Chapter Nine
LATER THAT week, Aaron was struggling to move a federal judge’s arm off his chest without waking him. He’d wiggled all the way to the edge of the bed. He was almost there. If he could hold his breath. If he could snake a bit farther. If he could inch one more inch, he’d be the winner in peace-out limbo.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Dammit. Busted. He patted the guy’s arm. “I was hoping I could take off a little early.”
His client squinted at his watch. “Not going to happen, boy. We have another eleven minutes.”
Eleven minutes wasn’t anything to be so melancholic over, but Aaron barely stifled a groan as he sank back into the bed.
“Excuse me, young man.” His client propped himself up to his elbow and arched a silver eyebrow. Maybe Aaron didn’t stifle that groan. “You have somewhere better to be?”
Yes. There were about one thousand better places than right here, and that was on an ordinary evening. Tonight wasn’t ordinary. Tonight, he had a special little date with a special little dancer.
Just because it was their last date—one more date—until he got the contract handled didn’t mean he couldn’t look forward to it. What was so wrong with looking forward to it with every pound of his body until he wanted to scream that he was wasting precious time in this knucklehead’s bed?
He glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the bedroom. Who put a grandfather clock in their bedroom? It didn’t work in the otherwise modern space. If he ever had the privilege of designing a space like this, it’d be a masterpiece. “Nowhere better to be.”
His client’s expression twisted into a skeptical frown. “Yeah, I’m not feeling the love today, Aaron.”
“My apologies.” He lightened his tone and feigned a smile. “There’s nowhere better than right here. ”
“Eh.” His client scrunched his nose and tipped his head to the side. “Still not entirely convinced. What can you do to convince me?”
Yeah, because it was a lie. They both knew it was a lie. A white-bread generic mockery of a sham. So why make him plod away at niceties? Answer: men and their fucking egos.
Aaron’s face may or may not have exposed his annoyance as he rolled on top of his client and whispered, “You’re so sexy, baby. God, you’re sexy.”
Now was a good time to run through his grocery list. He needed avocados, Roma tomatoes, and aluminum foil. He needed garbanzo beans and a red onion. That sounded like a delightful salad.
“And so much fun to play with,” he said, withholding a teasing kiss from the guy. “I wish I could stay here all night.”
He should get Daniel something from the grocery store. He’d probably twist into a tizzy over a box of chocolates. Aaron could almost hear the squeal, all high-pitched and raspy.
“I think about you when I’m at home sometimes,” Aaron said, because that was always a crowd-pleaser. “I find myself hoping you’ll call.”
“Yeah? You like coming over here?”
“Like? I love it.” He almost lost his composure on that one. “But how much more do you want to wear me out tonight? You’ve exhausted me.”
The guy chuckled.
“Show some goddamn mercy.” His voice dripped with seductive sugar as he swiped his tongue over the guy’s lips. “Your Honor.”
“Go.” The guy swatted at him. “So full of it. Go. Get the hell out of here.”
That was his cue. He scrambled off the bed and straight to his clothes before the guy changed his mind.
The judge pushed himself to a seat and fished a joint from his nightstand drawer. He sniffed the length of it, then hovered it over the flame of a lighter. “So, what’s your deal lately? You’re different.”
Aaron checked his phone. Three texts from a fussy client who liked to argue about money, and one from his brother with an article about gay penguins. But only one name made his insides get all warm and slushy :
hARd TO gET OvEr (poor chester)
Hi mister. Thinking about your face and how I want to lick it.
He grinned down at his screen. Thinking about your face and how I can’t wait to see it later. We still on for tonight?
God, yes. If you stand me up, I’ll die. I’ll just crawl into an early grave where I’ll choke the chicken.
Aaron opened his mouth and closed it again, slowly tilting his head to the side.
Is it “choke the chicken” or “kick the bucket”? said Daniel’s follow-up text. I’m not good with idioms.
He chuckled. Split the difference? Kick the chicken? I won’t stand you up, kid :)
His client loudly cleared his throat. Oh shit. The dude had been saying something. Something about Aaron acting differently. “My apologies, sir.”
“Doing that a lot today, aren’t we?”
“What’s that?”
“Apologizing.”
“Sorry.” He hopped to work his jeans up. “What were you saying? I’m different? Different, how?”
“Always checking your phone. Always in a hurry.” The judge took a long drag of the joint, holding his breath at the top of his lungs as he asked, “You got yourself a man or something?”
