Michael laughed. “Seriously?”
Jag scowled. “Yes.”
“Batman.” He leant towards Jag. “I’m more into mysterious broody types than bright and shiny heroes. Which do you prefer?”
Jag shrugged. “Superman, I guess.”
Michael half smiled. “My turn.”
Jag shook his head. “I said I’d be asking the questions. No turn taking.”
Michael gave him a curious look before leaning back onto his hand. “All right, but you might want to up your game a little.”
Jag gazed around. “Why did you call this place Heaven and Hell?”
“That’s not a question you can answer,” Michael pointed out. “If I can’t break the rules of the game, you shouldn’t be able to, either.”
Jag winced.
“But I’ll answer, just this once. It used to be called Horns.”
Jag widened his eyes. “That’s a shit name.”
“A shit name for a shit club,” Michael agreed. “When Edward and I took it over, I decided it needed a serious makeover. We came up with the idea of having exercise classes here and wanted a name to describe the duality of the place. In the day, people come here to be good and get into shape. At night, men come to watch sexy guys dance. Heaven and Hell.”
Jag frowned, wondering who Edward was. It wasn’t something he would ask about, though. “You turned this place around, then?”
Michael wagged his finger at Jag. “You’re breaking the rules again.”
“Sorry.” Curiosity had got the better of him, which was stupid. He didn’t need to know anything about Michael to fuck him. He was only humouring him, wasn’t he?
“It was losing money hand over fist when we took over. The last owner practically handed us the keys for nothing. So you’re right. I have turned it around. We make a healthy profit every week, and I can afford to pay all my staff—including the dancers— a reasonable wage. I’m proud of what I’ve done with the place.” His eyes became distant, and he sighed. “It’s just a shame I had to do it alone.”
Jag’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”
“I originally took it over with my partner,” Michael said.
“Edward?”
Michael nodded. “He passed away soon after.”
Jag’s chest clenched. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
Michael waved his hand. “It’s fine. You wouldn’t have known. It was a while ago.”
Jag searched Michael’s eyes, noting the pain that had risen to the surface in the form of shimmering tears. “How long ago?”
Why had he asked that? Because he felt sorry for Michael? Or because he wanted to understand his pain so he could help ease it?Don’t get attached, he reminded himself. He cursed internally. Could he show a man sympathy without becoming attached?
“Six and a half years ago.”
“He must have died young. I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say. The truth was there was nothing he could say. Words wouldn’t erase Michael’s long-standing grief.
“He was a few years older than me, but yeah, he died before his time. Just one of those things, I guess. Cancer,” he added as though to spare Jag the awkwardness of deciding whether or not he should ask. “It all happened very quickly after he got the diagnosis. We barely had time to come to terms with it before he was gone.”
“I’m sorry.” Jag had lost a lot but never to something so randomly cruel as cancer.
“Most of the time it’s fine,” Michael assured him. “Then silly little things remind me of Edward, and I get a bit tearful. But I always soldier on. He would have wanted me to make this place a success and to be happy, so that’s what I’m trying to do.”
