Hunter E-Book

L.A. Witt

• Herausgeber: GallagherWitt Publishing LLC
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Scott

I’ve done a lot of soul-searching this season. I’ve been in denial about myself and a jerk to everyone else. I don’t even know where to start to fix it all.

I don’t know what to feel about anything.

How am I supposed to handle falling in love?

Hunter

I’m good at faking it most of the time. No, not that. I mean faking like I’m okay. Like something doesn’t always hurt, especially when I’m trying to earn my pay.

He gets it. More than anyone I’ve ever met, he gets it. But he’s got pain no one can touch. Not doctors. Not me.

How do I convince him that shutting me out won’t take away that pain?

Gentlemen of the Emerald City

Hunter is the sixth and final book of Gentlemen of the Emerald City, a sexy series centered around the high class, high-dollar Gentlemen of Seattle’s most exclusive escort service. Each book is full of snark, sass, and sweetness, and like any Emerald City client, you’re guaranteed a happy ending.
 

Leseprobe

Hunter

Gentlemen of the Emerald City

L.A. Witt

Contents

About Hunter

1. Scott

2. Hunter

3. Scott

4. Hunter

5. Scott

6. Hunter

7. Scott

8. Hunter

9. Scott

10. Hunter

11. Scott

12. Hunter

13. Scott

14. Hunter

15. Scott

16. Hunter

17. Scott

18. Hunter

19. Scott

20. Hunter

21. Scott

22. Hunter

23. Scott

24. Hunter

25. Scott

26. Hunter

27. Scott

28. Hunter

29. Scott

30. Hunter

Epilogue

The Gentlemen of the Emerald City Series

Also by L.A. Witt

Also by L.A. Witt

About the Author

Copyright Information

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Hunter: Gentlemen of the Emerald City series, book 6

First edition

Copyright © 2021 L.A. Witt

Cover Art by L.A. Witt

Editor: Leta Blake

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact L.A. Witt at [email protected]

ISBN: 978-1-64230-122-9

Paperback ISBN: 979-8-47863-202-1

Created with Vellum

About Hunter

Scott

I’ve done a lot of soul-searching this season. I’ve been in denial about myself and a jerk to everyone else.

I don’t even know where to start to fix it all. I don’t know what to feel about anything.

How am I supposed to handle falling in love?

Hunter

I’m good at faking it most of the time. No, not that. I mean faking like I’m okay. Like something doesn’t always hurt, especially when I’m trying to earn my pay.

He gets it. More than anyone I’ve ever met, he gets it.

But he’s got pain no one can touch. Not doctors. Not me.

How do I convince him that shutting me out won’t take away that pain?

Gentlemen of the Emerald City

Hunter is Book 6 of Gentlemen of the Emerald City, a sexy series centered around the high class, high-dollar Gentlemen of Seattle’s most exclusive escort service. Each book is full of snark, sass, and sweetness, and like any Emerald City client, you’re guaranteed a happy ending.

Chapter 1

Scott

“By the power vested in me by God and the State of Washington,” the minister said, beaming, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

As my teammate Kramer kissed his bride, Elisa, everyone in the pews cheered, and I was pretty sure we startled all the guests who weren’t hockey players. What could I say? We were a loud bunch, and weddings were no exception.

The ceremony wrapped up, and the bride and groom made their way up the aisle, followed by the wedding party. Guests began to follow, filing out from the rows of chairs, heading toward the receiving line and the reception. On the way, people who knew each other said hello and chatted happily. Typical wedding.

It was a nice one, too. Kramer and Elisa had rented out a country club where a lot of us played golf, and the weather had even cooperated. The day was so perfect, in fact, that the groom had made a comment before the ceremony about delaying the wedding to play a round. Elisa had been out of earshot, and anyway, she would’ve laughed because that was her sense of humor. The mother of the bride? Ooh, boy. By the time that debacle had quieted down, we were all joking about seeing if anyone had their pads or helmets in their cars so Kramer could protect himself; couldn’t hurt to be suited up like a goalie if his new mother-in-law lost her shit again. That had earned all of us dirty looks from Elisa’s mom, and screw Kramer—we were keeping our gear for ourselves.

Mother-in-law drama aside, the wedding was nice. The bride was beautiful, Kramer was happier than I’d ever seen him, and he absolutely would be catching hell later for crying during the ceremony. Like I said… hockey players. We’d ribbed every tearful groom before him, and we’d do it to every one after. Those were the rules.

While the bride and groom left for photos, some food was served along with drinks. People mingled and caught up while country club staff arranged tables and chairs for dinner.

I was with some of my teammates but didn’t really hear the conversation. As I rolled a sip of beer around in my mouth, I moved my gaze around the room from one guest to the next. Or rather, from one couple to the next.

Four couples in particular.

The Seattle Breakers had four out gay players. Warner was married with kids. The others had been single when they or I had signed with Seattle, but one by one, they’d met boyfriends. Ethan and Luca were engaged. Dane and Cole were living together. Even Matt—Smitty to everyone else—had surprised the hell out of everyone by settling down with Andre.

And I felt…

I didn’t know what I felt about that. Just that I definitely had some feelings, and none of them were particularly good. Or familiar.

It was like every time one of my gay teammates had paired off with someone, especially as they’d taken steps to make it permanent—moving in together, getting engaged—it had chipped away at something in me. At my resistance to myself. I’d spent my whole life fighting that pull toward other men, giving in when I needed sex only to hate myself afterward because what the fuck? That wasn’t me. I wasn’t gay.

But…

But I fucking was.

I was gay, and I was tired.

And here today at a friend’s wedding, my four teammates were visibly happy with their male partners, and… God, I envied them.

So how do I get there?