Aaron didn’t mean to burst into what had to sound like startled laughter. He typically tried to keep the two spheres of his life as separate as possible, but something about it was hilarious. It was the word man . Of course, Daniel was a man, but he felt more like a needy Tamagotchi someone forgot to feed. One who threatened to crawl into a grave and choke the chicken if stood up. “I wouldn’t call him my man.”
“What would you call him?” the judge asked on an exhale, marijuana smoke clouding the room.
“Trouble.” He grinned as he buttoned his jeans. “And a handful.”
“I knew it. Well, let’s see him.” The guy snagged a pair of reading glasses from the nightstand and extended his hand. “You have a picture of the handful?”
He did, actually. He had one picture they’d taken at Daniel’s house; one Daniel had insisted they take with the lens way too close, and their faces squished together to fit inside the frame. For being such a small thing, it was kind of exciting to show it off to someone. To talk about him with another person. His Tamagotchi.
It also highlighted the fact that he didn’t have any friends beyond this. With his secretive lifestyle, he really only had clients to talk to. While it was somewhat inspiring to be surrounded by so many successful men, it was disheartening at the same time. He’d never know money like they knew it with their dignified degrees and titles. At almost thirty, it was too late for him to start over. He’d never have some dignified title. Some dignified life.
“Well, looky there,” the judge said as he peered down through his glasses at the picture. “Adorable, isn’t he?”
Aaron melted into a grin. His imagination was behaving a bit like a child, itching to indulge in some fictitious life that didn’t exist, as if to say, But can’t we just pretend for a moment? What’s the harm in pretending? Pretending what it’d be like to be boyfriends. Maybe they’d live together. Maybe they’d be the type of couple to take weekend trips to the beach and host summer barbecues with badminton and homemade sangria. Maybe one day, they’d find themselves on one of those beach vacations, and as the ocean rolled over itself in the background, one of them would lean in and say, You. You are it for me.
“Yeah, thank you. He’s, uh, he’s a professional dancer.” Aaron sucked his teeth to keep from smiling so big. “He’s actually buying the dance studio where he works, so he’ll have his own place. It’s a big deal. I’m proud of him—”
“So, how much for you both?”
Aaron’s smile died as something icy leaked down his spine. He cleared his throat. “Excuse me?”
“For the both of you at once, how much are we talking?”
“We’re not.” Aaron blinked, widening his eyes in a warning glare. “We’re not talking about that.”
“Fuck. His mouth.” The guy didn’t catch Aaron’s warning glare because he was too busy ripping the glasses off and zooming in on the photo. “Does he get loud? I bet he gets loud. Shit, I’d probably pay just to watch you hold him down and— ”
“Hey!” Aaron snatched the phone back, making the guy flinch. It was probably a tad overblown, the way his anger spiked, but screw it. It suddenly felt like the most natural thing in the world to say to his federal judge of a client, “You absolutely do not talk about him like that. Do you understand me?”
The judge’s eyes rounded. After a moment, he mumbled under his breath, “Whoa. Take it easy.”
“In fact, forget his face. Forget I mentioned him at all because, like I said, he’s a dancer .”
“Okay.” The guy showed his palms. “Holy shit, Aaron. Can you take a breath? I just thought since you do what you do that your boyfriend would—”
Aaron turned his glare to full force, and the guy snapped his mouth shut. His clients weren’t his friends. He didn’t have any of those.
He scraped a hand through his hair. “I have to go.”
“Are you mad?”
He worked his shirt overhead. Mad was probably a decent description. Over it was probably even more fitting.
“So you are mad. Geez, you’re worse than a woman. My wallet.” The judge nodded to the dresser. “Bring it to me, won’t you?”
Aaron eyed the guy as he swiped the wallet from the dresser. Holding another man’s wallet always felt strange. Somehow more intimate than holding his hand.
His client shuffled through cash, taking inventory. He offered it over. “You can have everything in it.”
Aaron pricked an eyebrow as his gaze bounced from the guy to the wallet and back. “How high are you?”
“Moderately high?”
“You already paid me.”
“I’m very aware of how much money you take from me, young man. So is my accountant. Good thing it’s my brother.”
Aaron snorted.
“Go ahead. Open it.”
He pried it open, and his heart jump-started back to the moment. To what was important. So important that he bit down on his tongue until it hurt as he gazed into the wallet. It sucked to care so deeply about a few cuts of paper. It sucked that paper was so intertwined with his self-worth to the point that he refused to say no. He couldn’t say no.
