3. Nolan
THREE
NOLAN
The offer for Benji was out of my mouth before I had time to stop it. He couldn’t work, which was my fault, and to think he could lose his apartment? Covering his weeks’ rent, from what I gathered by his shithole-apartment comment and the fact it sounded as if he shared with Fitch and someone called Ky, couldn’t have been more than a hundred bucks. Maybe two. I’d spent more than that on a bottle of whisky...
The fact he was hiding from someone was probably something I should have delved into a little deeper before offering him to stay at my place. But I could only imagine the kinds of thugs on the streets who tried to squeeze money or favours out of sex workers...
Or drugs.
Oh shit.
“Uh,” I said. “Just some ground rules though. I should have said this first. No drugs, no clients, nothing illegal, and you don’t share my address with anyone. Not that I’m assuming or judging, because I’m not, I just need to be clear that I can’t be involved in anything illegal.”
“Like hitting people with your car?” Fitch said with a cheeky smile. He was a funny guy, apparently. But Benji gave him a knee. “Just kidding,” Fitch added. “Benji here doesn’t do drugs or even drink much, really. That’s why the three of us stick together. Me, Benji, and Ky. We don’t touch that shit. And if he is unable to work this week, with the no-client rule, then can he expect remuneration for loss of income?”
“Fitch,” Benji hissed at him.
“I’m bargaining on your behalf,” Fitch hissed right back at him.
Why did I like this guy? Fitch was good looking. He had floppy brown hair and a cheeky grin that I was sure worked well in his favour in his profession.
But he was charming, and he clearly cared about Benji. And he said that he and Benji and Ky—I assumed made up the three guys I’d seen on Wylde Street last night—didn’t touch drugs.
And I had to admire Fitch’s tenacity.
“Financial remuneration, huh?” I said to Fitch. “How much does one earn in a week?”
“Six hundred,” Fitch said.
Benji baulked and tried to knee him again, but his back twinged.
Six hundred bucks. I had no idea if that was even close. From Benji’s reaction, I was guessing no. It was more than generous. But what was the alternative?
Them reporting me to the police for a hit and run ?
How many thousands would that cost me? What was my reputation worth? My career?
“Six hundred total, inclusive of rent,” I replied.
“Deal.” Fitch grinned.
Benji’s expression was more concerned, maybe even offended?
“Cheer up, buttercup,” Fitch said. “You’re welcome, by the way. Now, I’ll go grab you a bag from home. Need anything in particular?”
Benji opened his mouth and closed it again. “I dunno,” he whispered. He rattled off a few items but was still stunned by my offer, I thought. Or maybe he was in pain.
And a fresh wave of guilt washed over me. “Benji, how about you go and take a steaming hot shower? Stay in there for a while, let the hot water work its magic on your back. I’ll drive Fitch back to grab your bag. And I’ll run past the supermarket for whatever you need.”
Fitch brightened. “I’ll come to the supermarket with you and grab him everything he needs.”
“Fitch, stop,” Benji said softly.
Fitch ignored him completely. “Come on, little injured lamb, let’s get you up and into the shower.”
Fitch helped him up and I showed them the way to the bathroom, then left them to it. I changed into some jeans, then realised Benji might need some clean clothes. His clothes would need a good soak... or an incinerator. But I found him some sweatpants and a shirt that would all probably be a mile too big on him, but if he was resting all day, at least he’d be warm and comfortable .
I heard them having a somewhat heated whispered conversation in the bathroom before I knocked. “Uh, I just have some clean clothes,” I said.
The door opened and a smiling Fitch appeared. “Thank you.” He put them on the vanity, and I could see a now-shirtless Benji in the bathroom. He looked a little too thin and there was some red rash on the back and side of his ribs. Where he’d hit the road last night, by the looks of it.
I felt so much worse.
“Okay,” Fitch said. “Benj, you have as much hot water as you need here, I’m guessing.”
I nodded.
“Take as long as you need,” Fitch said to him, softer this time. “I’ll be in touch, pretty much non-stop, so you won’t have a chance to miss me.”
Benji snorted.
“And if the sexy, rich guy tries anything, you must call me,” Fitch added. Then he looked me up and down again. “Because I wanna watch.”
Benji shoved him out of the bathroom and closed the door. Fitch looked up at me. “Ready when you are.”
I wasn’t sure how ready I was to go shopping with Fitch. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I said.
It was hard not to like him. He was easygoing, charming, had a grin that was made of mischief, and he was also a very loyal friend to Benji.
He had the knack to talk, leading conversations without giving anything away. In the supermarket, he had no problem throwing things into my basket. “Benji likes these,” he’d say, throwing in random items. Fruit and vegetables, cupcakes, and even a phone charger.
