Jason’s eyebrows jumped.
Blake fidgeted under his scrutiny. “I mean, I did. Like, remembering things we’d done before because that’s how we’ve spent a lot of time—in bed. But the whole time I was trying to get to you yesterday, it wasn’t because I wanted to have sex with you. It was you. I wanted to see you, I wanted to talk to you, and I wanted you to know how I felt. When I saw you with the other guy, I guess I panicked. I started bidding against him because I needed to talk to you, but I didn’t want to screw you out of whatever he was offering to pay you. But . . .” He shook his head. “Sex didn’t even factor into the equation.”
Jason fidgeted. Then he started pacing as much as the cramped kitchen would allow. “This is crazy. I mean, say you did fly out here wanting to talk to me instead of fuck me, let’s face it—everything that’s happened between us goes back to sex. What happens when I’m not this anymore?” He stopped pacing. “I’m going to age like everyone else. I’m going to have bad days, and who knows? My sex drive could dry up at some point. Yours might too. Then what?” He gestured at himself, then at Blake. “What’s left here?”
“The same thing that was left when you came down with the flu at my place. Maybe it wouldn’t be all fireworks and broken furniture, but we’d be together. I know you were miserable when you were sick, and I hated that. But I have to admit, that time was enjoyable in its own way because we were just . . . there. Together. I never felt like I was getting short-changed or like you weren’t holding up your end of the deal. I wanted you to feel better so you’d feel better, not so you could . . .”
“Earn my keep?”
“Something like that. The only thing I would have changed about that trip was you feeling like shit. I kept thinking about how much I’d like to spend a week or two with you, minus the microbe. The whole trip, you kept apologizing for ruining our time together, but what you didn’t get is that you didn’t ruin anything. Hanging out on the couch? Watching movies? Just being there?” Blake smiled. “I couldn’t have asked for anything more aside from you being healthy enough to enjoy it too.”
Jason held his gaze for a long moment. “And, hypothetically, what if we did try this? What if we dated?”
“What about it?”
“You really wouldn’t have a problem with dating me while I continue getting paid to have sex with other men?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I did.”
Jason inclined his head, skepticism written across his features.
“I don’t want to own you. I’d happily buy you anything you wanted, including your own place, but I’d never dream of locking you in it.”
Jason shuddered.
“I didn’t come here to buy something that isn’t for sale. Or to take you away from the world you know and love to stay in mine. I’m happy to accept everything about your world.” He paused. “Look, it’s not how I pictured my ideal relationship, but I didn’t picture falling for someone on the other side of an ocean either. Circumstances are what they are. If five thousand miles between us and you working as a prostitute are part of the reality of being with you, then I’m happy to accept it. I want to be with you, not change you.”
Folding his arms loosely, Jason gnawed his lip. “What about the sex? It’s . . . always been a commodity between us.”
“It doesn’t have to be. I mean, I want us to sleep together because we want to. And yes, I know you get off pretty hard on negotiations and payment.” Blake shrugged. “It’s hot for both of us, so why change what works?”
Jason blinked. “So, we’d still . . . I mean, we’d . . .”
“If it works, why not? I love you, Jason. I want you to be happy and I want you to be satisfied. That’s all.” Tentatively, Blake stepped closer. “The question is, could you be happy and satisfied with me?”
“What makes you think I couldn’t?”
Blake took a breath. “You like to negotiate. Money turns you on. But I . . . I mean, anything could change. There’s nothing that says I’ll never lose every penny I have.”
“I know. And that’s something I thought about a lot last night.”
“How so?”
“It . . .” Jason dropped his gaze as he withdrew his hand from his pocket, though he kept his fingers closed. “I realized I didn’t want your money. It’s fun to play and negotiate for sex, but . . .” He stared at his hand for a moment, and then he turned it, opening his fingers and letting the contents fall out.
Blake’s gold cuff links.
They tumbled across the table like a pair of dice, stopping near the Rémy Martin bottle.
“I don’t want your things, Blake,” Jason whispered. “I don’t want your money. I want the man who made me feel like I did when I had the flu. And when we were out to dinner that first night in America.”
“How did you feel?”