Chapter Twenty-Three
ONE WEEK later, Aaron sat on the floor in Marco’s rental, massaging his calves while he typed away on his laptop. He’d settled into his role with Marco, which was unusual at best. In private he was a personal assistant. In public he was a boyfriend. Then there were times like this where Marco was comfortable enough to state his needs explicitly.
“Just touch me,” Marco had said. “I need to be touched. Touch me anywhere, I don’t care.”
It was times like this when he was more of a pet.
“Do you need anything before I go?” he said, working his hands under Marco’s pant legs.
“Yeah.” Marco rolled his head around his neck. “I need you to not go.”
He was a difficult person to read, but it almost seemed like he’d been more affectionate the past few days. Either that, or the gray area between boyfriend, PA, and pet was starting to mess with his mind.
“I wish I could stay,” he said, because that was what he always said, even if it was a bit off-putting to white-lie to Marco. The man had his respect, but at the end of the day, it wasn’t about truth so much as it was about making his clients feel desirable. “There’s nowhere better than right here.”
Marco gave him a sidelong glance, then back to the typing. “Are you pleased with how our arrangement has turned out?”
“Of course.” That part he meant. Their time together had been a lot of work. Literal work—composing emails and reviewing contracts for errors—but it’d been a welcome change of pace. Plus, Marco’s deal had gone through, and Aaron had helped. He was part of something bigger than him. They even had a celebratory whiskey tasting with the clients tomorrow night, which was one way to end on a high note. “You’ve been the best client I’ve ever had by a long shot.”
“Come.” Marco snapped the laptop shut and patted the sofa next to him. “Come sit.”
Aaron stood and brushed his pants off, then settled in next to him .
Marco twisted to face him, resting an elbow on the back of the sofa, and sighed as he rubbed an eye. “I’m due a vacation. I haven’t taken one in three years.”
Aaron snorted. “Shocker.”
Marco chuckled, which was a nice change of pace after the stress he’d been through. “I think you could use one too. A sandy beach, a drink in your hand. You’ve been working so hard. How would you like to come with me?”
Aaron licked his lips. “What’s that now?”
Marco’s expression was a bit amused. He reached out and brushed a few fingers through Aaron’s hair, which was such an unusually intimate gesture for their dynamic that he almost flinched. “Antigua, maybe. St. Bart’s. I’d pay for the whole thing, of course, and I’d compensate you for your time. You could just relax.”
Aaron sucked in a tight breath. A vacation. Even if no-vacationing-with-clients wasn’t one of his rules, he struggled to imagine any kind of trip without a curly-headed little dancer beside him, bitching about the wind being too windy or whatever.
Marco’s brow kneaded together. “You hesitate.”
“No, I….” He didn’t have an argument. He was hesitating. “Overnight trips aren’t typically something I do.”
“Overnight stays weren’t something you did either. And look. You survived.”
He chuckled. “True. But if I might just be honest for a second?”
“Please.”
“My partner. You met him briefly at the restaurant. He’d probably struggle with that. With a trip.”
“Ahh.” Marco nodded. “The partner. Well, for what it’s worth, he seems very… young. Young people don’t always have the best gauge on what’s most important.”
Aaron squinted. “Which is?”
“Security, of course. Making sure the choices you make improve your future. Now, I want you to please take what I’m about to say seriously.” Again with the hair touching, only he’d scooted in closer. “Can you do that for me?”
He glanced up at Marco’s hand in his hair. He nodded.
“I’d like to continue seeing you, Aaron. I’d like to see you once a month, give or take. You come to me in Santa Monica, or I come to you.”
Something about this was so different. Uncharted. “Oh. Uh. Let me think about— ”
“I’d be willing to increase your rate by 20 percent.”
Aaron’s eyes widened, and his heart tripped over a beat.
“Which is a whole lot of money, Aaron, as you know. You could do big things if you invested it properly. I could help you.” Marco gently cupped his face—first one hand, then the other. “But one thing is for certain. You should come on this trip with me. You won’t regret it. I’ll make it worth your time.”
Then the strangest thing happened. Marco kissed him.
For the first time, other than a cheek peck in front of the clients, Marco kissed him, and Aaron allowed it. Why would he not? This was his job. His job wasn’t sending emails, hobnobbing with strangers, and securing deals. His job was to be a patient and enthused lover. He’d always dreamed about a client like this—someone polite, generous, and attractive. He should’ve been turned on as the kiss progressed deeper with Marco’s jaw working and his tongue mingling with his.
He should’ve been having fun, but he wasn’t.