I didn’t even mind.
But I’d seen the way Benji had sighed and closed his eyes when he’d sipped the juice, so I grabbed some more of that. And some more bread and peanut butter.
Then I drove to Oxford Street, nabbed a park, and Fitch raced down the street. I didn’t see which apartment complex or alley he went into, but he was back just a few minutes later with an old backpack, grinning as he climbed into my car.
“All good?” I asked.
He gave me that grin. “Yep. I’ll come back and check on him one last time,” he said. “Before the no-visitor rule comes into effect.”
Figuring there was no point arguing, I began the drive back to my place. “It was a no-client rule. So unless you’re a client, it doesn’t apply to you.”
He laughed. “Hell no, I’m not a client. Not that I’d have to pay him, but I’m not inclined to deliver what he needs, if you get my drift.”
I did not, and apparently my face said as much.
“He needs a top,” Fitch explained. “And while I will partake if a john pays me to, I’d much rather let them do the work. Get what I’m saying?”
I nodded, feeling foolish. “I get it now, thanks.”
Fitch laughed. “Lucky you fit that bill. I mean, I assume.” He looked me up and down again. “You do top, right?”
My face burned, letting him know he assumed correctly, but I wasn’t saying it out loud. But then I thought about what he said. “What do you mean lucky I fit that bill? I’m not paying him for sex. That’s not... that’s not what I’m paying for. I’m paying him because it’s my fault he can’t work.”
Fitch chuckled. “Let me tell you something about our Benji. He has needs. Sexual needs. But I’ll let you two discuss that.”
I stared at him between glances at the road. “What? What do you mean we’ll discuss that?”
He sighed and waved a hand, apparently ending that line of questioning. “I do appreciate you offering him a place to lie low though.”
This conversation was . . . a lot.
“Can I ask who he needs to lie low from?”
“Well, you can ask,” he said with a sigh. “It’s just thugs on the street. We deal with them a lot. People trying to take our spot, that we’re too close to their corner, that kind of shit.”
Hm.
I wasn’t sure I totally believed that, but I really had no clue about the politics on territory for sex workers. Maybe there was truth in it.
“All you need to know is that it’s not drug related because we don’t do that shit. We’re rent boys, not mules or users.” He shrugged. “Our world is hard enough without that shit.”
I dropped it then because he was right.
Their world was hard enough, and I had no clue about the actual reality they lived every day .
As I pulled into the underground parking of my very nice apartment complex, amidst the other expensive cars, it was very apparent that I lived in a different world than these boys.
“You don’t seem to have any problem with us being rent boys though,” Fitch said as I shut off the engine.
“Why would I?”
“Most people do,” he said simply. “They look down at us, or worse, just pretend we don’t even exist. But not you.”
“I see all people,” I said with a shrug. “As people. I don’t know the first thing about how or why people end up where they end up, and that’s not for me to judge.”
God, if my job taught me anything, it was that.
“Everyone’s just trying to get by, doing what they have to do,” I added, which felt contrite, given it was much easier to ‘get by’ in an expensive car and luxury apartment than it was for Fitch and Benji. “I value human beings and their right to be treated with respect.”
Fitch snorted and rolled his eyes. “Jesus, you’re a Disney prince.” He took the backpack and got out of my car. “Remember my offer. You want to hit me with your car anytime, my offer stands.”
Good lord.
“I’d rather not, but thanks.”
He went to the front of the car while I grabbed the groceries. “There’s not even a bump or a dent. Are you sure you hit him?”
I looked around, grateful we were alone. “Yes,” I hissed at him. “But it was more of a bump and him falling back. If I’d hit him hard, he’d have broken legs and a head wound.”
“True.” Fitch slung the backpack over his shoulder and took a bag of groceries from me. “Anyway, let’s go see how my favourite boy is.”
“Favourite, huh?”
“One of them. Ky’s my other favourite. He was still asleep when I went back home. As long as I know we’re all safe, I’m good.”
I hit the elevator button. “The three of you stick together, huh?”
“Always.”
That was all he said until we walked into my apartment. Benji was lying on the sofa, cleaned up, his washed hair in damp curls, and wearing my clothes.
He looked brand new.
He sat up with a wince, and Fitch threw his backpack to him. “Grabbed you a few things. You’ll have to let me know if you need anything else and I’ll bring it over during the week.”
I had to stop myself from saying I could buy him whatever he needed. I wasn’t entirely sure why I was offering as much as I was, but they had so little—dirty clothes, worn shoes, a stained backpack—and I had more than enough to help them.
