Chapter 6
Chapter Six
PJ
There’s a giant painting on the wall of Fallon’s living room of what looks like a female vampire standing over a man’s bleeding body. I’ve been snooping around his house because it’s better than dwelling on how everything about last night got fucked sideways.
The woman in this painting bears a strange resemblance to the woman in a frame on Fallon’s dresser. If she knew what I did last night, would she make a meal out of me like that dead guy at her feet?
Last night I was seriously off my game. My date never had dinner, which was supposed to be the primary objective of the evening.
Maybe I shouldn’t have dragged him out of Mama Elisabetta’s after all.
Definitely shouldn’t have let my anger leak out all over him.
I’m usually better at holding it in with a client.
Honestly, I’d planned to try and cheer him up. I’m good at that shit. Most of my repeat clients tell me that I’m a great listener and I make them laugh.
I don’t usually get so aggressive. Not with someone who’s paying me. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to do it again.
And again.
My ex would have stormed out of the room if I’d come on her face like that. Except…Fallon seemed to like it. I sure fucking did.
It was a little primal, a little juvenile even. Like in elementary school where if you licked a piece of candy, it became yours. I wanted to lick Fallon all over, and in hindsight I’m pissed that I didn’t.
The fact that I never bothered to try to upsell the sexy times, didn’t get any extra money, isn’t nearly as bad as how I spent the night watching him sleep and realizing I’d been too wrapped up in him and getting us both off to care about the rest. I didn’t even try to charge him for spending the night.
I should care. I need to care. The money’s why I’m here.
Only last night I didn’t want it to be. A secret to be shared only between me and that crazy-ass vampire painting? I couldn’t put a price on what went down between us. Any amount of money would’ve made it cheap.
Eye-opening is the best word I’ve got. Even though it feels completely inadequate.
Then there’s my worst sin, the smell of which is currently wafting out of the kitchen. For reasons I can’t fathom, my dumb ass then went to Gil’s restaurant bright and early to pick up breakfast with the tail end of my bank balance.
I’m trying to figure out Fallon’s fancy coffee maker when my phone pings with a message from our escorts’ group chat.
Christian: Hey, PJ. Proof of life check
A few weeks ago, I found my fellow escort, Christian, bleeding on his kitchen floor. We’ve all started checking in with each other more since then. Not that I need it, but I guess it’s nice.
PJ: Above ground and not bleeding, thx
Christian: *thumbs up emoji*
Simon: Wait a minute, WHY are we checking on PJ? Did our resident straight boy have a client sleepover???
Simon: Oh, and while I’m at it, who wants a puppy?
PJ: I’m not the only straight boy, and nobody wants a puppy
When you don’t want to answer the question they asked, you answer a different one.
Dean: Right, I might technically be straight, but I was still on the business end of a businessman last night if you know what I mean
Michael: For God’s sake, we all know what you mean. But PJ, did you have a sleepover?
Simon: Come on, guys, they’re at the shelter and they’re on the kill list because of a super minor medical issue. Dean, I bet Ella would love a puppy.
Dean: Hell no
Ravi: I would, but I can’t have pets in the dorm. Also, PJ didn’t answer the question.
PJ: I can’t have a dog. Jolene would probably kill it. Or me for bringing it home
My thumb hovers over the screen. For a single desperate moment I’m tempted. I could lay it all out there and see what they say. Share this brand-new revelation I’ve had about myself with these people who are sort-of friends. Instead I add, And there was no sleepover.
I mean, technically, I didn’t sleep.
Besides, these fuckers are way too nosy, and I’m not ready to unpack everything that happened yet.
Another text comes in from Brennan, shady-ass motherfucker and pimp extraordinaire.
Brennan: This is your PSA and reminder to not take any pills, potions, or powders from a client, and fucking in general if I have to say the words. There’s been some nasty shit on the street lately, and my sources tell me at least one escort has recently turned up not so alive.
What the fuck? Who?
Simon: Who?
Dean: What?
Nico: WTF Who?
Brennan: Not one of ours. Might have been a free agent. You know everything I do at this point, just watch your asses out there.
“You’re still here.” Fallon’s sleepy, cock-roughened voice has me stuffing my phone into the pocket of my rumpled slacks.
He’s fucking edible fresh out of bed. Shirtless, in nothing but a loose pair of shorts, I’ve got a better look now at his collage of colorful tattoos. Looks like someone wrapped a watercolor painting around each arm—lots of birds and flowers.
It’s a startling realization, honestly.
If I thought last night was a fluke, I was sorely mistaken. The sight of him in broad daylight makes me want to put my hands on him all over again.
