Working Men 2 Box Set

Blurring the Lines-4

I change my mind a dozen times. I shouldn’t meet RC outside of an appointment. But what will it hurt? But I can’t allow myself to become friends with a client—then he’ll want special treatment, or discounts, and things will get awkward between us. But an evening out would be fun. But it’s a date, and I’m not gay.

I’m not.

In the end, I convince myself to go. He’s paying my way, sure, but it isn’t a date. I’m a working stiff—literally, just thinking about seeing RC again gets me hard—and he’s paying for my company. In a way, I’m actually moving up the s*x worker ladder, from prostitute to escort. If I’m not careful, I may find myself a kept man.

Which actually doesn’t sound all that bad.

Still, I tell RC I’ll meet him at Jules instead of driving to his house first. That way I’ll have my car and I’ll be able to bail whenever I want. I don’t have to rely on him for transportation, and I won’t have to go back to his house after dinner if I don’t want to.

Even if I sort of want to.

Jules is downtown, and though there isn’t a parking lot, I easily find a spot on the street a few blocks away. I’m wearing khakis and a button-down shirt, a step up from the T-shirt and jeans I wore to our first appointment. I clean up nicely, if I say so myself. My hair’s doing its own thing, and it’s still a little damp near the scalp from my shower. I smell good—a woodsy scent, not too heavy but strong enough to know it’s there—and I look good, too. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a darkened store window as I pass and nod to myself. Yeah, I look hot.

Then I remind myself this isn’t a date. I’m not trying to look good for RC, but you never know who else might be looking.

He’s outside Jules waiting for me, impeccably dressed in a blazer and black skinny jeans. He’s looking around and when he sees me, his eyes light up all over again. “Hey, Mike,” he says, sticking out a hand my way.

I shake it without thinking. It’s such a disarming gesture, so commonplace, so real, that before I stop myself, I admit, “Actually, it’s Greg.”

“Ryan.” His hand is warm and firm in mine, and he shows no signs of releasing me any time soon. “Greg suits you better. I like it.”

Before I can get uncomfortable, he lets go of my hand but claps my shoulder and keeps an arm around me as we head inside. “What’s the C stand for?” I ask as the hostess leads us to a table.

He laughs, a breathy sound so close to my ear, it makes my d**k swell to hear it. To feel it, burning into me. “Carlson. My mom’s maiden name. Just what I need, two last names.”

The table is small and intimate. As the hostess leaves, Ryan pulls out a chair and offers it to me. I sit and let him push me in a little. So much for this not being a date, I think, picking up the menu. “What’s good here?”

“Oh, just about everything.” He sits down across from me and smiles. The menu on his plate stays closed. When I look up, I find him staring at me. His voice is so low, I have to lean across the table to hear him over the din of the other patrons. “I come here all the time. If you don’t really have something in mind, I can order for us. If you want.”

Closing my menu, I shrug. “Sure. What the hell?”

His smile widens. “Is there anything you don’t like?”

I don’t know if he’s flirting or not, but I don’t want things to get too comfortable between us. I want him to understand we really aren’t friends, no matter what it might look like to someone else. Things are strictly business between us. So I wink and remind him, “No ass play, remember? Most everything else is fair game.”

To my surprise, his smile doesn’t falter. “Well, I said nothing s****l, but if that’s where the evening leads, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

So, wait…is this really a date after all?