7. Silas
7
SILAS
T he tension is thick when Graham opens the door to 604. He’s wearing a black hoodie and gray sweats—like he got the memo. His hair is a barely tamed mess, and his green eyes are hooded with what could either be sleepiness or arousal.
He better not get any ideas, but if I’m reading him right—he’s got plenty.
“Good morning,” I force out. “Where would you like all this?”
He drags his gaze away from my face and examines the stacked delivery boxes on the dolly. “Oh. What is it?”
“Not my job to open everything,” I tell him.
“Right. Would you mind bringing them into the living room?”
“No problem.”
I wheel the packages down the hallway, turning into the living area—a sea of opened boxes, half-stocked bookshelves, and other random items that haven’t found a home yet. “Looks like it’s gonna be a long weekend,” I say. It’s what I would say to anyone in this circumstance, I think.
“How’s your mother?”
I stiffen, taking a slow glance over my shoulder at him .
His emerald eyes are earnest. Concerned.
“Fine,” I say. “She’s hanging in there. How’s married life?”
“It’s good.”
“Congratulations,” I tell him. “On winning the election.”
“Oh. Yeah, thank you. I look forward to serving…” His words trail off, and silence drops like lead.
“Anyway,” I say, finally sliding their boxes off the dolly. “Try not to be one of the bad guys.”
“Bad how?”
“I don’t really need to explain government overreach to you, do I?”
“Oh, you meant…”
“What’d you think I meant?”
“I’m not sure.”
Finished unloading the boxes, I grab the dolly and turn to face him. “Look, for now I work nights here. Twelve-hour shifts, three nights a week. Sometimes I pick up a fourth. I might be moving to days in a few months—just so you’re not caught off guard again.”
“Okay.”
“And no one here knows about my other job. I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Of course.”
“Including your wife,” I add.
“Why would I tell her?”
I shrug. “Why wouldn’t you? I don’t know you. I just needed to say it.”
“It’s my secret, too,” he says.
“Understood. Have a great weekend. Welcome to the building. I’ll see myself out.”
“Silas—”
I lift my brows.
He presses his lips together and shakes his head. “Never mind. Thanks for bringing all this up. ”
I drop my gaze but wish I hadn’t. It snags on the way to the floor, caught on the tent in his revealing pants. I blink quickly and look away. Not many nights in my career as an escort stand out, but I remember my night with him quite well. Five stars.
And I hadn’t been lying or trying to flatter him. He’d fucked me good. So good, I’d been sore the next day. So good, I would have come hands-free, but when I watched him orgasm, I hadn’t been able to help myself from coming with him.
I haven’t had sex that good since.
It’s a shame all that chemistry had to be with a politician who’s married to a lie.
It took months of having sex with Ben before we were that good together. I sigh at the senator’s erection. What a waste.
“You’re welcome,” I say, rolling down the hall with my empty dolly.
Christian is asleep on the sofa bed when I get to our apartment in the East Village that morning. After filling a glass of water, I check out the other bedrooms to figure out where to put myself for the day.
One of them is empty. I enter it, closing the door behind me, and strip naked for a shower. The subway ride from work built up a lot of frustration, and I found myself reliving the good old days with Ben. Back before he blindsided me, told me I wasn’t enough, and moved to London for work.
The upside is I don’t have to worry about running into him anywhere, but I miss when things were good between us. Before my mom got sick, and my schedule got all fucked up, and we were able to spend time together. Before the escort job came along and turned sex into a chore.
This isn’t me romanticizing my night with Graham Lawther— I promise. I know exactly what I do for a living, and some clients and I are more compatible than others—I get it. But this is me wishing my life hadn’t turned me so cynical. I used to be fun. I used to dance and laugh and be loud and carefree. I used to hide nothing—living out and proud in New York. I used to have gay friends who made me feel safe and supported. And I used to have Ben who was the best kisser in the fucking world to go home with.
Today, I’ve got eight hours to sleep before I have to be at the gym and a hard on for a Republican senator who made me come so forcefully, a drop of my own semen hit my tongue.
I jerk off in the shower to a fantasy of fishing that erection out of those gray sweats and putting it to good use.
While I watch my cum swirl down the drain, I allow myself the luxury of wondering what my life might look like after.
My mom won’t live forever, not even close. I’ll still need to help out my aunt and cover final expenses, but one of these days, I won’t have to sell my body to rich men to get by. I’m not ashamed of the work I do, it’s not about that. It’s about having a real sex life, and someone who actually cares about me again. Someone to be faithful to. Someone to wrap my arms around at night. Goddamn, am I getting old and boring or what?
Drew is in the bed when I get out of the shower, and he’s already fast asleep. Fucker.
I shake my head, pull on a pair of sweats and get in anyway. He’s hogging the covers, but I manage to wrestle a few inches back.
He groans and shifts, making slightly more room for me to get comfortable. We all know the drill. I set an alarm, plug in my phone on the nightstand, and close my eyes.
When I open them again, the alarm is blaring, and Drew is elbowing me in the back. “Turn that shit off.”
