We’re mtg at leicester sq tube station. 830p.
Cal quickly sent back, I’ll be there.
He glanced at the screen and did something he rarely did: he turned on the radio and turned it up. Everything was easier when he could shut down some of the sensory input. He wouldn’t see or hear anything of James and the rentboy until they got out of the car, so for the moment, he just rolled along with his favourite Queen songs blasting from the speakers, letting Freddie Mercury lift his mood. It worked, and almost made him forget what was going on right behind him.
When he arrived and opened the door, James was flustered and turned on. It hit him right in the gut.
He hadn’t worked through it, they weren’t back to normal, and he was one hundred percent sure they’d never get back to normal. That was why that one fuck had been such a mistake. There really was no way to go back after that.
James slung his arm across the rentboy’s shoulders. “Take the night off, Callum.”
Cal refused to look him in the eyes. “Yes, sir.” He cleared his throat. “Tomorrow is my day off, sir.”
“Oh. Is it? Well, that’s fine. I’ll get him a cab back. Enjoy your Sunday.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He watched them vanish into the house, and something pinched in his chest. Jealous of a whore? Really?
No, it wasn’t just jealousy. He’d have been okay if James had brought a friend home. It was that the strutting, leather-clad rentboy only saw a meal ticket in James. Wouldn’t care, barely gave a fuck. James would be all right for a few days and then slowly sink back into the place where he needed to buy another piece of arse—he’s buying their cocks, Cal, and you know it—and so on, and so forth. It was always the same and there seemed to be no escaping. If James would just date, find somebody who cared about him at all—
He’s not your responsibility, Cal.
Grinding his teeth, he took the car round to the garage, then went into his house, changed into something more casual, put on the leather combo, and got his motorcycle out. They were much faster than a car in traffic, much cheaper to run, and it was as far away from the limo as it could possibly be. He debated taking a cab in case he decided to get rat-arsed tonight, but he rarely drank much. If he changed his mind, he could always lock up the bike and come get it tomorrow when he was sober. Bonus: he didn’t have to wait now for a cab while they were in the main house doing God knew what in exchange for God knew how much money.
Getting back into London was faster at this time of night, and parking was usually no big issue. He made it to Leicester Square without running over a single idiot tourist, parked, and found the place where his friends were already waiting, two of them with their eyes glued to their mobiles.
He walked towards them and waved.
Kim acknowledged him with a nod, and when he came closer, said, “Man, when are you gonna bring that big car out with us?”
“When I decide I want to get fired,” Cal muttered, and shrugged away a shudder. He didn’t even want to think about that fucking car or its owner tonight.
“You suck.” Kim clapped his shoulder. “We’re just waiting on a couple of the guys.”
“Sounds good.” Cal leaned against the wall beside his friend and played on his mobile while they waited. He checked his emails. Checked his Facebook. Wondered about James. And the rentboy. And how sweaty and flustered they might be by—
“There they are!” Kim startled him out of his thoughts, and not a moment too soon. Cal made a subtle—well, as subtle as possible—attempt to adjust the front of his trousers and mask the effects of his thoughts of James. Great time to be wearing tight leather, naturally. At least he’d only just started getting an uninvited hard-on. Nothing a few thoughts of Margaret Thatcher in a negligee couldn’t remedy.
The stragglers in their group caught up, and Cal followed everyone into a pub. It was still fairly early in the evening by partying standards, so they made it to the bar without much trouble and ordered the first round.
There was an unoccupied booth in the back corner, and the group crowded into it.
Aaron, the group’s unabashed manwhore, craned his neck and raised his eyebrows. “Oh, hello . . .”
“Already?” Cal chuckled. “You’re not wasting any time tonight, are you?”
“Not when something like that just walked through the door, no.”
Cal looked. It didn’t take much to pick Aaron’s target out of the crowd. He liked the insanely muscled types who got as much of their size from a needle as a weight bench, and a meathead just like that was flagging down the bartender. The guy did have a nice arse, and he was probably hot when he wasn’t mutated beyond recognition, resembling the victim of a killer bee attack instead of a specimen of perfect fitness.