Chapter 3
Three
Dalton
I got that dancer in trouble.
It pisses me off because I know I did the right thing by stopping Bryce.
After he left in a huff, I sent Arnie a text to tell him what a dick his friend was, then I took a chance and stood outside the side door. Something tells me that dancer isn’t heading out the front.
Thankfully, I’m proven right when the door opens and the dancer steps outside. He’s still wearing nothing but jeans and a T-shirt. A bag is slung over his shoulder, but it does nothing to protect him from the chill or snow flurries.
He stops when he sees me, his expression quickly morphing into a scowl. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“You got me fired,” he snaps. “I’d say that’s pretty far from okay.”
My stomach drops. “I’m sorry.”
“Whatever.” He starts to move around me, so I cut him off. His scowl grows darker as he stares up at me. “If you want that private lap dance, I’m afraid it’s a little too late.”
“No, no. I didn’t even want that. That was . . .” I trail off because I’m pretty sure he doesn’t care what was going on. He’s humiliated and pissed. “Look, I really am sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Not unless you’ve got ten grand lying around to help me pay my bills until I can get another job.”
My first instinct is to offer it to him right now. I owe it to him, even though I think I did the right thing but stopping Bryce from touching him. It wasn’t my intention to get him fired.
“You can come work for me,” I offer.
“Doing what?”
I falter. The truth is, I work alone. And I don’t think he’d be a good fit for real estate.
The dancer shakes his head and starts to move around me, but I block his path once more.
“Wait. You can come home with me for Christmas. I don’t want to show up single again.”
He cuts me a glare. “Do you think I’m out of my mind? Or that I’m that desperate?”
“Definitely the latter.”
“Fuck you.” He shoves by me this time, the grip tight on his bag.
“I’ll give you twenty grand.”
He stops abruptly, indecision thick in the frigid air surrounding him. When he turns to look at me, his eyes are filled with wariness. It seems to tense every muscle in his lithe body.
“What do you need a boyfriend for so badly?”
“Because I don’t want spend the holiday getting set up with total strangers.”
“Right. Sounds like a really hard life. I’ll pass.”
I grab his shoulder when he turns to go again. “Look, I feel bad, all right? I didn’t mean to get you fired.”
“I told you everything was fine. You should’ve stayed out of it.”
The image of Bryce grabbing the dancer earlier flashes through my mind again, and my hands curl into fists at my sides. “How was I supposed to let that go? You were uncomfortable, and he had no right to do that.”
“You must not go to strip clubs a lot.” He shakes his head. “The customer’s always right, okay? And if you have a problem with guys groping people, maybe don’t go to strip clubs.”
“He had no fucking right to touch you.” My voice is nothing but a growl, and I watch the effect it has on the dancer. His gaze drops to my mouth for just a second, a heartbeat, and then he snaps it back up to my eyes.
I think he’s going to walk away. I should let him this time.
Instead, he hesitates. Then asks quietly, “What would you want me to do as your boyfriend on holiday?”
There are so many ways to answer that question. Instantly, my mind is filled with all the things I’d love to see this guy doing. On his knees with my cock in his mouth. Lying with his legs spread open on my bed. Bent over a couch while I fuck deep in his ass.
“Well?” The dancer’s voice jerks me back to the present, and I shake the thoughts away.
“Everything a real boyfriend does,” I tell him. “I don’t want anyone knowing it’s not real.”
He worries the strap of his bag with his long index finger. His nails are bitten down to the quick. “I don’t know . . .”
“It’s only a week.” The words feel strange as they leave my mouth. Like I already want more than just a week.
He’s quiet for a long minute, his brow furrowed. Judging from the indecision in his eyes, he wants badly to say yes.
I can’t believe I’m offering him this. What the hell am I thinking? He’s a stranger; how can I trust him to go be around my family and keep the secret that I’m paying him?
I watch him war with the idea, and I realize how deep his desperation actually runs. I don’t need to worry about him telling at all. He wouldn’t risk losing the money. I feel guilty all over again for getting him fired.
“Do you expect me to be your boyfriend in private too, or just when we’re around other people?”
Those images of us together flash through my mind again, but I shut them down quicker this time. “Obviously, I don’t want you hooking up or seeing anyone else while we’re supposed to be together. Whatever we do in private is up to you.”
“Up to me?” His voice is filled with confusion, like the very idea of him choosing is a foreign concept.
“Yeah. It’s not like I’d demand you do anything you didn’t want to do.” But, fuck, I’m hoping he does want something.
He doesn’t say yes, though. So I add, “Why don’t I give you my number, and you can text me your decision.”
Wordlessly, he pulls his phone from the back pocket of his tight jeans and hands it to me. The phone’s several years old and has a crack down the middle of the screen. When I turn it on, there’s a picture of him and another guy who bears a striking resemblance to him. A brother, probably.
“What’s your name?” I ask as I fill in my name and number. “Your real name?”
“Sam.”
I close the contacts app and hand the phone back to him. “I’m Dalton Kane. Can I give you a ride home?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then will you at least take this?” I shrug out of my coat and hold it out to him.
“If you’re thinking this is a surefire way to get me to reach out to you, you’re wrong.”
“If you don’t want to go with me, that’s fine. You can keep the coat. Consider it part of my apology.”
He hesitates again. I’m starting to realize it may have been years since anyone’s shown Sam any flicker of kindness.
When he steps closer and takes the coat from me, it feels like a huge win, though I keep my expression neutral.
“I’ll be expecting to hear from you,” I tell him. “Don’t make me wait too long.”