I hit snooze and roll over, shoving his arm away but pressing my forehead to the spot between his shoulder blades .
“What are you doing, dude?”
“Snoozing. Ten minutes of human contact isn’t gonna kill you. Just shut up and give me this. I was here first this morning. You took the bed.”
“Yeah, I heard you in the shower. Sounded fun.”
I snort and let my eyes drift shut again. He doesn’t complain until my alarm goes off for the second time. “No more,” he says. “Go away, I’ve got two more hours.”
I get out of bed, pack my gym bag, change clothes, and leave Drew alone in the bedroom. Christian is still on the sofa, but he’s got it in couch mode now. His ear buds are in, and he’s writing in a notebook. With his dark blonde hair half-covering his eyes, he gives me half a grin before looking back down at his work.
I put together a protein shake and sit down with him to drink it before I head out.
He gives me the honor of his attention. His dark blue eyes are heavy-lidded and sleepy. No one ever sleeps well on the sofa bed.
“You don’t have work today?” I ask.
“Two days off,” he says. “What’s your schedule like?”
“Three clients at the gym. That’s it for today.”
“We should do something.”
“We should,” I agree. It’s Saturday.
“You want loud or quiet?” he asks.
“Let’s start off quiet, then we can decide whether to take it up a notch.”
“Sounds good. What time are you off?”
“I’ll be done by nine.”
“Meet back here?”
“Sure,” I say. “What are you working on?”
“The usual.” He closes his notebook and hides his words away. “And I need a distraction.”
I don’t know what the usual means for Christian. All I do know is it weighs heavily. He’s always looking to be distracted. Logistically, living with three other men can make distractions complicated, but with two of us working days and two working nights, sometimes the planets align. “Drew made it sound like he’s got work tonight.”
“Good,” Chris says.
If we both get lucky, Eric can take the couch. Although I’m not sure I really need to get laid. I’d take a grind on the dance floor maybe, but bringing someone home sounds like too much work. Chris on the other hand, should get laid. He’s getting that lifeless hue about him again, and I need him in top form for his birthday party. It’s the one thing we always celebrate together.
“I should head out,” I say, giving his thigh a squeeze. “See you tonight.”
“Don’t work out too hard. You know it takes me awhile to warm up.”
I laugh. “That’s what tequila’s for.”
My first client is Mia, the cute actress with puppy problems. I put her through a core workout, which she makes adorable by squeezing her eyes shut tight and singing while in various plank positions. It’s no wonder really why some people make it in this town and some don’t. Everything she does is charming as fuck. If I were straight, I wouldn’t stand a chance of not falling in love with her. Of course she captivates audiences. Our hours together are the fastest of my life.
And I am not expecting what happens when she darts off after our session.
“I think the universe might be trying to tell me something.”
From the mat in my private training area, I stare up at Senator-elect Graham Lawther in his tight, short-sleeved shirt and the exact same gray sweatpants I left him in this morning while I wonder if I’m being stalked .
“Before you assume this is anything but a coincidence, let me assure you, my wife’s Pilates studio is upstairs, and you’re the only trainer with availability.”
Both valid truths. There is a fancy Pilates studio upstairs, and I’m the newest trainer at the gym, so all my slots haven’t filled in with permanent clients. However—I do need to be scheduled in advance. This isn’t a walk-ins welcome situation.
“When did you find out it was me?” I ask.
“This morning when I called for an appointment.”
“And you didn’t think maybe it’s a bad idea?”
“Why?” he asks, pretending this is innocent.
I stare warily back at him, needing him to say more.
“I didn’t take the appointment at first,” he says, taking a step closer. “But after about an hour of thinking about it, I decided what the hell. Clearly there are stronger forces at work.”
“Like demons?”
“Or the devil leading me straight into temptation.”
“That’s a bold statement,” I say, calling him out as I stand.
“I promise I can control myself.”
I check his crotch to determine whether that’s true or not. Nothing’s showing. I sigh. “Fine. Tell me about your fitness goals.”
“I’d like a body like yours.”
I have to take a second with that one. From the awkward guy drooling on my cock to the beast who fucked me into a headboard, to the horny dude who couldn’t string a sentence together this morning to this—cocky, confident, flirting— United States senator .
He smiles, and it’s no wonder he won the state last week. He’s more than a decent looking white guy, which had been my initial impression. He’s actually hot. Very. And maybe that’s because I know what he’s capable of. But so does he. He made me come twice. He doesn’t know how hard that is, but I do.
Still, I don’t want to like him. He’s a Republican and a liar. His entire life is a lie. “Don’t flirt with me. That’s not how this is gonna work.” I mean to sound firm, but it comes out harsh.
“How does it work, then?” he asks.
I try to be more professional, but I’m not sure how successful I am. “You want to tone up your abs? Get some more definition in your arms? I’m here for that. But this is business. You want anything else from me, you go through Katia.”
His eyebrows lift. “What does it take to earn your free time?”
“Trust. Senator.”
He clears his throat and finally drops some of the bravado. “Understood.”