I took another pull from my beer to push back the unexpected lump in my throat. I’d been fighting so fucking hard for so fucking long, and every time I even thought about going there—about not just admitting I was gay but being gay—the emotions came crashing in.

There was no way in hell I was in a place where I could get into a relationship like one of my teammates had. The best I could aim for right now was having sex without hating myself. I wanted that. I wanted to be naked with a man, enjoy it, and not feel disgusting afterward. So how did I make that happen? I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. How did I feel normal about being gay instead of wallowing in self-loathing like I had for all these years? I didn’t even know where to start.

Except maybe I did.

I let my gaze drift around the room until it landed on one guest in particular. On one of only two men in this building—hell, one of only a few men in this whole world—who knew I wasn’t as straight as I’d desperately wanted to be.

Luca.

As I watched him laughing with his fiancé, my throat tightened again, but this time it was with nerves and a sick feeling. I’d hired Luca a number of times while he’d still worked for Gentlemen of the Emerald City, and it’d taken my breath away the first time I’d run into him and Ethan together.

I’d seen Luca naked and hard. I’d felt him come, even if I hadn’t done much to get him there. But seeing him smile that way at Ethan—like no one existed in his world except for Luca—God, nothing had ever driven home harder how cold and detached I’d been when I’d had Luca in my bed. He’d gone through the motions with me, but there’d been no spark in him, not like how he came to life when he was with his fiancé. And if ever there was a moment when I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I really was gay, it was when I caught myself wishing a man would smile at me that way.

And Jesus fuck, could I have been more of a dick to him? I hadn’t even allowed myself to kiss him—I never kissed men—and that first time I saw Ethan steal a kiss from Luca’s soft lips had made me regret that more than I’d imagined possible.

Yeah. I’d been a real dick to Luca. And maybe step one of getting my shit together was setting things straight with him.

I drained my beer, put the bottle on an empty table, and started across the room.

Ethan saw me first. He turned and bristled as he sometimes did when I approached. I didn’t really blame him. I also didn’t blame his fiancé for having the same reaction, and the fact that Luca lost his smile and stiffened when he saw me made me even more determined to do this. I owed him that much.

I cleared my throat. “Hey, um…” I met Luca’s gaze. “Could I borrow you for a minute? To talk?”

He studied me as if he wasn’t sure what to make of the question.

“Just to talk,” I reiterated. “I’d just rather not…” I gestured at the people around us.

Luca turned to Ethan. My teammate glared at me, but he put a hand on the small of Luca’s back and quietly said, “It’s up to you.”

“It’s fine.” Luca pushed himself up on his toes and brushed a kiss across Ethan’s mouth, oblivious to the pang of envy that sent right through me. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Ethan flicked his eyes toward me, but then he looked at Luca and nodded. “Okay. I’ll be here.”

They exchanged smiles before Luca and I broke away from the crowd and quietly walked outside.

We ended up on a small patio that appeared to be a designated smoking area. No one was out here right now, so the evening was quiet, the thick heat of the day still hanging in the air, and we were hidden from view of the reception.

Luca eyed the door, chewing his lip.

“Is this okay?” I asked. “We can go somewhere where people can see—”

“No, it’s fine.” He rolled his shoulders and met my gaze. “I’m good.” Clearly not happy to be out here, though.

I fully understood why, and I probably made him nervous too, so I deliberately positioned myself so I wasn’t between him and the door. For a moment, we stood in silence. It was so weird, looking at him now. I’d booked him plenty of times at Emerald City. We’d had sex more times than I could count. Standing here with him, it wasn’t that I felt like he was someone I used to know but was now a stranger. It was like he was the same person, but I was the stranger.

I’d been rethinking myself and my identity for a while now, but nothing was more jarring than being the person I was now—the person I was desperately trying to be—in front of someone who’d only known me as an insufferable asshole. As an abusive asshole. I didn’t want that to be me anymore, and it made my chest hurt to realize that when Luca looked at me, that man I didn’t want to be was the only man he saw.

He leaned against the railing and tilted his head, and I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed, anxious, or impatient. Maybe all three. “You wanted to talk.”

“Yeah.” I took a deep breath. “Listen. I wanted to apologize.”

Luca’s eyebrows flew upward. “Oh. Okay.”

It was a struggle, but I held his gaze. “When you were still at Emerald City…” I chewed my lip. “Before Ethan. You and me.”

His jaw worked and he broke eye contact.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m not going to tell you this excuses anything I did or said back then, but just to explain myself, I was… I didn’t like who I was then. I didn’t want to be who I am.”

“You didn’t want to be gay.” It wasn’t a question. Amazingly, it also wasn’t an accusation.

“No, I didn’t. I’m sorting that out now. Trying to figure out how to…” My stomach knotted. “How to be physical with a guy without hating myself afterward.”

Luca met my eyes again, and I cringed at the sympathy in his expression. I didn’t deserve that, damn it.

“I just wanted you to know I’m sorry,” I went on. “I was a dick to you. When I hired you, and also when I saw you with Ethan for the first time. I’m trying really hard not to be that person anymore, and I’m sorry for all the times I was unkind to you.” Shame burned hot in the back of my throat. “You must have thought I was an asshole.”

“I won’t apologize for that.”

“I’m not asking you to.” It was a struggle, but I held his gaze. “I’m just asking you to let me say I’m sorry.”

He acknowledged it with a silent nod.

“And I’m…” I sighed. “I’m just barely admitting who I am now. I still haven’t figured out how to be… Well, me.”

Luca tilted his head slightly, guarded but curious. “Who are you now?”

I furrowed my brow. “Didn’t I just make it pretty clear?”

“You have.” He shifted a little, folding his arms loosely across his chest. A comfortable gesture, not a defensive one. “But have you actually said it out loud?”

I swallowed.

