And . . . nothing.
He sipped his coffee and picked at the pastry, glaring at the screen as he did. There were words coming to mind, they were just the wrong ones. They had nothing to do with his book or its characters or its world.
Why doesn’t he want more from me? And why the fuck do I care? He doesn’t want me as anything besides one of his rentboys. I should just take him to Market Garden whenever he asks, and then I should go find someone and get laid myself. Maybe even in the back of the limo. Yeah. Let him get in the next morning and smell sex with someone else.
Cal groaned and rubbed his eyes. It wasn’t that simple. He cared about James. He couldn’t help the fact that James was too fucked up in the head—from the divorce? From his job? From whatever had happened during his childhood to turn him into an emotional Fort Knox?—to understand that. Whatever. Maybe James really did just want to be dominated by someone who he could pay to go away.
Cal’s breath caught.
“The way it’s worked with Nick and the others is once it’s over, they’re gone.”
James wasn’t paying them to top him. He was paying them to leave afterward.
Oh God, James, you’re fucked up worse than I thought.
Problem was, how to get through to him? If even in that vulnerable, stripped-down state, when James was barely harder than putty, he still rejected Cal. Once he was sated, he didn’t want him anymore. He really only wanted to get off and then get his partner to leave. End of story, done. And there was no way to change that. All the games, all the trust, it was all neatly compartmentalised somewhere in a strongbox that Cal would never manage to break into.
He should just pay Nick and move on. He’d tried. He’d really tried. Tried everything he knew how to. He’d given James what he’d needed.
And he’d disturbed James’s carefully arranged equilibrium where everything was a business transaction.
For the very first time, Cal thought he understood why James’s wife had really left. If everything was business to James, nothing but transactions, then why would his marriage have been any different?
And getting treated like that? Fucking unbearable.
First things first. He pulled out his mobile and texted: Cal here. Just remembered I should really pay you. You got time? I’d like to do it ASAP.
He stirred his coffee for a while and cast a resentful glance at his last paragraph. The words were completely dead on the page. He might have messed with James’s life, but James was messing up the writing in return. The whole thing about having to suffer for art was bollocks. What he really wanted was to be able to concentrate for a few hours without tearing himself—
Sure. You remember our address?
Nick was the unlikeliest of all saviours, but right now, Callum could have kissed him.
Could be there in fifteen?
Sounds good.
Cal breathed deeply a couple times, then closed down the laptop and slid it in his backpack. He grabbed his motorcycle helmet and left the coffee shop. If he couldn’t write, he could at least settle up with Nick.
His guesstimate was right on the money, and he parked in front of Spencer and Nick’s place almost exactly fifteen minutes later. He left his helmet on the bike and went up to the front door.
Spencer answered, and immediately cocked his head. “You all right, Cal?” He stepped aside to let him in. “You look a little, I don’t know . . .”
“I’m fine.” But Cal’s tone said otherwise, and he sighed. “I’ll be okay. I just need to give Nick his—”
Speak of the devil. Nick came around the corner, looking nothing like he had last night. Was that really last night? He had on a faded Funker Vogt T-shirt and a pair of low-slung jeans. Just like Spencer, his expression instantly turned to one of concern. “Wow. You okay?”
Cal waved a hand. “Fine, fine.” He pulled the envelope with the cheque from his jacket and held it out. “Just wanted to drop this off.”
Nick came closer, eyeing the envelope, but didn’t reach for it. “Stay for a while. Have a cup of tea.”
“I can—”
“I’ll put the kettle on.” Spencer brushed past him and headed for the kitchen.
Cal’s shoulders dropped. He had no idea if Spencer was doing that on his own, or if he’d obeyed an unspoken order from Nick. Whatever the case, they were both insisting, in their own ways, that Cal needed to stay. He wondered if they’d block the door if he tried to leave.
He shrugged. “Sure, why not?”
Nick stepped a bit closer, his expression devoid of any humour, any sadism, anything other than genuine concern. “Is everything okay?”
Cal exhaled. “After you left last night, James and I talked.”
Nick flinched. “It didn’t go well, did it?”
“Nope.”
Nick motioned towards the living room. “Come on. Let’s go sit.”
And once again, Cal found himself sitting in Nick and Spencer’s living room, wondering how the hell to articulate what was going on between him and James.