Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
WYATT
I swallowed the shot of tequila, going over Julian’s information, trying to figure him out.
He hadn’t mentioned anything about his career or who he was.
Nothing about his thirty-million-dollar contract or about the thousands of fans that chanted his name at each game.
Richard had made sure I knew his worth financially, and he loved to name drop.
But Julian listed stats like he was a racehorse.
None of this helped me. I didn’t know if he wanted small talk as part of his foreplay. Or if he’d walk in, cock in hand, and demand I get on my knees.
In the hall I could hear Jackson going over the whole illegal drugs, to-get-it-up-take-them-now line he always gave.
The door opened, and they both stepped in.
Julian was dressed in a suit that was tailored to fit him.
His brown hair looked like someone had run their hands through it.
He was tall and far more handsome in person than in his photos.
“You have four hours. Not four hours and one more pump,” Jackson said, patting Julian down, stopping at his groin.
“Hey,” Julian grunted out. “That’s mine.”
“Checking it’s all attached.” Jackson stood, winking at me.
I think he liked this part, making my clients as uncomfortable as he could.
It reminded them of who was in control. “When your time is up, put your cock away and put your pants on. Wear a condom. If your cock is out, there better be a condom on it. If you don’t want to wear one, I will drag you naked from this room. ”
Julian hadn’t even looked at me yet. His back was straight and his stance tense.
“I will be right here, and I hear everything. If I so much as hear her voice raise, I will drag you naked from this room and dump you on the casino floor. Do you understand?” Jackson was a big man.
He towered over most of my clients, but Julian could stand toe-to-toe with him.
I’d almost like to see Jackson try to drag Julian out.
“What if she’s praising my abilities?” Julian asked, adjusting his jacket. I could hear the cockiness in his voice. That sense of entitlement was why I never did athletes.
Jackson laughed a genuine laugh. “I’ve been working with her for fifteen years and that has never happened, so I’m not worried.” I should’ve stopped Jackson. I didn’t believe a man who needed Anders to find him an escort was going to push any boundaries.
“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, puck boy.” Jackson turned off the light. “He’s clean, Cass. Yell if you need anything.” He cut Julian a warning glance. “I hear everything, so don’t be a hero.”
Jackson went into the kitchen, where he would wait until I took Julian to the bedroom. “You’ll have to excuse Jackson. He’s just doing his job.”
“He’s good at it.” Julian took a deep breath and let it out slowly, finally looking my way.
“You’re not what I expected,” I whispered. I wasn’t sure what I expected. I had seen his photos, but seeing him in person, there was something in the way he carried himself. He was guarded.
“What were you expecting?” Julian cocked his head, looking me up and down.
“I don’t know. Maybe fewer teeth.” He flashed a perfect smile that didn’t reach his eyes, which were a shade of blue green. And sad.
“What do you want me to call you? Anything but daddy. If you’re into that, I can give you a couple of names of girls or guys that are into that,” I said, walking back into the living room.
My clients were rich, not handsome. They had enough money to make people believe they were attractive or forget what they looked like.
But Julian Silver was truly an attractive man.
“Julian. That’s my name.” His eyes moved across the room, restless, like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.
“Okay, Julian.” I stood in the living area, the large couch between us. He gave no indication as to what he wanted to start with. Some wanted to talk to make sure they got their money’s worth. While others wanted to get right to the part where I was naked and their dick was out.
“What should I call you?” he asked, cramming his hands in his pockets.
“Cassidy. You can hang your jacket over the chair if you like. Can I get you a drink?”
“Please.” He slipped off his jacket and hung it over the chair. The button-up he wore fit him perfectly and hinted at the muscle on his arms and shoulders.
“Whiskey okay?”
“Yeah. That’d be great.” He stepped further into the room. “Nice view.” He nodded at the large windows.
“Yes, it is. Here.” I held out the drink like some evil queen trying to tempt a brave knight to the dark side. Julian took the drink but made no move to get closer to me. I sat down on the couch. “So.”
“So,” he said, standing there. Not moving, barely looking at me.
“Is there something wrong? You didn’t specify clothing choice or how you wanted me to wear my hair.”
“Was I supposed to?”
“If that helps.”
“Helps what?”
