they walked down the red carpet into Remy Lawrence’s house, cameras flashing all around them. Okay, so there probably wouldn’t be a red carpet or any paparazzi, seeing as the party was strictly invite only. Plus, he’d need to be taking photos of other people, but he could still have his fantasy.

  He sat down in the booth and, as he waited for Mac to draw the curtain, glanced around. As far as he could tell, there wasn’t a camera in the booth. That didn’t seem very safe to him. Not that Mac couldn’t take care of himself if a drunk customer got handsy, but still.

  “I don’t want a dance.”

  Mac stared at him.

  “Well, I do, but I also have a proposition for you.”

  Mac raised an eyebrow.

  “Sit down. I’m getting a crick in my neck staring up at you.”

  The big man laughed but didn’t sit. Not that Russel blamed him. There was only one chair in the room—and it really wasn’t very comfortable—and the floor was sticky and horrible.

  Russel crossed his legs. “I need a boyfriend.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” Mac stroked his chin.

  “I know the music’s loud, but I’m pretty sure you heard what I said.”

  “You need a boyfriend. What’s that got to do with me?”

  Russel gave Mac a withering stare. “I want you to be my boyfriend.”

  Mac scratched his head. “I’m flattered and all, but I think it’s a bit soon, don’t you? I don’t even know your name.”

  Russel could tell that Mac was humouring him. The big guy probably thought he was crazy. He probably was a little cuckoo, but that was beside the point.

  He held his hand out. “I’m Russel, and you’re Mac.”

  Mac’s eyes darted from side to side, and he looked a little panicked.

  “Oh, relax.” Russel rolled his eyes. “One of the other dancers told me your name. I’m not a stalker.”

  Tension visibly slipped from Mac’s strong, broad shoulders.

  “Seriously, I’ve been invited to a very exclusive party on Saturday, but it’s couples only. And horror of horrors, I can’t find a date.”

  Mac laughed loudly. “So you thought you’d ask me?”

  Russel shrugged in an attempt to appear nonplussed. “Why not? You’re sexy, and we’d make a hot couple.” He flicked his gaze up and down Mac’s body. “You do have some nice clothes, don’t you?” When Mac’s eyes widened. “Never mind. I can take you shopping.”

  Mac put his hands on his hips, shaking his head. “You can’t be serious?”

  “Handsome, I’m deadly serious.”

  “Let me get this straight: you want me—a total stranger—to be your date for some posh party?”

  Russel nodded. “That about sums it up.” He wagged his finger. “Except you need to pretend to be my boyfriend. Like I said, it’s couples only.”

  Mac stared at him, jaw slack and eyes wide.

  “I’ll pay you.”

  Mac jerked his chin up a little. “Huh.”

  “Whatever you’d earn here on a Saturday night, I’ll double it.”

  “You know I could just give you some bullshit figure, right?”

  Russel nodded. “I’m aware.”

  “You’re nuts, and your time’s pretty much up.”

  Russel took thirty pounds out of his pocket, stood, and put it in the money jar on Mac’s behalf. “Now I’ve got three more minutes.” He sat down again. “So, are you going to pretend to be my boyfriend on Saturday night, or are you going to make me beg?”

  “You really are serious, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Mac threw his hands up. “What the hell. Why not? It could be a laugh.”

  Russel pressed the heels of his palms together and then tapped his fingertips lightly.

  “Whose party are we going to?”

  “Remy Lawrence’s.”

  “Nope. Never h
eard of him.”

  Russel gasped. “You’ve never— What kind of rock do you live under?”

  Mac’s mouth curled into a pissed-off expression.

  Russel held his hands up in a placating manner. “I’m sorry. Not everyone is as well informed as me. Remy Lawrence is the most eligible gay bachelor in the county. And he’s hot as hell.”

  “Bachelor?” Mac frowned. “So, he’s single?”

  “That’s what being a bachelor means.”

  “So why is it a couples-only party?”

  Russel shrugged. “I have no idea, and honestly, I don’t care.”

  “Why are you so desperate to go?”

  Russel stared at Mac, wondering how much he should tell him. He was paying the man, so he didn’t exactly owe him anything else. But if they were going to pretend to be boyfriends for the night, they’d probably need to know a bit more about each other.