“It goes a long way,” he said gently. “I won’t tell you it’s easy, but once you can say it out loud to yourself, it’s a lot easier to tell the rest of the world.”

My first instinct was to tell him that sounded like some hokey New Age bullshit, and that I didn’t need to say anything to anyone. I’d come out here to tell him I was sorry, not so he could actually hear me say…

Except I hadn’t said it. Not once. I’d thought about it a lot, but had I said it out loud? To anyone? No. I hadn’t come out to a single soul.

I moistened my lips. “I’m, um…” Why was it so hard to say it? My throat tightened around my breath, and I couldn’t look him in the eyes, but I finally pushed out the words. “I’m… gay.”

With a gun to my head, I couldn’t begin to describe what his reaction was, because I was too busy noticing how my knees suddenly wanted to collapse and my stomach tried to turn inside out.

“Fuck,” I whispered. “I’m gay.” I knew that. I’d known it for a while. I’d even begun to accept it. Why was it so damn jarring to say the words out loud?

“Hey.” Luca’s hand materialized on my shoulder, startling the hell out of me. When I met his eyes, his expression was full of empathy and understanding. “You all right?”

Was I? God, I didn’t even know.

I leaned back against the wall and exhaled, raking my fingers through my hair. “How did I get this far without ever…”

“This world doesn’t make it easy.” He withdrew his hand but didn’t step away. “Ask any queer person you know. Most of them have stories about how hard it was to come out. A lot of us fought it because we didn’t want everything that came with it.”

I met his gaze, eyebrows up.

Luca shrugged. “I came to terms with being gay when I was a kid. I had a supportive family, but it wasn’t a cakewalk. You better believe there were times when I wished I was straight just because it would be so fucking much easier.”

My lips parted.

He smiled faintly. “It’s not just you. I promise.”

“I think most people figure it out before their thirties, though.”

“Do you think you were ready for it before now?”

“I should’ve been.”

“And the world should be over its bullshit about queer people, but…” Luca gestured at himself, then me. “Here we are. Plus you’re in a sport where toxic masculinity is a thing, and I mean, come on, even with players coming out, there are still players and fans who hate it. Hell, I had a drink tossed on me as I was leaving a game.”

“You…” My jaw fell open. “Are you serious?”

Shifting his weight, he nodded. “Yeah. I had my Pride Night jersey on, and some asshole tossed his beer at me and called me—well, it doesn’t need to be repeated.”

“Holy shit.”

“Fortunately,” he went on, “times have changed, and there were some other fans who blocked him in while someone got security.”

“They… They did?”

“Mmhmm. The cops too, but I declined to press charges.” Luca grinned wickedly. “Having his season tickets canceled and being banned for life from the arena seemed like punishment enough.”

I breathed a quiet laugh, but mostly I was… Fuck. I was speechless. Even with four gay teammates and multiple Pride Nights every season, I still couldn’t quite get my head around the idea of someone getting his ass handed to him for being a homophobe. At best, I would’ve expected people to pretend they didn’t see the guy assault Luca. Fans stepping in? Security getting involved? The cops getting involved? Where the hell was I when people started standing up for gay people?

In the closet, that’s where.

Unaware of my mind reeling, Luca asked, “Are you still going to use Emerald City?”

I tensed. “Are you going to tell me I shouldn’t?”

“No,” he said without hesitation. “But if you don’t mind a little unsolicited advice about it…”

“Um. Sure. Yeah.” I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I wasn’t going to say no to any kind of guidance right now.

Luca held my gaze. Then he took a breath, and when he spoke, his tone was gentle. “Next time you hire a Gentleman, don’t think of him as an escort. Try looking at him as a person who deserves pleasure and affection. Not an outlet for your frustration.”

Just like when he’d told me to say the words out loud, my first instinct was a knee-jerk rejection. I wanted to get defensive and tell him I wasn’t that kind of an asshole.

But I was. I had been. Luca of all people could testify to that.

Renewed shame burned in my chest and in my face. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I really was a dick to you.”

Luca shrugged tightly. “I think the only one on this patio holding a grudge about that is you.”

“But I—”

“Scott.” He shook his head, and his smile was gentle this time. “We’re good. Okay? As far as I’m concerned, you’re my fiancé’s teammate. The past is the past. We’re good.”

I swallowed. “Thank you. I’ll, um, keep everything in mind. What you said.”

“Then you’ll do fine. And good luck. With… you know.”

I finally managed a smile. “Thanks.”

He smiled back, and then something caught his eye. He craned his neck. “Looks like the bride and groom are back. We should probably head inside.”

“Right. Yeah.” I pulled open the door. “After you.”

Another smile, and then we headed inside to rejoin the reception.

One apology down. Probably quite a few to go.

I’d never been with the guys Matt and Dane were dating. I was pretty sure I recognized both of them from the Emerald City app, but the one time I’d tried to book Cole, he’d been unavailable, and I couldn’t remember if I’d ever tried to book Andre. So I didn’t need to clear anything up with them.

I did need to clear things up with Warner and Ethan, though. Also Matt.

Closing my eyes, I exhaled. Warner and Ethan, I could probably have a one-on-one with each of them and clear the air.

Matt?

I was going to have to work up to that. There was a lot of history there, and he was more likely than anyone to tell me to take my apology and shove it up my ass, ideally alongside a pair of newly sharpened skates.

I’d get there. One step at a time.

And the next time I met a man on Emerald City, I would absolutely take Luca’s advice to heart.

Chapter 2

Hunter

Can you pick up Ginny?

The text from my ex-wife made me groan. It was a perfectly fair request, and it meant Rachel was getting some more hours at work, which was good for all of us. And anyway, I had no qualms about picking up our daughter at school or, now that it was summer break, the day camp she’d been going to for the last week. I had no qualms about anything that meant spending time with our kid, even if it was things like ferrying her to and from appointments and playdates.

