“Any other time we’d love to, Malcolm. Unfortunately, Jefferson’s meeting is going to be rather long and his schedule is full. I know he’s eager to get the plans fully completed so that the renovations can begin.”
I shoot my eyes over to Jefferson’s door, fighting the urge to rush over there and bust into his office.
“Shall we go to my office?” the weasel Graham asks, and I relent. It feels like I’ve been punched in the gut. This meeting isn’t about our personal life, it's professional. Jefferson is truly pushing me away in every aspect, wiping me from his life.
Jefferson can think he’s won today, but he’s only making me more determined than ever. I’m going to find a way to be meeven if my parents don’t accept me. I am their son. Surely, when I do come out to them, they’ll accept me.
Jefferson
When I saw he was on my schedule this morning, I panicked. I could have handled the meeting instead of having Graham do it. Been professional and stuck to just talking about the renovation plans. But I wasn’t ready to see Malcolm yet.
I knew if I saw him, I’d cave and fall right back into the same old relationship we were in. One where I was hidden in the shadows while he lived his life as a straight man. Stolen vacations, dinner dates that weren’t truly that and sneaking out in the early hours of the morning so no one sees us together.
Graham seeing Malcolm in my place was the only option. Plus, I knew it would piss him off. Malcolm can’t stand Graham and has made it very vocal on more than one occasion. A small part of me had hoped that Malcolm wouldn’t have shown up today. That he’d just have the plans sent over for me to review. I knew they were perfect, minus a few tweaks. Before our fight, I’d seen the blueprints in his office.
I call it my petty way of getting revenge on him for making me feel the way I am. I never saw myself at fifty-two being in love with the man I want to spend forever with and having to hide it.
I lean back in my chair, letting my head fall back and shut my eyes, blocking out the fluorescent light. It starts with a low, dull pressure threading its way through the space just behind my eyes.
It begins to throb in rhythm with my pulse, slow and steady, a metronome of discomfort that wraps around my skull like a tightening band of relentless pressure. I exhale through my nose, trying to will it away, but it doesn’t budge. Every distant sound, the clack of Helen’s keyboard, the murmur of voices beyond the door, even the artificial hum of the lights—slices through the quiet and lands sharp in my skull.
I rub the heel of my hand into my brow, desperate for relief, but it just spreads wider, blooming like a slow burn across my forehead.
It’s not just a headache. It’s everything. Mostly the whole shitshow I have going on with Malcolm. The fact that he's hiding behind a closed door with his sexuality like a coward is killing me. I just wish he had the courage to come out. That our love meant that much to him that he’d have the power to do it.
The only thing I can do is sit here, head pounding, pretending like the love of my life isn’t that far from me. That I could get up and walk down the hall and out him myself. But I don’t. It’s not my place and I can’t do that for him. He has to want to. He has to want us.
And he doesn’t. So I sit here in my office like a prisoner, waiting for him to leave.
Chapter 9
Bradley
Two and a half weeks later
Ican’tbelieveit.TomorrowI'm going to have the taxes paid in full, and then I’ll start working on the mortgage. I’m just hoping that even if I don’t have the full amount, I can turn in enough that will keep the bank happy. I made the regular mortgage payment last month, though I know it’s not enough to take care of what’s owed. Falling further into debt isn’t something I want to happen. But the amount I owe them is even more than the back taxes. My hope is that if I go in there with a hefty amount I can get another extension.
But that’s a problem for another day. Tonight I have a date, and I need to finish getting ready. Thankfully, it’s casual. Unlike the other dates I’ve been on, this one is at his house. A dinner. Odd, but I’m not asking questions. Money is money. My dates have been pretty good so far. Most of them have been scornedwomen wanting to make their ex jealous. Seems I have a knack for doing that. Either Foxy’s has a limited clientele wanting men, or they just haven’t noticed me yet. But I’m hoping that changes soon.
A week ago, I had my first extracurricular fun. We made sure to wait until after our paid time before we fucked. I was the bottom to his top. And oddly, I enjoyed it. What I wasn’t expecting was the envelope with an extra thousand in cash when I left. For a minute, I felt cheap. Like a dirty whore. But then I remembered what this extra cash could do for me. Especially when I didn’t have to give any of it to Foxy.
I take one final look in the mirror, checking myself out from every angle. The guy tonight is hot, so maybe we’ll have a little extra fun as well. He’s older, but I’ve always been attracted to older men. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s that they know what they want. They’re secure with who they are.
The weather’s nice, so I walk a few blocks to the coffee shop pickup spot. A soft breeze tugs at the edges of my shirt and tousles my hair just enough to make it look like I styled it that way.
I lean against the brick wall outside the coffee shop, one foot propped up behind me, sole pressed flat to the wall. It takes everything in me to look relaxed and not like I’m not counting every second, or hyper-aware of every car that passes. My hands are in my pockets, my thumb brushing against the edge of my phone.
I glance down at my watch, checking the time before pulling out my phone and opening the rideshare app. Still en route. Ten to twenty minutes out. Travis, my driver, a fiftyish looking man will be arriving in a black Camry. It even has a picture of his license plate for me to verify.
I have the details memorized, and the address is burned into the back of my mind. My client tonight is discreet, polite in his messages, and a little vague.
I lower my foot, shifting my weight, letting out a deep exhale. My nerves are shot, that voice of reason whispering just loud enough to make me pause. The one that says,this feels a little too much like the setup of a horror movie.The innocent sex worker who’s lured to a private location.The man with the perfect manners and an empty house in the hills. No neighbors. No witnesses. It’s what movies are made of.
I laugh out loud at myself, head tipping back as I cross my arms over my chest.
“Jesus, Bradley,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Get a grip. It’s just a fucking date. Stop acting like a pussy.
“Foxy has all the details. The address. The guy’s name and credit card information. Time of the date. Even the backup call-in plan, just in case. Nothing is going to happen. So get over your hesitation about this being the first date at the actual person’s house. It’s the same as going home with a date after our time is up and fucking them.”