“Yeah, I—” I reach down and open up the oven, grabbing the pan with bare hands in my distraction. “Fuck.” I snag a mitt from a nearby hook and try again. “I got breakfast.”
“You cook?”
“I don’t.” The throbbing in my fingertips has me suppressing a hiss as I place the baking sheet I found on the cooktop. “Besides, there’s not much in your fridge except beer. There’s a place downtown where my friends and I go for brunch on Sundays. I grabbed some stuff from there.”
My oven at home has been broken since Evans and I moved in. Not that it matters since the microwave works fine. However, Fallon’s is a high-end luxury brand with a digital display and an easily accessible “keep warm” button.
I slide over a plate of pancakes topped with strawberries. “Here. Eat.”
There’s this feeling in me I’d definitely be wise to ignore—a sort of weird, glowy pleasure, like I’ve fulfilled my responsibility of taking care of him. Not that anyone’s ever accused me of being wise.
Really, though? He’s not my responsibility. If there’s one thing I don’t need, it’s someone else to take care of. I don’t even want to take care of him. Do I?
It’s not like it’s my job. The job’s over.
Why in the hell does that make my stomach hurt?
It takes Fallon staring down at the pancakes for the slowest minute of my life to realize maybe he doesn’t want to be taken care of anyway. He’s probably wondering what the hell I’m still doing here.
Those orgasms must have messed with my brain.
Fuck this. I’ve got bigger problems. I clear my throat. “I should get going.”
After taking a minute to gather the empty food bags and containers and stuffing them all into a gleaming stainless-steel trash can, I pat my pockets to be sure I’ve got my wallet, phone, and knife. Without looking back, I head out through the kitchen and toward the front door.
“PJ.”
When I turn around, Fallon’s propped his cheek on his fist. His shy smile seems at odds with his height and sturdy build, and I don’t think I like the sensations those crinkles around his eyes create in my stomach.
“Thank you. I had a great time last night.”
I lift my chin, waiting for the “but” I know is coming.
“The thing is, last night was my first time going on a date in a decade. Maybe you weren’t thinking it anyway, but I’m not a good bet for anything more right now.”
There it is.
“Yeah.” I don’t like how my voice sounds, like I’m the one with bruised vocal cords. “It’s no worries.” And I mean that with my whole chest. I do.
Okay, I don’t. I’m lying through my teeth.
What matters here is that I want it to be true.
If I’ve still got Fallon’s spicy scent in my nostrils and the feel of his hair between my fingers, that’s…
Well, it’ll pass, right? Like the flu. It’s intense and painful for a while and then you’re all back to normal again.
“I’ve got plenty of shit on my plate,” I add.
Fallon squints in my direction. “You look younger in the light of day. Please tell me you’re old enough to drink.” He laughs a little, but he’s not actually too far off.
“I don’t really drink. But I’m twenty-four.”
“Jesus.” He drops his fork. “I can’t believe my brother would set me up with someone thirteen years younger than me.”
Fuck. I’d forgotten all about the brother.
If the brother was the one who set up the date through Brennan, and it sounds like he was, then Fallon probably doesn’t even know I’m an escort.
Which means if I had asked him to fork over cash last night, that would have been at best awkward and at worst painful.
Whatever else I’m feeling right now, I don’t think I’d enjoy hurting him that way. Makes it for the best, though, that this is a one and done situation.
“You could say it’s more like a friend-of-a-friend situation. I wouldn’t say we know-know each other, really.” It feels like the closest I ought to get to the truth under the circumstances.
Fallon shakes his head. “Knowing Wes, he knows you’re too young for me and set it up anyway. He probably thought you’d be fun.” That shy smile comes out to play again. “You were.”
Okay, this right here? This is my cue to get the hell out.
“Hey.” Fallon stands right as I’m about to make my exit. “I’m sorry. I’m kind of a hot mess right now. And I’m sorry for basically using you last night. And biting you. That was really… Anyway, I’d like it if we could be friends, though. If you’re up for that.”
Say no. Say hell no. Tell him you won’t be happy with friends after swallowing his moans and marking his face.
Tell him you’d like to cut whoever made him think he needs to apologize all the damn time from nose to fucking balls.
Tell him you’ll wear that bite mark with pride because nobody’s ever claimed you before and probably nobody will again.
Even if they did, you’re not sure you’d want them to because something happened last night that won’t happen again.
Maybe I’m stupid enough to think it, but I’m not stupid enough to say it out loud. “Friends. Sure.” Fucking idiot. “I’d better go now.”
“You’re a pretty great guy, PJ.”
“Nah. I’m not.”
I don’t let myself touch the bite mark on my neck until I’m back in my car.