But there were days when doing anything was hell. When the prospect of leaving the apartment drained me. Leaving, getting through traffic, waiting in the pickup line outside the school or the Y, driving home…

I closed my eyes and wiped a hand over my face. I could do it. There was still enough time that I wouldn’t need to rush, so if I paced myself and took another pain reliever before I left, I’d be all right.

I opened my eyes and typed out, On it.

Then I put my phone aside and sat up. The icepack on my knee had just started doing its thing, but if I stayed here, I was liable to fall asleep. If I fell asleep, I might sleep too long, and anyway, I’d be too groggy to function.

With a groan, I plucked the icepack off my knee, then carefully got up, trying to ignore the various muscles, bones, joints, and whatever else could possibly protest to a series of simple motions. Wasn’t there a time when I’d been able to do shit like run? I’d wrestled in high school, for fuck’s sake.

Well, those days were over, and they had been for a while.

Wincing, I paused to carefully stretch, which helped a little. I’d learned a long time ago not to try to move too quickly, or I’d regret it. I mean, I kind of regretted moving at all. Or sitting still too long. Or breathing. These days, pain was a constant companion, and barring something miraculous, it would be that way for the rest of my life. Sometimes, it was so bad I couldn’t move. Others, it receded enough that I could almost convince people around me that I wasn’t in pain at all. Most days, like today, were somewhere in between—I hurt, I could sort of function if I didn’t push it, and I could keep it below most people’s radar.

Kneading my neck with one hand, I shuffled into the kitchen and found a place in the freezer to wedge the icepack. Always a challenge with a small freezer serving a house with three adults and a kid. Maybe someday we’d be able to afford a second freezer. Or a bigger place. Or… something. Yeah, right—we were lucky to make rent on this apartment most months.

Well, it was what it was, and right now, I needed to go pick up my kid, then bring her home and figure out dinner. Moving slowly and carefully, I headed down to the parking lot, got into the car, and eased out of the parking space. At least my daughter’s day camp was only a few miles away, and all three of us really tried to work together to handle taking her to and from.

“All three us” being me, my ex-wife, and her husband. And yes, we all lived together. Rachel and I had been divorced for four years, and she and Leo had been married for two. Thanks to a series of unforeseen circumstances, we were sharing a three-bedroom apartment in Renton, about forty-five minutes out of Seattle. Rachel’s hours were unpredictable. Leo had been laid off, and though he’d landed a new job recently, it was for a lot less money than he’d been making before.

So, I’d moved in with Rachel and Leo in hopes that the arrangement would keep us all afloat. The situation wasn’t ideal, but we got along well enough, and we were all doing the best we could. Between us, we’d been able to provide a safe, stable home for Ginny.

Well… “stable.” Without any of us bringing in money consistently, every month was an exercise in stretching budgets and taking turns going without eating. I kept hoping to see a light at the end of that particular tunnel, but lately, I wasn’t so optimistic.

Like Rachel and her husband, though, I was bound and determined to keep it out of our daughter’s sight. She never missed a meal. She had clothes and shoes, even if they were hand-me-downs or thrift store finds (she loved thrift stores and garage sales as much as her mom did). Whenever there was an event or field trip at school that needed money, or the school supply list was beyond our budget, we’d quietly talk to her teacher, and usually something could be worked out. A lot of times they’d waive the fees on field trips if one of us volunteered to come along as a chaperone. I could think of worse ways to save ten bucks than by going to the zoo with my kid, even if I paid for all the walking later.

Day camp would be over next week, which would be a mixed blessing. One of Ginny’s friends was going, and her friend’s parents had paid for Ginny to come so the kids could be there together. We were beyond grateful, both because she got to do something fun and because the camp provided breakfast and lunch for all the kids.

It was only two weeks, but it was two weeks that my daughter had at least two guaranteed meals a day. No complaints here.

The only reason I’d be happy when it ended was that the transportation situation was… complicated. My mobility, my ex and her husband’s hours, and gas money made it tricky. Once it was over, Ginny would still need to be ferried around, but pick up and drop off wouldn’t be an issue until school started in September. The school bus would be far more convenient (and cheaper), but Rachel and I were both iffy about putting our daughter on a vehicle with no seat belts. That kind of came with the territory after surviving a life-altering car crash. Thank God Ginny hadn’t been riding with us that day, and neither of us was okay with tempting fate by putting her on a bus.

Maybe that made us irrational. Some of Rachel’s mom friends even told her as much. Still, that wreck had nearly killed us both—it would have if we hadn’t been belted in—and had turned our world on its ass. Gas money and inconvenience be damned, we drove her to and from school, and we made it work.

The day camp was being held at a YMCA, and the rush to pick up kids afterward was almost as huge and congested as school pick up and drop off. I’d gotten here early enough to avoid the worst traffic. Camp didn’t let out for another half hour, so I rolled down the windows and turned off the engine. The day was a warm one, but the blazing heat of summer hadn’t set in fully yet, and there was enough wind to keep me comfortable while I conserved gas.

I shifted a little, trying to get comfortable in the driver seat. That was a never-ending battle but hope sprang eternal. One of these days, I’d find the right position to… Well, it would still hurt, but it would be less annoying.

Once I was as comfortable as I was going to get, I took out my phone to kill some time.

There was a push notification on the screen, and to my surprise, it wasn’t a nastygram from my bank or landlord:

You have received a booking! Please confirm your acceptance.

