initials. If things happen the way I think they will, I’ll remove it tonight. I always do when I’m with a woman out some fucked up deference to her memory.
Kim and I loved each other with a desperation borne of co-dependence and history. I haven’t been able to conjure feelings for any woman that remotely rival what I had with Kim. Therefore I’ve concentrated solely on clients through IYM and steered clear of women who desire longevity in a relationship. That is something I simply can’t give right now.
I stride back to the door, passing yet another couple hiding behind a topiary. The woman is on her knees giving the guy a blowjob. His hand is on the woman’s head, guiding himself into her eager mouth.
I look away immediately.
“Yeah, that’s right. Keep it moving buddy,” the guy hisses.
I glance down. I hear a scuffle as if he’s pushing her away and following me.
I speed up, not sure what his intentions are. I figure I pissed him off getting too close.
I hear him scrambling behind me. “Hey, wait!”
His belt buckle tinkles as he struggles to get himself presentable and keep up with me. “Hey! Hey Sav!”
Fuck. I haven’t answered to that nickname in five years.
I stop in preparation to turn around and address him.
Sky steps out of the French doors, looking around—presumably for me.
The guy has caught up with me and grabs my arm.
Sky’s heading my way, so I pull away from him roughly.
“Listen, my name is Brody Kent. Got it?” I put just enough venom in my voice to hopefully disabuse him from continuing to address me by my long-dead stage name.
He frowns, peering up at me through eyes tight from alcohol and marijuana use. He sways on wobbly legs. “You look just like a guy I used to know, except he had dreads down to his ass and a long-assed goatee,” he says. “But you’re heavier…I mean, healthier than he was.”
I shake my head. “I’m not your guy, buddy.”
Sky puts her arm through mine. “Who’s your friend?”
“Was just a case of mistaken identity,” the guy mutters. He walks toward the topiary and ostensibly the blonde he left behind it.
I know him. Watching him stumble away, I remember. He’s the owner of a nightclub Kim and I used to frequent on the Sunset Strip in our early days. Close fucking call.
“What time is this shindig over, again?” I ask.
“Someone’s anxious,” Sky says with a sexy smirk. “It’s over when I say it’s over, so how about now? I’ll have the deejay announce last call and get Malik and his team to start encouraging people to leave if that doesn’t do the trick.”
“You don’t have to end everything so abruptly on my account.” I pull her firmly into my embrace. “I was going to just go upstairs and wait for you to join me.”
“That sounds like an excellent idea,” she says. “I was getting tired anyway.”
“We also have work tomorrow. I don’t know. Maybe this can wait until we get on the road?”
I’m not sure if I’m trying to give myself an out, or her. Sky is already moving into “more than just another client” territory. If our time together develops into something more, I don’t want it to be fucked up by my inability to commit or restricted by my job with I.Y.M. This could get complicated real fast.
“Did Friday night not give you any indication at all of how deprived I am?” she asks.
I have to wonder if the adrenaline rush from performing earlier and the champagne she’s consumed has dulled her filters and her judgment. For some reason, it matters a lot that she won’t regret being with me. Seven more weeks working together will feel like an eternity if shit goes sideways. Cupping her cheeks in my hands, I kiss her again. I hope it softens what I need to say next. I look into her eyes, and she already seems soberer.
The mood shifts. She’s got to know something serious is coming.
“I need to tell you something. Actually, I need to tell you a lot of things, but this you need to know
Kim and I loved each other with a desperation borne of co-dependence and history. I haven’t been able to conjure feelings for any woman that remotely rival what I had with Kim. Therefore I’ve concentrated solely on clients through IYM and steered clear of women who desire longevity in a relationship. That is something I simply can’t give right now.
I stride back to the door, passing yet another couple hiding behind a topiary. The woman is on her knees giving the guy a blowjob. His hand is on the woman’s head, guiding himself into her eager mouth.
I look away immediately.
“Yeah, that’s right. Keep it moving buddy,” the guy hisses.
I glance down. I hear a scuffle as if he’s pushing her away and following me.
I speed up, not sure what his intentions are. I figure I pissed him off getting too close.
I hear him scrambling behind me. “Hey, wait!”
His belt buckle tinkles as he struggles to get himself presentable and keep up with me. “Hey! Hey Sav!”
Fuck. I haven’t answered to that nickname in five years.
I stop in preparation to turn around and address him.
Sky steps out of the French doors, looking around—presumably for me.
The guy has caught up with me and grabs my arm.
Sky’s heading my way, so I pull away from him roughly.
“Listen, my name is Brody Kent. Got it?” I put just enough venom in my voice to hopefully disabuse him from continuing to address me by my long-dead stage name.
He frowns, peering up at me through eyes tight from alcohol and marijuana use. He sways on wobbly legs. “You look just like a guy I used to know, except he had dreads down to his ass and a long-assed goatee,” he says. “But you’re heavier…I mean, healthier than he was.”
I shake my head. “I’m not your guy, buddy.”
Sky puts her arm through mine. “Who’s your friend?”
“Was just a case of mistaken identity,” the guy mutters. He walks toward the topiary and ostensibly the blonde he left behind it.
I know him. Watching him stumble away, I remember. He’s the owner of a nightclub Kim and I used to frequent on the Sunset Strip in our early days. Close fucking call.
“What time is this shindig over, again?” I ask.
“Someone’s anxious,” Sky says with a sexy smirk. “It’s over when I say it’s over, so how about now? I’ll have the deejay announce last call and get Malik and his team to start encouraging people to leave if that doesn’t do the trick.”
“You don’t have to end everything so abruptly on my account.” I pull her firmly into my embrace. “I was going to just go upstairs and wait for you to join me.”
“That sounds like an excellent idea,” she says. “I was getting tired anyway.”
“We also have work tomorrow. I don’t know. Maybe this can wait until we get on the road?”
I’m not sure if I’m trying to give myself an out, or her. Sky is already moving into “more than just another client” territory. If our time together develops into something more, I don’t want it to be fucked up by my inability to commit or restricted by my job with I.Y.M. This could get complicated real fast.
“Did Friday night not give you any indication at all of how deprived I am?” she asks.
I have to wonder if the adrenaline rush from performing earlier and the champagne she’s consumed has dulled her filters and her judgment. For some reason, it matters a lot that she won’t regret being with me. Seven more weeks working together will feel like an eternity if shit goes sideways. Cupping her cheeks in my hands, I kiss her again. I hope it softens what I need to say next. I look into her eyes, and she already seems soberer.
The mood shifts. She’s got to know something serious is coming.
“I need to tell you something. Actually, I need to tell you a lot of things, but this you need to know
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