Working Men 2 Box Set

Blurring the Lines-7

I cancel the client I had scheduled for Monday and give myself the day off. I don’t have anyone but Ryan lined up for Tuesday, and I’m hesitant to schedule anyone after him. I need the money, I do, but I just can’t rouse my enthusiasm for anyone else.

The moment I realize this, I know it’s a bad thing. I’m not falling for him. I don’t like guys. Quickly I fill my calendar for the rest of the week, sometimes booking two appointments in one day. I’ll have to avoid m**********g in the shower to ensure I can accommodate them all, because while I know the guys just use me to get off, they really do like it when I come, too. It makes them feel manly, I guess. Underscores their ability in the bedroom. Something about getting a straight guy off makes them feel…I don’t know, more gay, maybe.

The day of our appointment, I arrive at Ryan’s early. A half hour early, which won’t do, so I drive around the neighborhood staring at luxurious homes I’ll never be able to afford to live in while the minutes tick away. I consider stopping for something to eat or drink, maybe—there’s a Starbucks not far from his place—but coffee makes my spunk smell bad and I don’t want to ruin our appointment. Just thinking about Ryan has me half-hard. Part of me wants to get this over with, and part of me wants to draw it out for the rest of the night.

I should get that coffee. Prove to myself that I’m not into him, I don’t care what he thinks about me, I don’t care if he’s so disappointed after today’s appointment that he never calls again.

But I drive past the Starbucks without stopping and head back for his house. By the time I pull into the back driveway, I’m only ten minutes early. I can live with that.

This time he’s waiting for me in the kitchen. When I knock on the screen door, his head pops around the corner and, a second later, that sunshine grin of his lights up his face. “Hey, Greg. Right on time. Come in.”

Like we’re old buddies now. I see he’s taking dishes out of the dishwasher and putting them away, and suddenly I feel sad. This is so homey, so real, an intimate glimpse into Ryan’s life, and I want to be a part of it. Not just the boy toy he hires for a booty call, but a friend, a partner. Hell, who knows? Maybe a lover.

I want in, I’m lying if I say otherwise, and the fact that this is our third meeting bothers me more than it should. Though technically this is only our second appointment, and I might have gotten a free meal out of him on Friday, but I didn’t leave with cash in my pocket. So I’m not going to count that. This is only number two.

If he schedules again, I’ll have to tell him look, I never schedule a fourth appointment. Not with him, not with anyone. I almost want to say something now—it’s on the tip of my tongue, the need to tell him like a pressure growing in my chest—but I don’t. He’s so relaxed, and he keeps turning that smile on me like a spotlight. I don’t want to ruin this. Us.

So I swallow back the words and, when I do speak, it’s just to ask, “What’s hanging?”

As if I don’t know.