My jaw dropped. Oh, shit! I’d finally gotten another booking on Emerald City? My bookings were rare, largely because my availability was so limited, and with as badly as my family needed money, this one couldn’t come at a better time. The pain I was in… Well, I’d mitigate it as much as I could, because I couldn’t afford to turn down a fifteen hundred dollar payday. Especially not after I’d only recently been able to reactivate my profile. I was hurting, but I was hurting even more for money, so…

Before accepting the booking, I took a moment to do some due diligence, and I opened the client’s profile. It was sparse and offered little in the way of details. No photos, which wasn’t unusual. He was clear upfront that he was a top and he didn’t kiss on the mouth. Also not unusual, but ugh, I hated when guys didn’t kiss on the mouth. Like, I knew the deal—it was sex for pay, not love and affection—but sex without kissing just wasn’t nearly as fun.

Well, whatever. It was what he was paying for.

I tapped to the screen where I could see if previous Gentlemen had left comments about him, and there were… Wow. There were a lot.

And as I read each one, my heart sank deeper.

He obviously hates himself for being gay, and he hates you too.

Always does you from behind so he doesn’t have to look at you.

He won’t hurt you, it’s all consensual, but you might need a hot shower after.

Swearing under my breath, I pressed my head back against the seat. Aw, fuck. He was one of those clients. The kind who didn’t do anything to warrant getting blacklisted from Emerald City, but were still assholes. Just what I needed.

But could I afford to reject the booking?

No. Because I couldn’t afford to reject any booking. Unless I was in so much pain that I absolutely couldn’t move, I really couldn’t say no.

I inhaled deeply, then let it out slowly. I’d had clients like him before. They usually didn’t tip, because fuck them, but they still paid, and that was money my household needed. Whatever this guy brought to the table, I could suck it up if it meant my kid could sleep indoors and eat.

So, I texted Rachel.

Got a gig tonight. 8:30 pm. Need to leave at 7. Will you or Leo be home?

She wrote back a few minutes later, Oh thank God. That’ll catch us up on rent. One of us will be home.

I exhaled, relieved both that someone would be home in time to watch Ginny, and that tonight would mean we could make rent. One less thing to worry about for a little while.

I’d take Ginny home, feed her, relax as much as I could, then pop something stronger than ibuprofen for the pain and chase it with a Cialis to make sure I could still earn my pay. Generic Cialis, of course. Cheaper that way. Anyway, that probably wasn’t the healthiest plan in the world—few things about this entire situation were—but rent was due. And hell, I might not even need the Cialis. If he was exclusively a top and he was the type who fucked from behind so he didn’t have to look at us (or so we couldn’t look at him), then odds were he wouldn’t give a damn if I was hard or if I got off. Still, I’d take one just in case.

Ignoring the knot in my stomach, the eye-watering pain in a few places, and the low-grade pain that was everywhere else, I accepted the booking. Dread settled in. I didn’t have any moral objections to the work I did and I actually enjoyed my job on nights when I didn’t hurt too much. It was the only thing I could do these days that paid worth a damn without leaving me in too much pain to function. Oh, I’d feel like shit tomorrow, but it was one night of physical work (all of two hours, really) followed by one day of paying for it, and then we’d have enough to kick the eviction can a little farther down the road.

I took a deep breath and carefully rolled my left shoulder. I could do this. Right?

Up ahead, car engines started turning over. I glanced at the time—day camp had just let out.

I closed out the Emerald City app, put my phone aside, turned on my car, and started the crawl to the front of the line. When I reached the front, I put the car in Park and paused to take a deep breath and carefully roll my stiff shoulder again. Then I put on a well-practiced smile, stepped out of the idling car, and stood on the curb in the designated waiting spot. My daughter waved from her group’s line, and I returned it.

Her camp counselor took her hand, led her over to me, and handed her off. It was a precaution to make sure campers were safely transferred from counselor to parent—slow as hell, but if it kept kids from getting hurt or taken, I wasn’t going to complain about it.

As soon as we were in the car and Ginny was buckled in, I got out of the way so someone else could take my place.

“Where’s Mom?” Ginny asked from the backseat.

“She had to work.” I glanced in the rearview and smiled. “She’ll be home a little later. How was your day?”

“Okay.” There was a bit of a frown in her voice. “Liddy and Jaelin wouldn’t let me be in their group, so I had to be in a group with Madison and Kelsey.”

“What?” I tsked. “That wasn’t nice of them.” I didn’t like that she’d been left out, but I wasn’t too worried—the kids all butted heads sometimes, and they’d occasionally be on the outs for brief periods, but Ginny wasn’t one to be bullied. There’d been issues like this from time to time, and I suspected that by tomorrow, they’d all be friends again. I’d still check in with the camp counselors via email just in case there were any ongoing issues or actual bullying taking place. “Why didn’t they let you be in their group?”

“Because they’re buttheads.”

I had to fight a laugh. “Gin. That isn’t nice either.”

“It’s true.”

“I know, but we’ve talked about this.”

She huffed with annoyance, but the tiny smile—the one she was fighting really hard to smother—told me she wasn’t super upset either. Annoyed, yes, but this wasn’t a crisis.

The whole thing with her calling her friends buttheads, though—that was also one of those parts of being a parent I struggled hard with. I did want to teach her to be respectful, to not call people names, and to use appropriate language. Really, I did.

I also wanted to teach her way more colorful ways to describe people than “butthead.” My ex had rolled her eyes once and said I’d be the dad who taught his kids all the ways to properly conjugate “fuck,” and she’d recently looked at me in all seriousness and half-begged, half-warned me to not even think about it.

Of course I wouldn’t. Ginny was only six! The diverse possibilities of the F-word were more of a third or fourth grade thing.

“Hunter, I swear to God…” Rachel had rubbed her temples and sighed.

“In my defense,” I’d replied, “I’m not the one who taught Ginny her first swear word.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Leo had put up his hands. “Don’t drag me into this.”

That had earned us both an exasperated sigh. To be fair, we got those a lot. How Rachel put up with the two of us, I had no idea.

