Liam pulled the latest iPhone from his pocket and studied the screen before he seemed to make a snap decision. “Why the hell not? Looks like I’ve got nothing better to do.”
“Then let’s go.” Zac held out his hand and wrapped his fingers around Liam’s smooth, warm palm. “Oh, and by the way, it’s a hundred for the fuck . . . three if you want to stay all night.”
Liam Mallaney dropped the beautiful man’s hand like he’d been burned. What the fuck? Have I seriously just been picked up by a hooker? Nah, he’d heard him wrong. Shit like that didn’t happen in Norfolk. Damn place was too bloody boring. And that’s why you’re here.
Shut up.
Liam silenced the devil on his shoulder and focused on the dark-haired man—on Zac—studying his intelligent, bottomless green eyes, searching for any sign that he was pulling Liam’s leg, but Zac stared back at him, his gaze steady and expectant. Jesus. He is a hooker.
The realisation didn’t horrify Liam as much as it should’ve done, because nothing truly horrified him anymore. Life had already played its trump card, and as he stood in the moonlight, a foot away from the hottest bloke he’d seen in years, there was no denying the spark of attraction—and arousal—creeping through him. He did need to get laid, really fucking laid, with no emotional strings to disentangle himself from in the morning, and no obligation to pretend he was still capable of giving a shit. Could he buy that freedom? Tonight, it seemed he could.
Liam checked his pocket for his wallet. “One hundred to fuck?”
“If you want. We can do other stuff if you don’t have that much.”
Liam snorted. “Trust me. I can afford you. Are we going, or what?”
Zac shrugged, his gaze slightly narrower than it had been before. “Whatever. It’s this way.”
Liam followed him down the side path that led to the high street. The alley was dank and dark, and it crossed his mind that following a rentboy home wasn’t the cleverest move he’d ever made, but as he dodged murky puddles and the squashed remnants of discarded kebabs, he didn’t much care. Whatever Zac had in store for him would be a relief, it had to be.
“Not going to drug me and kill me, are you?”
Liam glanced up, startled by the echo of his own fears. “Not likely, mate. What about you? Gonna handcuff and rob me blind?”
“If you want—the handcuffing, I mean. I won’t need to rob you. I’ve told you my price.”
Indeed he had. Liam’s pulse quickened. He’d come to the club tonight sure he’d be home by ten, tucked up in bed with the dogs and his ever-overflowing inbox, harbouring no regrets save that he’d bothered to go out in the first place. Sex had been the last thing on his mind, until he’d spotted Zac across the road, dancing along the kerb, weaving to his own tune with a dubious-looking cigarette jammed in his mouth. He wondered if Zac knew he’d pictured them fucking long before he’d sauntered over and offered his services.
Not that it mattered. After all, Zac wasn’t doing this for fun.
Liam tried to let the notion of paying someone to find him attractive seep into his self-esteem and shock him into calling time on the madness.
Nothing happened. He pulled a battered pack of Marlboro Lights from his back pocket and lit up, proffering the box to Zac, who took one and followed suit. “Am I your only client tonight?”
“Client?” Zac regarded Liam through a haze of smoke. “This ain’t Pretty Woman, mate. In my world, you’re called a john.”
Liam didn’t particularly care what he was called, but he was curious about his place in Zac’s workday. Was he the first of many, or the last?
“This is me.” Zac stopped outside a nondescript block of new-build flats. “Still wanna come in?”
“If you’ll have me.” The absurdity of his own answer made Liam snigger.
Zac grinned too and opened the exterior door to the flats. “Oh, I’ll have you. Trust me, we’re going to have a good time.”
Liam didn’t doubt it. Zac moved with a sensuous grace and the barest hint of a swagger, all signs of a man who knew he was dynamite in bed, though, he supposed Zac had probably had enough practice. Not like Liam, who hadn’t touched a man in more than a year. Not since—
Stop it. Liam fought the cloud of misery as he climbed the steps behind Zac. Tonight, he’d drunk most of it away, but his Jäger-laced buzz had faded while he’d set himself up for an expensive night of fun with Zac, and he needed a distraction.
Arriving at Zac’s flat provided one even faster than Liam had hoped for. Zac let them in and ushered Liam forward.
Liam stepped inside, glancing around nervously, though for what, he wasn’t quite sure—he’s a hooker, not a serial killer. If anything, Zac was taking the bigger risk. Liam had half a foot and a stone on him, maybe more. Perhaps he’s a ninja. Liam sniggered again. Perhaps his buzz was still there after all.
“So . . .” Zac hovered in the doorway of what looked like a living room. “Do you want to come in and sit down?”
“What do you usually do with a john?”
Zac shrugged. “This and that. What do you want to do?”