  “I work for a fashion magazine, doing layouts. What I really want to do is be a fashion reporter. An opportunity came up for me to go to Remy’s party as a reporter, and I don’t want to pass it up.”

  “Which is why you’re so desperate for a date, that you’re willing to pay me to be your fake boyfriend?”

  “Basically, yes.”

  “I still think you’re nuts.”

  “Noted.” Russel stood and stepped up to Mac, tipping his head back so he could stare into the big man’s eyes. “We need a shopping trip. Is Saturday afternoon good for you? I mean, it’s cutting it a bit fine, but I can make it work.”

  “I have nice clothes!”

  Russel arched an eyebrow. “Really?”

  Mac’s cheeks flushed red. “How nice is this party exactly?”

  Russel gestured to himself. “Put it this way, I’d look scruffy if I went like this.” He was dressed pretty damn nicely in drainpipe corduroy trousers, a silk polo neck top, and a linen scarf draped around his neck.

  “Oh. A shopping trip sounds like a good plan.” Mac looked away from Russel. “We can pick something nice up in a charity shop, right?”

  “I’ll pay.” Russel pressed his finger to Mac’s chest. “No arguments. You’re helping me get a leg up in my career, so it’s not right for you to be out of pocket.” He dropped his hand as the song ended. “And my time is up. Meet me outside Harvey Nichols on Briggate, at three on Saturday?”

  “Harvey Ni—” Mac snapped his mouth shut and nodded.

  “Wonderful.” Russel grinned. “I’ll see you then.”

  5 Mac

  After Russel left the cubicle, Mac pinched himself a couple of times to make sure he hadn’t dreamed the whole encounter. But there was fifty pounds in his jar, and Russel’s fruity perfume lingered around him, making him feel a little heady. He grabbed the money and opened the curtain. Edward was back on stage, but Michael was nowhere to be seen. As none of the other cubicles were occupied, Mac guessed his friend was in the back. He hurried to join him.

  He found Michael in the changing room, grabbing some water.

  “The weirdest thing just happened.”

  Michael looked at him, eyes widening as he saw the notes in Mac’s hand. “It’s weird that you’ve got a return punter? I hope you gave him a good show; he might become a regular.”

  Mac glanced down at the wad of notes and then rolled his eyes. “He asked me to be his fucking boyfriend.”

  Michael’s eyes sparkled in amusement. “That was fast. When are you going to pick out engagement rings?”

  “Hah, fucking, hah.” Mac curled his upper lip. “His fake boyfriend. He’s paying me and everything.”

  “Sounds kind of dodgy to me.”

  “That’s what I thought, but it seems legit. He’s got some job opportunity, but it’s all riding on having a date to go to some posh party.”

  “And he asked you? He must have been desperate.”

  Mac flipped his finger at Michael.

  “Seriously, Mac, are you sure this guy is on the level?”

  “No.” Mac shrugged. “But I could snap him like a twig, so I’m not worried.”

  His words didn’t ease the anxious expression on Michael’s face.

  “It’ll be fine. It might even be a laugh. He’s taking me shopping on Saturday afternoon, so I’ll be able to figure out if he’s a psycho then.”

  Michael raised his eyebrows. “He’s taking you shopping?”

  “Yeah, it’s not like I have anything nice enough for a posh party, is it?”

  The most upmarket do he’d ever been to was his high school prom, for which he’d picked up a too-small suit from a charity shop, using money he earned by delivering newspapers every morning before school. He’d been big as a teenager. Not just tall and broad, but flabby and bulky too.

  “Want me to come?” Michael asked.

  Mac patted Michael on the shoulder. “I’m pretty sure I don’t need a babysitter, but it’s nice to know you care.”

  Michael turned away. “Just trying to make sure you don’t end up getting drugged and kidnapped by a psycho.”

  “You worry too fucking much. Anyway, he’s far too scrawny to be able to drag me into a van if I’m unconscious.”

  “He might have friends.”

  Mac laughed. “Jesus fucking Christ, Michael. Either you’ve got an overactive imagination, or you watch too many crime shows.”

  “Maybe, but you won’t be laughing if he does turn out to be an axe murderer.” Michael put his water bottle away in his bag. “But if you’re sure he’s okay, I’ll shut up.”

