Frank returned the smile. “You’re welcome.”
“It’s still fairly early. What do you want to do with the rest of the day?”
“As little as possible?”
Brandon laughed, which relaxed Frank even more. “I like that idea. We could catch a movie or something, maybe?”
“I’ll get my keys.”
Frank drove Brandon to work the next night. Seemed a little strange, driving his boyfriend in to play the rentboy for the evening, but such was life with a relationship like this.
They went in through the front door. Brandon disappeared into the back half of the building, where he and the other guys worked. Frank lingered out front for a few minutes, checking in with Raoul’s counterpart on this side of the wall.
While the bartender pulled out the inventory sheets so Frank could put in a liquor order, Frank watched the two female strippers dancing for a thin crowd of early-evening patrons. The place would probably be packed later. Bankers and lawyers and businessmen, oh my. For right now, it was the middle-aged men in middle management who’d probably put in the “honey, I’m working late tonight” call on their way here. Haggard, stressed-out men, drooling like dogs over the girls.
Frank was as protective of the women as he was the rentboys, but since the girls didn’t leave the premises with customers—and were generally escorted to their cars or bus stops by security guards—he didn’t have as much reason to worry for their safety. He could only imagine how many ulcers he’d have if he were sending Britney or Chloe off to parts unknown with these cretins.
The bartender handed over the inventory sheet, and Frank headed into the back. The bouncers opened the door for him, each offering a nod and a quiet “boss” before he slipped past them.
The crowd in here was still light too. Half the clientele for the night was likely en route, or getting ready to wrap up at the office, but some had gotten an early start.
And Brandon—Stefan, at the moment, wearing a name that had a whole different meaning now—was already in a shadowy booth with a guy in a white shirt and dark tie. The guy’s hand was in Brandon’s lap beneath the table, which made Frank’s gut tighten. Jealousy? Protectiveness? He didn’t even know anymore.
You so much as look at him cross-eyed, I will break you in half.
He quickly took the inventory papers and headed into his office, hurrying past the booths before Brandon saw him and ignoring a greeting from Raoul. He’d apologise for that later. Right now, he just needed to get the fuck out of here.
Though once he’d closed the door behind himself, he realised too late that this place didn’t offer much protection. He remembered too well being tied up and on all fours while Brandon fucked him. The two hundred quid had really been a joke in that context, but damn if that fuck hadn’t very nearly broken him. Tension jumped up into his throat, crystallised in a heavy lump, and didn’t budge.
He’d meant it. He would not pen Brandon in. Would respect his choices.
“So what are you going to do, Frank?” Andrew had snarled. “Break my neck? That’s not really a challenge for you, is it?”
Andrew. God, Frank had been such an arsehole to him when they’d started dating. When Andrew had gotten under his thick skin and confronted him with all the poison he’d stored up inside, invariably pressing into old wounds that weren’t nearly healed. This row hadn’t even been about anything specific—nothing Frank could remember.
Andrew must have felt like he was taming a wild bull half the time, because Frank had been so resentful of the man’s education, money, smooth manners. He’d never expected them to get anywhere as a couple. At least not outside the bed.
But with much patience, Andrew had gotten him to a point that was halfway civilised.
Didn’t mean the old Frank didn’t sometimes rear his ugly, square head, ready to knock down walls and punch anybody who provoked him and ran too slowly.
He put the papers down on the desk, tried not to go back and see if Stefan was already leaving with the client. Or whether he could make up some reason to interfere.
It’s his decision.
“Why are you doing this?” He’d asked Andrew once, when the man had faced him down over something stupid and inconsequential Frank had been upset about.
“I think you need to be protected from yourself at times.”
Still true. He was a better man now, settled, not angry and bitter anymore. That anger’s red-hot core had cooled, and when he examined it now, it didn’t really seem much like anger at all. Protectiveness could look very similar and was one of his better traits. And he still couldn’t force it on Stefan.