Probably, I thought as my humor faded, because she doesn’t have a choice.

Working as a high-end escort, it didn’t take long to get familiar with the more affluent areas in the region. I mean, everything within spitting distance of Seattle these days was either affluent or a literal tent city; that was just the sad reality when the cost of living was so fucking high. Rachel and Leo hadn’t even been able to survive on two full-time incomes.

There were neighborhoods with tiny bungalows on postage stamp lots that sold for what a six-bedroom house on acreage went for in other states. For the price of a McMansion in the Midwest, you could come to Seattle and score a condo that was smaller than some Lego sets I’d had as a kid. If you were willing to commute ninety minutes each way, that budget would stretch to a split-level that was built in the 1980s and had steadily become more mildew than drywall. “Affordable” wasn’t really a thing here.

But there was a gradient of varying degrees of affluent, and this place had its areas that were affluent, loaded, and hella rich. The vast, vast majority of my clients were in the second or third category.

Tonight’s client was no exception. He lived in one of the hella rich neighborhoods of Bellevue, a city that was dripping with so much money, even the poor parts of town probably had a Whole Foods and a Lexus dealership.

This was definitely not one of the “poor” parts of Bellevue. Driving my battered Toyota past all these palaces, I had my usual mixed feelings about the obscenely wealthy. On the one hand, fuck all of them. On the other, they could afford to drop a grand and a half in my pocket for a night of sex.

Income inequality, eat the rich, grumble, grumble.

But one of the rich was going to give me the means to eat, so I’d keep my grumbling to myself tonight.

Especially since I had arrived at my destination.

All right. Here we go.

The meds I’d taken were helping, but they weren’t magic bullets. As I stepped out of my car, my breath caught with the red bolt of pain that shot up my back, and a twinge in my neck and shoulder which announced tonight was going to be fun.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I’d be all right. At most, I’d be here for two hours, and then there’d be the thirty-minute drive home, and then I could wallow in a hot bath or curl up in bed until I felt less like I was going to die. Okay, it wasn’t quite that dramatic, but it fucking hurt, and pain was exhausting. Odds were, I’d either sleep or try to sleep for most of tomorrow.

Two hours. I shut and locked my car door. I can do this.

I looked up at the house. Lavish homes weren’t exactly unusual among my clientele, and this one was no exception. It was, as a lot of newer homes in Bellevue were, an ultramodern style. Kind of like some different colored and irregularly sized blocks with windows had been stacked together. Given the location and the aesthetics, I’d have bet my right nut this place had at least a seven-figure price tag.

So a client who hated himself for being gay and was probably so deep in the closet his passport was issued by Narnia, and he was loaded enough to buy a house like this and hire guys for sex…? That meant he was probably richer than God.

A self-loathing rich dude. They were always fun.

Before I headed up to the house, I sent my location to Rachel. That was wildly against Emerald City policy, but we did it anyway as a safety measure.

Then I followed a marble—seriously, marble—path up to the front door, where I rang the doorbell. As footsteps came down the hall, I indulged in a moment to twist a crick out of my back and roll a kink out of my shoulder, and by the time the door opened, I had on my professional I’m-totally-pain-free exterior.

And then…

Oh. Wow.

The man on the other side of the threshold was not what I’d expected. Houses like this usually belonged to guys who had combovers and wore suits, or maybe on a warm day, golf shirts and khaki shorts. That pretty easily described a lot of guys I’d worked for who hated themselves and made escorts feel like trash. A stereotype, sure, but spend some time in my world and patterns start emerging.

Anyway. Looking tonight’s client up and down, I couldn’t picture him with a briefcase or using buzzwords like “synergy” and “core competency.”

Holy shit.

He did have on a golf shirt and shorts, but he also had several visible tattoos, shoulders that could occupy an entire doorway, and hips and thighs that looked like solid muscle. His sandy blond hair was cut short and neat, and he had a scar in his eyebrow and another on the side of his jaw. I mean, maybe he was a businessman, but he sure didn’t look the part.

My gaze went to the tattoo on his forearm, and I immediately recognized the Seattle Breakers logo.

Oh. He must’ve been the other kind of rich guy who booked Gentlemen on the regular—the pro athlete.

He cleared his throat. “You’re, um… Hunter?”

“Yeah.” I extended my hand. “You must be Scott.”

Accepting the handshake, he nodded. “Come on in.”

There was always a touch of trepidation the first time I stepped into a new client’s home, and that intensified when he had a profile full of warnings from other Gentlemen. Even if nothing indicated he was dangerous or threatening, I had my guard up.

He led me down a short hall to his kitchen, and as guys often did, he offered me a drink. I declined, and this was usually the part where clients started telling me what they wanted. Some were a bit more suave about it, and we’d go through the motions like I was a hookup they wanted to seduce instead of someone they’d paid to fuck. I always ran with it—they were paying for a fantasy, after all. Others cut right to telling me why I was here, and we’d usually proceed to the bedroom and do our thing. It could be almost comically businesslike sometimes, but as long as they paid me at the end of the night and didn’t push my boundaries, I didn’t care.

Scott seemed to lose the script after the offer of a drink, though. He leaned against his kitchen island, fingers tapping on its edge as he chewed his lip. Nervousness radiated off him; I swore it was a genuine miracle he wasn’t shaking or wringing his hands. This was the guy the other Gentlemen had warned me about?

Well, when a client got nervous, it was my job to take the reins.

“So, what do you have in mind for this evening?”

“Um.” He swallowed, shifting his weight. “Your profile says you prefer to keep things slow. A bit more, um…” He actually blushed as he quietly asked, “Sensual?”

