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Oh boy. Awkward. Because I can’t for one second imagine myself bending him over, or doing anything rough with him, except maybe shoving him back into his seat and walking out of here.
Don’t, Raine.
Give it a fucking chance.
I vow to take my time and get to know Gary before I pass judgment or let my insecurities doom this dinner, when I happen to glance out of the window, and a familiar face outside catches my attention.
Well, I’ll be damned. Jason, again? Seriously, what are the fucking odds?
Shaking my head, I take another gulp from my wine.
And that’s when I see the other guy, and I’m out of my seat and out the door before you can say stigghiola.
However you pronounce that.
Chapter Six
Jason
Hustling in his part of town is unusual for me. Safer, though. There are few other hookers, few drug addicts and weirdos wandering about at night, swept away and under the rug by the powers that be to keep the well-to-do people unaware and happy.
But it’s also a hazard, being here. Why? See previous point. Rich kids don’t like filth shoved into their faces while they’re having fun, and that filth is me.
So turning tricks here is a risk, and I’m waiting for the boot in my ass as I lean back against the wall, glancing at the men passing by, acting laid back and cool. Uninterested.
Not cold and famished and desperate.
At least the rain has let up, and I’m mostly dry. Covered building entrances are a hooker’s best friends. I’m standing next to the entrance of a fancy restaurant, and some warm air escapes through the door, keeping me from getting frostbite.
I’ve taken off my thin jacket—borrowed from my buddy Adam who chose to work our usual haunts tonight—and slung it over my shoulder, showing off my short, skin-tight black top that’s riding up my chest.
Showing flesh. Plying my trade.
Check it out, gentlemen. Fresh meat. Come get a piece of this tight ass.
I shift from foot to foot, relieving a cramp, and lean against the brick wall, smirking at a middle-aged guy who’s passing by and staring his eyes out. He stumbles and almost crashes into a woman with a stroller.
I’d laugh, but despite my plastered-on smirk, I’m not amused. I’m damn exhausted. I’d have stepped up to him, made him an offer, but I’m sluggish and slow, and he’s already walking away.
Damn. Maybe he was just shocked at seeing one of my kind here, anyway.
I readjust my jacket over my shoulder, then lower it. Christ, I ache all over. I’ve been working non-stop to make enough for Simon’s cut and for my gang’s expenses, but it ain’t enough.
Lately, it never is.
And this damn spot I chose ain’t no good. Rich guys are probably scared shitless to look for a male hooker in this part of town, where their peers can see them. No wonder I normally stick to the poorer side of the city, where they all wash out looking for their kinks.
The side under Simon’s fucking control, and I wanted to keep away today. Lick my wounds. Avoid him at all costs, because I don’t have any more fucking money, or energy, to give him, even if the siren song of drugs calls me, that brief time of bliss.
Movement from my left catches my attention, and I turn to find another guy watching me from the shadows of the building across the street. I freeze as recognition sets in.
Oh fuck. Fucking shit. One of Simon’s goons. Did he follow me? Did he happen to see me?
Just my goddamn luck. My blood running cold, I jerk away from th
e wall and start walking down the street as fast as I can.
My ribs hurt when I breathe, and there’s a line of fire down my back. Damn Simon did a real number on me last night when he found out I didn’t have all the money he asked for. Though I doubt it would’ve made any difference, either way. He gets off on my pain.
