Wolf (The For Hire, For Keeps #2)

Chapter 1

Iwatch Paul leave my hotel room and sigh.

I know I'm going to have to fire him as a client.

I can tell he's catching feelings for me in more than a professional way.

He's not a bad guy, and maybe in another lifetime I'd be open to dating him.

His slutty glasses give a naughty professor vibe I can totally dig.

But I'm a sex worker. I don't get to fall in love.

Sex, intimacy, my time, and attention - it all can be bought for the right price. I love my job.

When I was coming out, I never had someone safe to help me navigate my sexuality, and I love being able to be that safe person for other gay men. But love? Love isn't part of the equation.

I don't have to check out of the hotel room until eleven, so I order room service for breakfast and grab my phone from the nightstand.

Every morning, I go through new service inquiries, my schedule for the week, and any boudoir photoshoots I have coming up, so I know when to schedule the rest of my life.

Believe it or not, but it takes a lot of work to maintain my level of fitness, health, and mental well-being.

I have to be physically attractive for my job, but I also prioritize my mental fitness and being able to be calm when the client is nervous or anxious about what we do. Nothing phases me.

I pour myself a cup of coffee from the Keurig and take a sip while sitting on the couch and scrolling through my emails.

I choke on my coffee as it hits the back of my throat on a shocked gasp.

I re-read the subject line of the email.

Service inquiry from Mr. Gareth Brockman.

There's no fucking way.

I open the email and scan the message someone submitted through the contact form on my website.

Bi-curious.

No experience with men.

Looking to explore.

It's got to be a different Gareth Brockman. I mean, that name is unique, sure, but with millions of men in this country, there has to be at least one other Gareth Brockman.

Right?

Before I lose my nerve, I call the number provided on the form.

"Brockman," the man on the other end of the line answers curtly. It’s been a decade, and I’m not sure I’d recognize his voice anymore.

"Gareth... Brockman..."

"Speaking."

He's giving douchey finance bro vibes, but he reached out to me, so I'm not intimidated by his tone.

"Is this the Gareth Brockman from Southern Valley High School?"

"Uh... yeah? Can I ask who's calling?"

"This is Trey Huang. You filled out a form on my website...."

"Oh, shit... right... gimme a second," his voice sounds softer now, and there's rustling of clothing on the other line.

I hear a door close, and then he's back.

"Hey man, I didn't know if you'd remember me...." His voice is soft and vulnerable, and my heart rate speeds up. Gareth is an asshole. A bully. A cocky jock who used to shove my head in the school toilet because of my sexuality.

And now he's looking to explore his bi-curiousness with me?

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

"You really woke up this morning and decided you wanted to explore your gayness with me? The kid you used to bully for being gay? The kid you called a 'fag' and a 'tink'. How did you imagine that working out for you?"

Clearly, his arrogance is still intact.

"Shit, man, I know. I was terrible to you. But I figured we've both grown up and put it behind us, yeah?"

Had we? I'd moved on. I'd had plenty of therapy to explore the resentment and anger, but did that mean this person deserved a space in my life? Or my peace?

"Yeah, this isn't happening. Consider your inquiry rejected." I'm about to hang up on him, unwilling to reopen old wounds, but he interrupts me.

"Shit. Okay..." He sounds oddly disappointed, and I hate how a part of my chest twinges at that."... how about I take you out for dinner so I can really apologize in person?"

I may not want him in my life in any capacity, but I am curious about his apology. How does he think he can justify his homophobic bullshit to me?

I know it says more about him than it does about me. I never flaunted my sexuality or talked about it at school at all, but somehow he found out and used it to target me. Now, I wonder if it wasn't all projection and lashing out about his own gayness. He was a football player, after all.

"I'll think about it," I bark into the phone before ending the call.