I nodded. He didn’t need to know that my preferences weren’t a marketing gimmick or anything like that. Just something that had become necessary after my body decided that rough sex wasn’t doable anymore. “Is that what you want?”

“Yeah. I’ve never gone that route before.” He seriously sounded shy. Almost timid. “I’d like to try it.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to say. After the comments on his profile, I’d expected someone gruff to sneer at me, tell me to drop trou, and do his thing. Especially for someone who’d obviously been with a number of Gentlemen, he seemed incredibly uncertain, as if this really was something completely new for him. “Okay. Tonight’s about whatever you want.” I studied him. “And to be clear—you’re a top and you don’t kiss on the mouth?”

Swallowing, he nodded.

It was tempting to point out that the whole “sensual” thing would be a lot more fun if we could kiss, but I wasn’t here to talk him past his boundaries. Even if Emerald City hadn’t forbidden it, that wasn’t my style.

“So, is that what you want tonight?” I asked gently. “Sex? No kissing?”

“Yeah.” He exhaled. “I guess I just want to, um, slow things down a little. I think.”

I studied his expression and body language, trying and failing to read him. All I was picking up from him was nerves. Lots and lots of nerves. And I had a gut feeling it wasn’t just performance anxiety like some of my other clients had. “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s not too late to back out.”

“No, I don’t want to back out,” he said quickly. “I do want to do this. Just, um… I’m just nervous, I guess. This is… I’ve, uh… I’ve done this before. Hired someone, I mean.”

“But this is a change of pace?”

Scott nodded. “Yeah. It’s different.”

“Okay. Well, you’re in charge.” I smiled as pleasantly as I could. “Whatever you have in mind—I’m here to serve.”

He looked at me through his lashes, then nodded again. Jesus, he really was nervous. I mean, I got that it was a change of pace for him, but it wasn’t like we were about to dive into some intimidatingly hardcore kink. It was just gentle and sensual. How did that scare someone?

What I did know was that nothing about him came across as threatening. His vibe didn’t quite match up with what I’d gathered from the comments on his profile, but maybe those were bad nights. It wasn’t unusual for the bad comments to outnumber the good, because a lot of us didn’t bother to post unless we wanted to warn the other guys about a client. So maybe I just hadn’t gotten the full story.

Still studying him, I quietly said, “Do you want to go someplace else?” I nodded at his living room. “We can sit. Or if you’d prefer your bedroom?”

Please, someplace where we’re not standing for much longer.

Scott shifted again, and he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s…” He motioned toward the stairs. “Let’s go up to the bedroom.”

I swallowed my own nerves. Up to the bedroom. Okay. We were doing this.

I reminded myself that I was safe. Scott wasn’t doing anything to make me think I wasn’t. That, and in addition to me sending Rachel my location, she had my phone on the Find My Phone app. If I didn’t check in within three hours (sometimes bookings went a little over two hours), she’d call me. If I didn’t answer, she’d call the police and have them come to the location I’d sent her and—if my phone was in a different place—wherever my phone was.

We’d never had to use that little backup system before. None of the bad experiences I’d had with clients had ever involved them trying to hurt me, refusing to let me leave, or otherwise getting into dangerous territory. But it made Rachel feel better.

And tonight, it made me feel better.

So with my heart thumping and my phone in my back pocket, I followed Scott up the stairs.

Chapter 3

Scott

Heading for my bedroom with Hunter on my heels, I was way more on edge than I’d been with any of the guys I’d hired in the past. I was hardly a virgin, but tonight was different. Or at least it was going to be. I wanted it to be different. I’d taken everything Luca had said to heart, and now instead of going through the familiar motions of getting an escort and getting off, I was walking on eggshells. I didn’t know how to do this.

As I pushed open the bedroom door and gestured for Hunter to go inside, I stole a moment for a deep breath. This couldn’t be that difficult.

Except it was.

Everything I’d been fighting against all these years was still there. Those voices were as loud as ever:

You’re disgusting.

What’s wrong with you?

Men don’t do this with other men.

I wanted to ignore them this time, and damn it, I tried. One minute, I tamped them down and forced them away. The next, they were back full force, and I was genuinely questioning if I should listen, same as I had for my entire goddamned life.

Oh, but it was tough to give those voices much attention when there was a seriously attractive man in the room, and right now… good God.

Hunter was a little shorter than me—maybe five-nine or so to my five-eleven—with dark, wavy hair that I wanted to run my fingers through. I’d already been nervous and off-balance before he’d arrived, and after one look in those rich brown eyes, I was surprised I didn’t forget how to speak. Raking my gaze up and down his lean body, it was a whole lot easier to get onboard with letting myself give in to a lifetime of desires. Hunter had the kind of gorgeous face and sexy body that would have caught my eye even during the periods when I’d been deepest in the closet. When I’d almost believed I was straight, but then some fantastically attractive guy would enter my field of vision, and my resolve would wobble.

Being in his presence on a night when I’d given up on being straight and was trying like hell to embrace being gay—I never wanted to close that closet door again. No way.

I knew it wasn’t that simple. That I could bolt back into denial like a spooked horse. But right now, I wanted to believe there was no turning back.

Hunter watched me, his expression warm but faintly guarded. “So, we’ve got a couple of hours.” A grin curled his lips and screwed with my balance. “And you do want to take things slow, yes?”

“Yeah. I’ve always kind of jumped in, gotten off, and been done with it. I, um…” Heat rushed into my face. I’ve always been such an inconsiderate asshole. “I want to change that up a bit.”

“Okay. Slow is my speed.” The grin broadened and his eyes narrowed. “You’re calling the shots, though. Do you want to jump into the part where we…” He tugged at his shirt.

