I slid off the armrest and sat next to him. Our knees almost touched, so I leaned forward and snagged my soda off the coffee table, using it as a bad imitation of a barricade.
My hands began to shake. To disguise the tremors, I took a quick drink, but immediately realized how big of a mistake that was. The carbonation in my pop made me want to heave up all the contents in my stomach.
But damn it, damn it, damn it. I’d been so sure he’d told Dr. Janison he wasn’t taking clients anymore. I thought he was stopping that lifestyle because of the girl, because of me. I thought all our flirt texting and near kisses meant we were getting close.
So how could he have almost gotten caught? Had Eva’s warning to him scared him back to the dark side?
God, I was such an idiot.
And I was not going to cry about this. No. I refused.
“You…you mean by the police?” I finally found enough oomph in my voice box to ask.
“No.” He swung his head back and forth, still staring up at a ceiling. “By a husband.”
“Holy…” I dropped the drink I was holding, and it was a miracle my lap caught it upright. I gathered it back into my hands. “Oh, my God, you sleep with married women too?”
I had to cover my mouth as if to manually shove the bile back into the depths of my stomach.
He sent me a distraught glance and began to jiggle his knee. “Most of the women who hire me are married.”
I gulped and almost gagged on the misery and pain and disappointment crowding up my esophagus. “Oh.” I was a little too busy concentrating on not bawling my head off to say much else.
My lack of response seemed to irritate him though. “Jesus, why do you think they come to me? A majority of them are bored, affluent housewives who blow all the spending money their husbands give them on younger men.”
He surged to his feet and began to pace again, yanking at handfuls of his hair until the strands stood up at odd angles. The sad thing was, even as upset and scattered as he was, he still looked as sexy as hell. And I still wanted to go to him and hug his pain away.
He kicked the door as he passed it. Then he froze and gawked a moment as if making sure he hadn’t damaged it before wincing in my direction. “Sorry.”
I shrugged and motioned for him to carry on. He could kick whatever he wanted as long as he didn’t leave a dent or hole. “Hey, at least you didn’t kick me.”
That comment seemed to shock him. “Why would I kick you?”
“I don’t know.” Suddenly uneasy, I took a big sip. This time, the caffeine settled my stomach instead of upsetting it. He was still watching me, so I fluttered out my hand in a useless gesture. “Sometimes people feel the need to hurt other people in a way to show their power. And you’re obviously feeling powerless with no control of your own life right now, so—”
He was by my side and sitting next to me before I could complete my explanation. “I would never kick you, Reese. Why would you even think…” He shook his head, and then bowed his face and squeezed his eyes shut. “I shouldn’t have come here.”
“No.” I reached out and caught his knee. “It’s fine. Really. I mean, if you need to get something off your chest, then…let it out. It’s not like you can talk to just anyone about this. And we’re friends, so…”
He looked up and studied me, his gaze pleading for some kind of deliverance.
But as he stared, his features collapsed. “Do you know I’ve never had sex just for the hell of it, just to have a little recreational fun with a partner of my choice? I have always, always been propositioned and paid. I’ve never gotten to decide when or where, or how, or with whom. I’ve never—”
“Then have recreational sex,” I said, frowning because I couldn’t see why this was so upsetting. Not for him anyway. The idea of him having recreational sex—without me involved—was incredibly upsetting for me. Sure. But we weren’t talking about me. This was about him. “Nothing is stopping you from giving out your…freebies.”
Mason pulled back as if I’d slapped him. “That wouldn’t be fair to the girl. It wouldn’t be fair to me. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone.”
Oh.
Hmm.
So he was a gigolo with starch standards. Damn, another thing I had to admire about him. More than admire, actually.
With a burst of clarity, I realized he wasn’t a man-whore at all. In fact, if he’d never fallen into this lifestyle, I bet he’d be the commitment type, the one-woman man who never strayed or stayed in a relationship for less than two years.
He’d be perfect boyfriend material.
It was a wonder some girl hadn’t snagged him up before—
“Wait.” I shook my head when another thought struck. “Even your first time was—”
He made a sour face. “My landlady. She offered to knock off the back rent we owed if I…relented. Threatened eviction if I didn’t. She’s actually the one who set me up with meeting other women and got me hired at the Country Club.”