“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart,” I said, suddenly drunk on the potency of that adoring gaze and the possibilities that it opened up for my future.
His breath hitched at the accidental endearment that had slipped out, a look of wonder flitting across his face. “Sweetheart?” he repeated. Then he blushed, shaking his head and trying to look down. “I’m not beautiful.”
“You are,” I corrected him, tipping his chin up and holding it steady to keep him from denying it. To keep those beautiful eyes trained on me. To keep?—
Fuck.
To keep, what? Keep making a fool of myself?
I came to my senses, and it was like being doused with ice water. I didn’t tell other men they were beautiful, and I for damn sure never called anyone “sweetheart.”
What the hell was Idoing?
I swallowed hard, unintentionally making the boy flinch as I snatched my hand away, but goddammit. How had I gone from “hell no”to completely succumbing to his charms so quickly?
It was because he wastooperfect. He was like a drug, a designer one, custom-made and no doubt coached by my brother to tick every last one of my boxes... and it had worked. If the last few minutes were any indication, it would be all too easy for me to not just take what he was offering, but to become completely addicted to it as well.
Which, I had no doubt, was the whole point. Repeat customers were always good for business, after all.
“Did I… Did I do something wrong?” the boy asked, looking stricken as I backed away.
“No,” I bit out, scrubbing a hand over my face. That had been me.Hewas just doing his job. I was the one who’d forgotten myself. Who’d suddenly become intoxicated by a fantasy that didn’t actually exist.
We weren’t a lock and a key. This beautiful boy wasn’t what I’d been missing all my life. Therewasno perfect fit for me, no one out there to fill the aching emptiness inside that I’d gotten so good at ignoring. Being irresistibly appealing was simply how the boy earned a living, for fuck’s sake. None of it was a genuine response tome… no matter how real it had felt for a moment there.
And it had. The way he’d looked at me? Hell, itstilldid, even though the fact that I already felt like he was made to be mine after a mere handful of minutes in his company should be all the proof I needed that it couldn’t be. That was the stuff of fantasy and fiction. Real life didn’t work that way. And since I was neither a hopeless romantic nor given to flights of fancy, I could only blame my instant, deep, visceral reaction to him—my overreaction, to call a spade a spade—on exhaustion.
Not that I felt tired anymore. On the contrary, all my senses were on high alert. I was aware of the boy in front of me on every single level… as proven by my cock’s insistence on staying relentlessly hard. One part of me, at least, that seemed to have escaped the aching disappointment that had hit me once I’d come to my senses and realized what a complete fool I’d started to act.
And the boy noticed my arousal. Of course he did. It was his job.
“Do you, um, do you want me to—” he started to ask, one of his hands twitching toward my erection.
“No,” I snapped, not up to hearing whatever kind of relief that sweet, trembling voice had been about to offer me. Because hewasn’tmine, and even if it wasn’t fair to him to suddenly feelso enraged about that fact, I absolutely couldn’t let myself forget what hewas.
A “party favor” from my brother. A male prostitute. A… what was the term?
A rent boy.
He opened his mouth again, beautiful eyes wide and clearly frightened by my harsh denial… or by the potential loss of income, more likely.
I put my hand up before he could say anything, shaking my head to stop him from offering again.
“Don’t,” I bit out, even though I knew my own disappointment was making me far too harsh. I tried to temper it. “Just… wait. Please.”
He nodded, closing his mouth and folding his hands in his lap. Not taking his eyes off me for even a second. And fuck if I wasn’tstillbeing a fool, because... “wait”? For what? I already knew I needed to send him away, so why couldn’t I make myself do it already? Marcus may have thought he was doing me a favor, but?—
“Marcus got it wrong,” I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“You could… could request someone else?” the boy said, his voice wobbling and his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.
“I don’t want anyone else,” I snapped, which goddammit, was suddenly true. Irrational, but irrevocably true. I hadn’t wanted anyone at all, but now, onlythisboy would do.
His shoulders slumped, a look of utter defeat on his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, looking down… but not before I saw the glitter of tears again.
“It’s not your fault,” I gritted out, spinning on my heel and stalking away from him. Heading for the welcome basket as a distraction from pulling him into my arms and comforting him the way I suddenly needed to.
Neededto.
