“I prefer the termdancer,” Jacob bites. “And yes. Before I became a professional date, I studied dance at UW.The Anchorpaid my way through college.”
I have to say I am surprised. I never thought to ask about his background, and I realize how shitty that is of me. I’d hired him but I hadn’t really gotten toknowhim, save for what was needed for the party, and though he’s let slivers of truth through his carefully curated disguise, I realize I probablyshouldknow more. To help with the illusion and all.
“So that explains those killer dance moves,” I say humorously, my memory reminding me of the way he swayed his hips backand forth as we danced, the way he kept grinding his perfect little ass over my hard cock.
It was the nail in the coffin. Feeling him grind all over me and roll that pretty head on my shoulder—I didn’t think twice about asking him to get out of there, and he saidyes.
“Maybe,” he says, his tone shifting to an easier, more relaxed one.
“I just… thought you should know.” I say. “About my ex, I mean.”
Garrett’s not really myexbut I don’t know what else to call him. Telling Jacob about the nature of my relationship with Garrett feels uncomfortable. It’s not a personal thing, but admitting to the man I hired to be my boyfriend that I have a guy I fuck sometimes who I have no actual attachment to… feels hypocritical as fuck.
I don’t want to give Jacob a reason to feel awkward, so I leave it as is.
I meant what I said about my health yesterday, when Jacob seemed obviously concerned with what we did.
Garrett and I have been fucking around for decades at this point, and I have always used condoms because I know he’s a dick through and through.
Not that I think the guy is a walking disease or anything, but I don’t trust him to not try and manipulate a situation. Especially when it comes to sex, given his history of fucking over his former spouses.
When I think about it—really think about it—the reality hurts like a knife. Because I don’t trust Garrett. I can’t.Yet you still have sex with him.
Jacob must sense my discomfort because his voice softens as he changes the subject.
“Tell me about your family,” he says.
“Not much to tell,” I admit. “My mom’s known I’ve been gay for a long time, and she’s not unsupportive, but… she isn’t exactly supportive either, when it comes to my dad.”
“That must be difficult,” he says. I shrug.
“Mostly I don’t care, but… my dad… he just… has thisimageof who he thinks a successful man is.”
Jacob scoffs. “Let me guess. Straight, married, three point five kids who are also smart, straight, and successful.”
“Something like that,” I say, my voice cracking because the bitterness in his tone… it’s like he more than understands. It’s like heknows.
“Your dad a dick, too?”
Jacob chuckles sarcastically. “Something like that.”
“Sorry.”
Jacob shrugs. “Just cementing that stereotype, I guess.”
“What stereotype?” I stop the car, hitting the traffic jam.
We’re going to be here a while.
“I mean, I was a stripper with Daddy issues and now I’m a professional date with Daddy issues.” He says the words apathetically, but I hear the disdain in them.
“Hey.” I lean over a bit, and he turns, glancing at my lips then my eyes as his cheeks tint.
“You were not a stripper with Daddy issues,” I say pointedly. His gaze falls to my mouth, where it hovers. “You were adancerwith Daddy issues,” I say with a smirk. His lips turn up slightly into a half smile. “And you’re not just a professional date, you know. You’re a person.”
My gaze falls to his mouth for a split second before I look at his piercing gaze.
“And sometimes, people are… complex.”