Oh, wow. The thought of seeing this man naked almost made me sway on my feet. I’d paid plenty of hot men for sex, but something about Hunter—possibly those mischievous brown eyes and full lips—made me want him more than those who’d been here before him. Or maybe that was just my whole attitude tonight. Maybe I’d have felt this way about any man I’d booked from Emerald City, because goddammit, I wanted to want a man tonight.

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat and started unbuckling my belt. “Let’s lose the clothes.”

It was a good thing I took care of my belt first. Once Hunter had his shirt off, I was lucky I could remember how to work a zipper. A lot of the Gentlemen were ripped in the same way my teammates were, and that was hot and everything, but Hunter had a softer look to him. He was slim, his stomach mostly flat, but he didn’t look like he spent hours a day in the gym. I’d always found guys like that hotter than the ones with chiseled six-packs.

Whenever I’d let myself indulge in gay porn, it was always the amateur stuff with guys who looked like normal dudes. Because the ripped ones reminded me of my teammates, who I really didn’t want to think of that way? Because I just had a type and that didn’t require any explanation? Hell if I knew.

What I did know was that Hunter was sexy as hell with clothes on, and he was fucking mouthwatering when he was naked.

Being gay is disgusting.

He’s a man, Scott. What are you doing?

I tamped those thoughts down as I gestured at my bed. We pulled back the covers, and my heart slammed against my ribs as we lay in the middle of the mattress, facing each other on our sides.

This is wrong. You know it’s wrong.

Hunter’s eyes flicked to my mouth before meeting my gaze, and his grin sent a shiver through me. When he ran the tip of his tongue along the inside of his lower lip, the voices in my head went quiet.

And my God, more than I had in a long, long time, I had to fight the temptation to lean in and press my lips to someone else’s. I was so curious how soft his lips would be against mine, and what it would be like to just kiss naked in bed.

Not yet, though. I couldn’t explain why, but I wasn’t ready for that.

Hunter’s forehead creased. “Like I said, you’re calling the shots.”

Oh. Fuck. Was that a subtle hint that I was just staring at him when we should be doing something? We were limited on time, too, so why was I just waiting around?

I swallowed. “I kind of want to…” I let my gaze drift over him, following the smooth planes and contours. There were some scars on his shoulder and the side of his neck—some small, fine ones, others that were thicker and longer—and there was a freckle on his arm that was fascinating for some reason. Were all men this interesting, and I’d just never let myself look?

“Scott?” Hunter prodded gently.

“Sorry. Sorry.” I looked in his eyes again. “I’ve never, uh…” My face was on fire, but I managed to get the words out: “I’ve never really spent time, uh, exploring a guy.”

Christ. Could I sound any more awkward?

But Hunter smiled. He reached for me, unaware of the way my pulse jumped when he did, and he gently closed his fingers around my wrist. He guided my hand to him and placed it on his side.

Oh, God.

It wasn’t much—just my palm against his hot skin—but it was enough to make my nerves and arousal spike. I wanted more, damn it.

Pretending my heart wasn’t about to slam right through my ribs, I leaned closer, and for a heartbeat, considered going in for that kiss after all. But no, we’d agreed no kissing on the mouth, and I wasn’t sure I could handle it tonight.

So instead, I moved in and kissed his neck, and I didn’t know what made my pulse surge harder—the warm softness of his skin against my lips, or his quiet gasp. His arm wrapped around me, his hand drifting across my back, and I loved that. The heat of his touch, the way his fingers twitched as my lips skated along his throat. Getting a little braver, I kissed up and down the side of his neck, along the underside of his jaw, over his collarbone—just lazily exploring him and enjoying a man in ways I’d never let myself before.

I ran my hand up his side, focusing on the soft warmth of his skin and how good it felt to be touching someone without hating myself.

As my hand crested his shoulder, though, he tensed, sucking in a quiet but sharp breath through his nose.

I lifted my head and pulled my hand away. “What?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head, but the slightest tightness of his lips said otherwise. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Hunter nodded, and when he met my eyes, he smiled. “Just, um… A little ticklish.” Something about the way his brow pinched begged me to believe him.

“Ticklish?”

Another nod.

I returned it, and I slid my hand over his side again. Something was hurting, that was for sure. He wasn’t pulling away or trying to stop, though.

As I started kissing his neck again, I stayed mindful of where I was touching him and how he responded, carefully avoiding the place on his shoulder where I’d made him flinch, and I kept an eye out for other signs that he was in pain too. So far, so good. In fact, he relaxed into me, hands drifting all over my body as he tilted his head to expose more of his throat.

That brief exchange left a cold feeling in my chest, though. It was mortifying to imagine how oblivious I would’ve been had I booked him before my conversation with Luca. When I’d been completely focused on my own internal tug-of-war between my need for release and my adamant denial of who I was.

That wasn’t to say I’d been so oblivious that I’d actually hurt someone, or that I wouldn’t notice if they didn’t want to be there. I was a basket case and had admittedly been an asshole, but there were lines, damn it. I just wondered if I’d ever been so far up in my own head that I hadn’t noticed someone trying to knuckle through pain.

Then Hunter nudged me gently, and when I realized what he wanted, I rolled onto my back. He sat up and straddled me, sitting over me as he ran his hands up my abs and chest.

“If it’s slow and sensual you want, you came to the right place.” He leaned down, and his breath warmed the side of my neck as he murmured, “Because slow and sensual is what I do.”

Then his lips touched my skin, and I gasped. Holy shit, no wonder he’d been trembling so much when I’d done this to him.

And he didn’t stop at my neck. He kissed my shoulder. My collarbone. My chest. One circle of his tongue around my nipple, and it was a legitimate miracle I didn’t levitate right through the skylight above my bed. Holy. Fuck.

“Like that?” he asked with a knowing grin before doing it again. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I was too busy trying to catch my breath as he teased my nipple with his tongue, his lips, and even his teeth.