This was weird. I never had to make the first move. Or if I did, it was because that was what the client wanted. “I can change if you don’t like what you see. Do you have a favorite color? Maybe blue? I could put less on, take more off?”
“God no. I mean, you… look very nice tonight.” He took a drink.
“Then why are you standing all the way over there?”
“Sorry.” He stiffly sat down. “You do look nice. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“It’s okay.” I moved closer to him, waiting for him to do something.
“Is this where we are supposed to do something?”
I shrugged. “It’s your night. You can do with it as you please.” Sex was a complicated thing. It could be taken or given. I never took; I always gave.
“But you have expectations, right?” he said, swirling the whiskey around in his glass.
“No.” I took a sip of my drink. “I’m here for you. Whatever it is you want.”
“Everyone has expectations. It’s better if we’re both clear on what they are. That way…” He stared down at his shoes. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”
“You don’t? I thought Jackson and Margo made that very—”
“No. I know why I’m here.” Julian stood, voice tight. “I just don’t know how the hell I got here. I mean, I drove. Obviously.” He dragged a hand over his face. “But I can’t even do this right.”
I watched him pace a couple of steps before stopping.
It was more than his looks that made him different from my other clients.
None of them were worried about not doing it right.
That was why they hired me. How I felt about their performance didn’t matter.
Some tried, gave a couple thrusts after they came, thinking that was all it took.
But women need more to get off, and most men didn’t try.
“There is no right or wrong way. Well, there is, but I don’t think we need to worry about that tonight.” I smiled. “Let me get you another drink. You sit, and we’ll talk.” I stood and took his glass. I had never had to work this hard at my job.
Anders was wrong. Julian didn’t need to get laid. The poor guy probably needed some therapy.
“So, you play hockey.” I cringed at how lame that sounded. I prided myself on knowing how to talk to men, hold their interest. But Julian had given me nothing but hockey stats.
“Not very well. I can’t shoot a fucking puck to save my life. Half this city thinks I’m too old to play; the other half thinks I’m washed-up. They’re probably right. The team wants to scratch me. And…” The muscle in his jaw tightened. “But yeah, I play hockey.”
I handed him his drink. “What does it mean, the team wants to scratch you?” I sat back down on the couch. Thankfully, he followed.
“They take me out of the lineup. Which means they don’t think I can play anymore. They think I’m too old. I’m not useful to the team. If they scratch me, then they can play someone else. Someone younger.”
I almost laughed at the parallel of this. “I had a client say the same.”
“That you can’t play anymore?”
“No.” I swirled the tequila around in my glass before I swallowed it. “He said my left breast was saggy and that I looked old. I guess it happens to the best of us. So if we are both a scratch, what happens next?”
“Why would he say that?” Julian met my eyes, his blue gaze darker in the low light. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“He said it, so it must be true.” I wasn’t sure why the hell I was telling him this. I never shared personal things with clients.
“It’s not. I mean, I don’t know what your breasts look like. But I’m sure they’re fine.”
“They are.” I slid a little closer. I could smell the soft scent of his cologne. “But why do you believe what they say about you?” I traced the seam of his shirt on his shoulder.
“I haven’t scored since last February. And that’s what they pay me to do.” He stared out the windows. “I used to be good.”
“Yes, well, I used to be twenty.” I drained my drink. “Do you believe you’re washed-up, Julian?”
“Maybe. They would know, right?” He rested his elbows on his knees and scrubbed his face. “Can we not talk about hockey, please?”
“Sure, what would you like to talk about? Your childhood? Your favorite movie? You tell me.”
“That’s the problem. I don’t know anything other than hockey.
Even my childhood was about the game. I don’t have time to watch anything but game films.” His eyes met mine, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of self-doubt.
“I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. I can’t even stand to be around myself. Why would you want to?”
I had a job to do, and a promise to keep to Anders, and Julian had paid. I stood in front of him, taking his glass. I could see the weight of the world pressing down on him. “Do you want to leave?”
“No.” He ran his hand up the back of my legs. “Do you want me to?”
I pushed him back on the couch and straddled him. “No. I want you to kiss me, please.”
His eyes were on my mouth. “What if I disappoint you?”
“You haven’t yet.” And that was the truth.