They fell into a quiet conversation and I unpacked the groceries, bringing over the few non-food things Fitch had thrown into the basket. Deodorant, toothpaste, soap, razors, a pack of underwear, and some socks, plus the phone charger. It was all stuff he’d take home with him in a week’s time, but that was okay too.
I made two sandwiches, packed with ham and salad, and set them on the coffee table before them. I could guess that Fitch probably hadn’t eaten in a while from the way he inhaled his sandwich.
“Well, I should get going,” Fitch said eventually. “I have things to do before work tonight.”
“Check in with me,” Benji said. “No matter what time. Just let me know you’re okay. And Ky too. I’m still around if you need.”
“I know,” Fitch said. “Just keep a low profile.”
Benji nodded. “I will.”
“Oh,” Fitch said, opening the backpack and dumping the contents onto the sofa between them. “I got your essentials. Everything you’ll need for a week.”
There were a few things: a notebook, his old broken-looking phone charger, some old hand-held game console, three boxes of condoms, lube, and a box of PrEP.
Oh, dear god.
“Jesus,” Benji said, shoving them back into the backpack. “Essentials my arse.”
“Exactly. Essentials for your arse. I know you, Benj. You’ll be climbing the walls soon. And Nolan’s a top. I already scoped him out for you.”
Benji looked at him, horrified, and I barely managed to put my hand out in a defensive manner, shaking my head, but before I could speak, Fitch kissed Benji’s hair. “Oh, that shampoo smells so good. Goddammit, sure you don’t want to swap places with me? ”
Then, before anyone could say anything else, Fitch laughed, waved a cheery hand at us, and was gone.
Benji sighed. “I’m sorry about all that.”
I tried to appear unruffled. “It’s fine. I like him. He has a certain... charm.”
Benji looked at me and chuckled through another sigh. “He does, yes. The kind of charm you can’t help but like, as much as you try not to.”
That made me smile. “He’s a very good friend.”
“He is.” Benji met my eyes. “Thank you, for everything. For what you bought for me. Or, I should say, what Fitch made you buy for me.”
“Think nothing of it,” I said. “Are you feeling better after your shower?”
He nodded. “Much. My back is still a little sore. It’s just a twinge though. Muscular, that’s all. It’ll be fine in a day or so.”
Not if he slept on the couch . . .
“Uh, this is...” I cringed. “This is going to sound bad, please don’t misunderstand. But you should probably sleep in my bed.” His gaze cut to mine, so I quickly added, “There’s a TV in there, you’ll be more comfortable. The mattress is one of those Posturepedic ones. It’ll be better than the couch.”
“This couch is a hundred times better than my bed,” he replied.
“And I’ve slept on that couch more times than I’d like to admit. It’s fine,” I allowed. “But if your back is sore, the bed is better. I can take the couch for a night or two. I didn’t mean to imply anything. ”
He laughed. “I didn’t think you were implying anything.”
“Well, the offer is there,” I said, then realised how that sounded. “For the bed, not the offer for implying anything...” I shook my head. “God, I’m sorry.”
He laughed again, his whole face lighting up. He looked younger and carefree when he laughed, when his dark eyes lit up, shining like his beautiful black curls.
I had to wonder how he’d got to this point in his life. What led him to be a rent boy, as Fitch had called themselves. I doubted it would be a happy story and that made me sad for him.
This bright and beautiful boy should be living his best life, not as a sex worker and hiding away in a stranger’s apartment for safety reasons.
And given he was staying with me for a week, I figured some general conversation and basic information wouldn’t go astray.
“So,” I began. “How old are you, Benji?”
“Twenty-one.”
“I’m thirty-six,” I volunteered.
“And you said you can’t be involved in anything illegal,” Benji said. “This place is far too nice for you to be a cop, so I’m going with something professional. And you did tend to my cut, and you seem more concerned about my well-being than most, so maybe something medical?”
I snorted. “No. I’m a lawyer.”
“Ah. Makes sense. Your apartment, your nice car. Do you get to say ‘you can’t handle the truth’ and shit like that? ”
“Well, I’m legal counsel. I mostly do groundwork for the people who get to say that.”
He nodded slowly. He didn’t say outright that he didn’t like lawyers, but he didn’t have to. “Right.”
“My name’s Nolan O’Brien, by the way,” I offered, hoping it would prompt him to give me his surname. It didn’t. “And your last name?”
He seemed surprised. “Oh. Smith. Benji Smith. Original, huh?”
Smith.
It absolutely was not his name.
“Nice to meet you, Benji Smith.”
He gave me a fake smile and picked up the TV remote. “So, what should we watch?”