  “I am.”

  Michael nodded. “Then I’d better get back out there. Barry will be pissed if there’s not always someone on the stage.”

  Mac caught hold of his friend’s arm as he walked past him. “Seriously, Michael, thanks. It’s good to know you care.”

  As sad as it was, not many people in his life gave enough of a shit to worry about what happened to him. He hadn’t been in contact with his dad or brothers in so long that he could easily vanish off the face of the earth, and they’d be none the wiser. It made him feel warm inside to know that someone would care. Which only added to the reasons why he wanted his life to stay the way it was, random date with a desperate twink aside.

  *

  Mac had never stepped foot in Harvey Nichols before. He stood outside, painfully aware that the podgy security guard was looking down his nose at him. The security guard was wearing a top hat and a thick woollen coat with tails. For fuck’s sake, what kind of a security uniform was that?

  The city centre was packed, and a steady stream of well-dressed shoppers moved in and out of the posh department store. Mac really didn’t belong there, let alone loitering outside it. He was about to give up and go home—he’d been waiting for almost half an hour—when Russel appeared out of the crowd and flounced up to him.

  “You were early!”

  Mac narrowed his eyes. “You’re late.”

  Russel waved his hand. “Only by a few minutes.” His eyes travelled up and down Mac’s body, full lips pursed thoughtfully. “Are those the nicest clothes you’ve got?”

  Mac looked down at his tatty jeans, threadbare coat, and death metal T-shirt. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

  Russel nodded towards the doors to the store. “We might have a problem getting in there. Not to worry.” He looped his arm through Mac’s. “There are plenty of other shops in Leeds. This way.”

  Mac opened his mouth to object but snapped it shut again.

  “I thought we’d do a bit of shopping and then grab a coffee somewhere,” Russel said. “We need to get a few facts straight before this evening.”

  “What facts?”

  “How long we’ve been together, what star sign we both are, favourite colours, hobbies… that sort of thing.”

  “Is that really necessary?”

  “Yes!”

  Mac shook his head. Russel probably wasn’t a psycho, but he was a demanding son of a bitch. There was no way he was going to remember those kinds of stupid de
tails about a fucking stranger. He kept his thoughts to himself. Russel was paying him, and that was all that mattered.

  They walked down Briggate, dodging shoppers, as they made their way to the first floor of Marks and Spencer. Only then did Russel remove his arm from Mac’s. He was like a man possessed as he walked between racks of clothes, lifting things up as he appraised them. Most of the time he shook his head. Sometimes he selected a different size and held it up against Mac, only to put it back. Other times he nodded and handed the item of clothing to Mac. By the time Russel led the way to the changing rooms, Mac was laden down with clothes he would never have picked for himself.

  Instead of ushering Mac into the changing room, Russel halted him and started sorting the clothes into outfits, instructing Mac on which tops went with which trousers; there were even one or two preppy-looking scarves.

  “I’m not sure any of this stuff is going to suit me,” Mac said.

  Russel glared at him. “Trust me. I want to see every outfit.” He made a shooing motion with his hands. “Run along.”

  Internally, Mac shivered at Russel’s command. On the outside, he rolled his eyes. “Are you always this demanding?”

  “You have no idea, big guy.”

  Resisting the urge to raise an eyebrow at Russel’s intriguing comment, Mac found an empty cubicle and began changing into the outfits the man had chosen for him. He was really fucking surprised to find that the clothes were a good fit. He considered it a miracle, as Russel hadn’t bothered to ask what his waist size or leg length were. He was less than convinced by the first outfit. The tight-fitting black trousers would have been okay if it hadn’t been for the flare at the ankles. The shirt was hideous. It was a bright red with a pointlessly thin collar and tiny black buttons. He felt like he’d stepped out of the seventies. Russel had selected some overly shiny black shoes for him too, so he dutifully put those on and went to show Russel the overall effect.

  Russel had found himself a comfortable armchair, just inside the changing area. He sat with a finger on his lips, eyes widening as Mac appeared.

  “I hate it,” Mac said.

  “Now, now, it’s not that bad.” Russel tapped his lips. “But you’re right, it’s not really working on you, is it?”