His body craved money as much as it craved connections with other people.
“Oh, would you look at that?” The guy smirked. “Does he suddenly have time to spare?”
The only issue? In a fight between money and connection, money always won.
“So generous of you,” he said with as much spunk as he could manage as he plucked the bills from the wallet and stuffed them into his pocket. “I can stay for a while. What would you like me to do?”
“I don’t know, smile? Are you capable of that?”
Aaron was struggling with that at the moment, so he bared his teeth. “How’s this?”
“On second thought—” His client pulled a drag from the joint and lounged back in the bed with an arm tucked beneath his head. “—go ahead and keep your beautiful mouth shut.”
Fine. Perfect. Talking seemed like the more annoying choice, anyway. He yanked his shirt back off and crawled into the bed, where he stretched long, mirroring the guy.
“Look at you,” his client cooed, dragging his gaze over his body. “It never gets old. I ought to buy you something to match those pretty eyes of yours. Would you like that?”
He nodded.
“You may speak.”
“Yes, sir. How kind.”
“Attaboy. Come here.” The judge sucked an extralong drag from the joint, touched their lips together, and exhaled it into Aaron’s mouth. Great. Not only was he going to be stuck here a while longer, but he was going to be stuck here and high.
“Now get your ass to work.” The guy patted his cheek in light smacks. “I’m not paying you to get high on my weed.”
His clients weren’t his friends. They were barely even friendly.
A FEW HOURS later, when the buzz had worn off, Aaron stood on Daniel’s porch under an old oak tree that shed acorns in little plunks. Things were so wholesome over here. Not that his tiny, horny dancer was wholesome in the traditional sense. Hardly. He cussed like a drunken sailor and probably fucked like one too, but he offered sanctuary. With easy, bright-eyed humor and heartfelt rolling tears, he offered warm waters where Aaron could shed his armor and take a little swim.
“Aaron, is that you?” Daniel’s voice sounded behind the door, along with his hurried footsteps. It didn’t sound easy with bright-eyed humor. It sounded panicked.
“Yeah,” he responded, slanting his brow. “Everything okay—?”
Daniel swung the door open in a fury, his melted caramel eyes huge in distress. “Thank the heavens you’re here. I have a crisis—God, you look gorgeous—that I need your help with. It’s my dad.”
Aaron’s eyebrows shot up. “Your dad? What’s going on?”
“He’s doing something completely uncalled for. He’s….” Daniel whimpered and fell into his arms like a corseted damsel in a period film. “He’s turning fifty.”
Even though he had questions, he squashed those along with the urge to break a smile at the dramatics, because if he’d learned anything so far, it was best just to let him feel . He wrapped Daniel in a hug and said, “Oh no. Did you say fifty ? How could he do that to you?”
“I know, right? And look.” Daniel swiped open his phone and handed it over to display a text from an unknown number:
My name is Melissa, and we’ve yet to meet, but I’m your dad’s girlfriend. Throwing him a surprise birthday party tonight at my place. Would mean so much if you could make it.
Ahh. An instant sadness deflated Aaron’s shoulders, but maybe it was a sign. He had no right to be standing here taking Daniel out on one more date.
“I’m sorry,” Daniel said. “I’m sorry about our date, but I feel like I have to go.”
“It’s okay.” He rallied a smile. “This is more important.”
“Do you think we can reschedule whatever you had planned?”
No. He’d cashed in a favor from a client to reserve a private room at a Michelin restaurant complete with a sommelier, an opportunity he likely wouldn’t get twice. “Sure. All right, well, I guess have fun. Text me if you need—”
“Oh, you’re going.”
Aaron blinked.
“Right?” Daniel’s eyes widened even more. “Aren’t you going with me? ”
Aaron opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came forth.
“Aaron, you have to go. I can’t go alone. Please? Please ?” Daniel gripped his hand. “I need someone there. I want you there.”
He chewed the inside of his cheek. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t go and meet Daniel’s father. Meeting his father would only complicate things further, but someone tell that to the little swell of weightlessness zipping through his body. The one that sounded an awful lot like the child’s imagination, pointing out how it’d be better than Michelin stars and a sommelier. That it’d be so harmless to be the rock that Daniel leaned on for an evening while they played pretend boyfriends. It’d be so… wholesome.
He sparred with himself over should he, shouldn’t he —a pointless battle in the end because, of course, the answer was always going to be “It’d be an honor to go.”