Your boss who tried to pay you for sex like one of his whores.
Gritting his teeth, Cal put his uniform on. Then he went to the garage, got the car out, parked it in front of the house, and stood beside it, waiting. It was his job. If that meant taking James to meet a whore—especially instead of being his whore—then it wasn’t Cal’s place to judge.
James emerged from the house, and Cal looked anywhere but right at him. He just had to wear that damned red tie, didn’t he? It was like a fucking good luck charm. He always wore it when he went to Market Garden.
Cal curled his fingers at his sides, trying not to remember the way the silk had felt—cool in some places, body-warm in others—as he’d undone the knot and—
He banished the thought and stood a little straighter, setting his jaw as James approached. The man didn’t make eye contact. Didn’t say a word. He slipped past Cal and into the car, and Cal wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Hurt? Thankful? A little of both. Not that it mattered.
He shut the door and returned to the driver’s seat. Following the familiar route to Market Garden felt weird tonight. He knew every inch of this drive, but somehow it was alien and . . . different. The same place in another dimension, looking every bit like he remembered but thrumming with a strange energy.
In front of Market Garden, Cal went through his usual routine. Car in park. Cap on. Engine idling. Door open. Check out James’s arse while he—
No. Not tonight.
He didn’t even wait until James had disappeared into the club before he got back in the car and moved it to a parking space. Once he was out of the no-parking zone, he killed the engine, tossed his cap unceremoniously onto the other seat, and let his head fall back against the headrest. He didn’t bother reaching for his notebook. There’d be no writing tonight. Not for university, and not on that novel he’d be working on until the day he died. He didn’t even have to stare at the blank page to know the words weren’t coming this evening.
If the trips to Market Garden had a silver lining, it was that this part—the waiting outside on the kerb—didn’t usually last long. James knew what he liked. He had a few regulars, a few favourites. Sometimes there were new faces. Whether he went for the tried-and-true or sampled someone else, one thing was consistent: he worked quickly. Which meant that within the hour, Cal would be on the road again, following that familiar-but-not route back to the house, and he’d be relieved of duty after they arrived.
It also meant that within the hour, he’d be on the road again, knowing all too well what was going on behind that opaque privacy screen. Maybe he didn’t know exactly what the rentboy du jour was doing or saying, or how he’d charmed James and got himself picked over the others, but Cal knew how James sounded when he was on edge. When he was flustered. Did they make him beg? God, he knew they did. They had to. Because nearly every time James emerged from the limo at the house, he was off-balance and trembling just the way he’d been when he’d begged Cal to fuck him.
Cal closed his eyes. He tried not to think about that night, but it was pointless. It was about as pointless as trying to convince himself he wasn’t at all jealous of whichever leather-clad piece of arse would be riding in the back with James tonight.
For money, Cal. You’re no man’s whore.
He sighed and glanced in the side mirror. Still no James. Of all nights for him to be picky . . .
His mobile buzzed beside him. He picked it up and saw a text from one of his mates.
We’re going out on the piss in Soho tonight. You in?
He chewed the inside of his cheek. Much as he hated Soho on a Saturday night, getting tanked with his friends did sound like a good way to anaesthetise the fantasies that would otherwise keep him awake all night. Passing out would be easier than sleeping when he knew some rentboy was balls deep in James and—
Oh, no. Not jealous at all.
He texted back, On the clock. Off in an hour or so. Meet somewhere?
He hit send, and right then, movement in the side mirror caught his eye. He glanced up just in time to see James coming down the sidewalk beside a slender set of muscles and sass all wrapped up in tight leather.
Gritting his teeth, he got out of the car. He opened the door for James and whoever this kid was. Looked to be about twenty-five, if that. Just a few years younger than Cal. Apparently James liked his whores around that age.
Yep. Definitely needed to go out on the piss tonight.
James conspicuously avoided Cal’s eyes as he got into the car. The rentboy glanced at him, a hint of a smirk working at his lips, and the down-up glance made Cal’s skin crawl.
No. I am not joining you. Don’t even ask.
He was careful not to slam the door this time. It was tempting though, especially with the sound of squeaking leather and hushed voices coming from the back of the car. He shut it, went back to his seat, and started the engine.
Beside him, his mobile buzzed again.