“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.