4. Chapter Four #2
Instead, I find myself saying, “Ouch. Rough night?”
Aaron grunts on the other end. “Don’t even get me started.”
I hear the annoyance, the sadness in his voice.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Aaron grunts on the other end, the ice cubes tinkling in the glass evident in the background. Taylor croons on in my space about pain fitting inside someone’s hand. The soft melody covers me like the ivy she sings about.
“That’s not what I’m paying you for,” he says, and I can hear the pain in his voice.
“You’re not paying me yet. We’re just getting to know one another. You know, so I can be perfect for you.”
Aaron sighs, and I hear the glass clink once more.
“I just don’t want to fucking be here,” he sighs. “At all. I hate coming home.”
I settle onto my couch, noting the emptiness around me.
Taylor calls out about a house being made of stone, and I feel the depths in her words.
My books are arranged on a pile on the coffee table, unread.
My Switch controller sits, covered with a thin film of dust because I haven’t played a video game since before Noah met his girlfriend.
Well, ex-girlfriend, now.
The low lights cast shadows on my furniture and the lights of the city twinkle outside like stars.
His words hit me harder than they should. I love my apartment, but…
Sometimes, I hate coming home, too. Especially when the silence and emptiness feels so loud.
“I know the feeling,” I say softly.
“What are your rules?” he mutters. “You said you had rules you wanted to go over.”
I debate if I should tell him now or just tell him I’ll call him in the morning. Set up a morning coffee synergy meeting.
“Jacob,” his voice calls out, and I can’t deny I like the way it sounds.
I close my eyes, and for a moment, it feels like he’s here in the same space. And maybe that’s why I don't hang up. I’m too good at playing pretend.
“First off, we should meet up tomorrow before the event. Breakfast, lunch, whatever. Just so I can see you. Feel you out. Get a vibe of who I’m supposed to be, but also who you are, too. To me.”
Aaron hums on the other line. “Who do you want me to be?”
I blink, because it’s an odd question. No one asks me who I want them to be. My role’s always pretty defined.
I don’t answer him. Not because I don’t want to, but because the question isn’t one I know how to answer.
“PDA should be determined ahead of time. What you’re comfortable with, what you’re not comfortable with. Any preconceived information about what you’ve told your family or friends, and any pertinent information about other individuals is helpful so I can be the most authentic boyfriend for you.”
Aaron chuckles. “You make it sound easy.”
“It is. For me. This is my job, after all.” And I’m really good at it. My personal life however…
“PDA is fine,” Aaron says. “You can touch me however you want. Kiss me. Grope me, whatever. I’m not shy.” He chuckles again, the sound dark and smooth. “Hell, you can suck me off in the fucking closet with that perfect mouth of yours if you want.”
I still at his words. My cock twitches, clearly because it’s been a long ass time since I actually sucked someone’s dick.
Longer than I want to admit.
I grab my cock to adjust myself and try to move on from that image. Not that I don’t like the sound of that, but I know at least, while I’m on the clock… that’s not on the Monopoly board.
“Sex is not part of the deal,” I say solidly as my cock weeps with a blossom of precum.
Bad idea, Jacob! You don’t even know what Audiobook Aaron looks like. He could be totally gross and unattractive, and—
That thought is weak at best, and I know it. With a voice like that, and a wallet big enough to pay me three grand, he’s probably hot as hell. A businessman, too. The kind that travels and lives in and out of hotels, drinks scotch and hires pretty boy Prince Charmings on the weekend.
Like Richard Gere in Pretty Woman. I smirk at the thought. Richard Gere was so hot in that movie. I’m pretty sure that was my awakening. That piano scene lives rent free in my brain along with the smut I’ve consumed over the years.
I chuckle at the thought, trying to stay as detached and professional as I can, though it’s a lot harder than it should be.
But I also don’t want to give Aaron the wrong idea.
Foxy’s isn’t an escort service. But he wouldn’t be the first man or woman to assume it is, or that we’re escorts.
I need to make it clear to him that’s off limits for the duration of our date.
“Whatever it is, I’ll pay it,” He says apathetically. “Name your price.”
I bite my lip, closing my eyes, knowing I’m probably going to regret this. I might legitimately be shooting myself in my own foot here, but I need this to be above board. I need to be professional and not take advantage of the situation.
“Unfortunately, there is no price, because this isn’t an escort service. I’m your date until ten pm. Per your booking. My job is to play the part you require, and when the event is over and time is up, I turn back into a pumpkin.”
I curse myself internally for being honest and noble. Noah would’ve thrown out a Venmo request in a heartbeat. Well, maybe not for Aaron, but in principle.
“Right, sorry,” Aaron says, his voice dark and raspy. But there’s also a hint of melancholy there that pulls on my heart strings. Which is why I say the thing I should not say.
“But…” I say carefully. “If things are going… well—” I swallow harshly. “After ten-oh–one…” I let out a breath. “We can continue our date on our own time.”
Aaron breathes out a deep sigh. “I see.”
I hope I didn’t just put a nail in this whole thing by being an honest fucking idiot.
I shouldn’t have said that. I should have dodged his question. Now he’s going to think I’m a fucking slut or something because I just made myself totally sound like an escort.
Shit.
“Do you like French food?” he asks, his smooth voice carrying in the space. I let out a sigh of relief. He’s still talking to me, so that’s a plus. Maybe I haven’t blown this thing completely.
“I’m not opposed to it as long as snails are off the menu.”
Aaron laughs and it’s genuine. “Not a fan of escargot, huh?”“Or clams or mussels, or anything slimy,” I say in disgust.
“Noted. How does Frenchman’s for brunch tomorrow sound?”
I look at the clock, noting it’s going on eleven fifteen already. We’ve been talking for, like, forty-five minutes and I swear it doesn’t even feel like five minutes have passed.
“What time?”
Aaron grunts out another sound, and I hear the pouring of liquid in the background.
“Ten?” he asks.
I nod. “Ten works for me.”
“Sounds good.”
There’s a moment of pause before he says, “Thank you.”
“Of course. I’m glad I can help.”
A moment later the line goes dead, and I breathe a sigh of relief, but that relief is short-lived when I realize it’s late and I should head to bed, but I also feel strangely buzzed and maybe a little anxious about meeting up with Aaron tomorrow.