For the first time maybe ever, doing this, doing his job … he felt sick.
THE NEXT night, Daniel clutched a pillow in bed while a true-crime documentary flashed images of some guy killing another guy with a tire iron. It wasn’t great for his nervous system, but he was locked in. What was also not great for his nervous system was the thud that thudded somewhere in the apartment. The living room?
“Aaron?” he asked, eyes wide as he grabbed the remote control. Why wouldn’t he grab his phone? Or Aaron’s baseball bat in the closet? If a psychopath with a tire iron was on their way to bludgeon things, all he’d be able to do was turn up the volume while he got murdered. “Aaron. Is that you?”
Another thud, followed by Aaron’s loud whisper-cursing. Daniel’s breath rushed into his body as he fell back into the bed.
Aaron suddenly stood in the doorway. Well, stood was a stretch. He swayed, held on to the doorframe, and grinned, all silly and blitzed. “Hey, cutie.”
“Oh God.” Daniel flicked his gaze upward. “You’re drunk.”
Aaron twisted around the room as if someone was standing behind him and pointed a finger at himself. “Me? ”
“I’m surprised you came home.” Daniel sat up and sipped his ginger ale, mustering all his sass. “You and your boyfriend have a little too much fun?”
“Okay, I see what you’re trying to do, and oh, no, no.” Aaron wagged a finger at him. He slid his jacket off and slung it across the room like he was on stage at a strip club. “I don’t have a boyfriend. I have a fiaaaaancé. And God, look at you. I can’t wait to marry you.”
Drunk Aaron was an overly sentimental and gushy fellow. Daniel had to restrain his grin.
“Then, when I’m at a restaurant, someone’ll say, ‘Hey, can I use this chair?’” Aaron crawled into the bed and laid his head in Daniel’s lap, smiling goofily. “And I’ll say, ‘No. I’m saving that for my husband .’”
Daniel combed his fingers through Aaron’s hair. “It’s the little things.”
“Oh! And we can have Spoon-Sex Sundays.”
“You want a designated day for spoon sex?”
The big spoon beamed. “All married couples have a designated day for spoon sex, silly.”
“No. They don’t.”
“Remind me tomorrow—” He interrupted himself with a yawn. “There’s something I need to talk to you about, kid.”
“What is it, handsome?” He thumbed Aaron’s lower lip. “You want Missionary Mondays?”
“Oh, missionary’s good. Yeah, I can watch your face.” Aaron’s words slurred, and his eyelids collapsed. “But no. Isss about Marco.”
Daniel cocked his head. That didn’t sound promising. “What about Marco? I thought he was leaving. Is he not leaving? Talk to me now.”
“He is leaving. But he wants to take me on a vacation before he goes home. A charter plane. St. Bart’s.”
Daniel’s eyebrows shot up. “A charter plane?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow?” They shot higher as he blinked, wide-eyed, his stomach revolting in a somersault. “What? Why so soon?”
“He’s gotta gets backs to work.”
“But.” Daniel rubbed his forehead. No. No, no, no. “Do you want to go?”
“Do I want to?” Aaron nodded weakly and nestled into his lap, his words streaming together. “S’good money. He’s right, and we need money for, ya know… future self. You’re young, Daniel. Young people don’t know about security. Ssssecurity’s what’s important.”
It seemed so much worse than any regular time Aaron could’ve spent with a client. It seemed fucking catastrophic to have Aaron gone on a beach vacation with Marco. “But I thought you said you guys were platonic? If you’re platonic, why does he want to take a vacation together?”
Aaron didn’t respond.
“Hey.” Daniel shook him, but his breathing had already progressed to a faint snore.
He stared down at sleeping Aaron for a long time, curling his fingers through his hair, his wedding band glinting in the blue light from the TV. So hanging in there looked like this now too? Chartered planes? Vacations to St. Bart’s? All it took was the perfect client, and suddenly Aaron’s boundaries were slipping. He was staying the night. He was going on trips. All the things he’d sworn he’d never do.
Daniel wiggled out from under Aaron, tugged his shoes off, rolled him onto his side, and covered him with the blanket. Squatting by the bed, he smoothed Aaron’s eyebrow where he creased it in his sleep. “This doesn’t feel right.”
Aaron twitched.
“This isn’t right. Please don’t go. Don’t go on a trip with him.” He gently kissed Aaron’s lips. He tasted a little like himself, a little like whiskey, and a little like someone else’s cologne. Probably Marco’s. Which was enough to hurt all over. “It’ll break my heart.”