* * * *
Wills wasn’t sick for long. With the help of the Tylenol and plenty of fluids, his temperature was back to normal in a couple of days, and after it had been normal for twenty-four hours, he went back to work and I went back to preparing clients’ income tax returns.
In more ways than one, things were back to normal.
Valentine’s Day was coming up. I wanted to give my lover something special, something that he could wear always, have with him always.
The sales associate at Mount Olympus, the exclusive jewelers a few doors down from Beau Brummel’s, had taken out a velvet tray containing twenty-four karat gold chains, and I studied the different types of links. I had selected a gold Virgo charm surrounded by jade—Wills’s birthstone—and it was being engraved while I chose the chain it would hang from. In the case beside the chains were wedding bands, and after a wistful glance at them, I turned my attention back to the chains.
“This one, I think.” I handed him one that was twenty-eight inches long. Once the charm was suspended from it, it would rest just above my lover’s heart.
“That’s rather masculine, don’t you think?”
“I’d hope so…” The name tag on his breast pocket said Mason. “…Mason. It’s for a masculine kind of guy.”
He blinked. “Oh. I see.”
“Good.” I could have whipped out the money clip that had been among the gifts Wills had given me for my birthday on New Year’s Day—my birth sign, Capricorn, was on it, with dark red garnets for the goat’s eyes—and I could have peeled off the bills and said grandly, “I’ll pay in cash.”
Mason’s eyes would have widened, because not many people carried around that much cash.
But I did the smart thing. I took my wallet from my pocket, selected a platinum credit card, and slid it across the counter to him.
“Sweetcheeks? Is that you? Hey, man! Long time no see.”
The sales associate pretended to be busy making sure I’d signed the credit card and that the expiration date was valid, but I could almost see his ears prick up.
I put my wallet back into my pocket and turned around. “Hello, Connor.”
The young man who stood before me had once belonged to a pimp who catered to clients who liked their boys to be boys and didn’t care if they were drugged out to boot. Our stable had done a little arm-twisting and gotten Connor out of there, but he hadn’t stayed with us for long, preferring the glamour of Charlemagne’s stable. He hadn’t stayed there very long either, having a coke habit that didn’t make him a likely choice for the kind of clients Charlemagne’s boys drew, and the last I’d heard, he’d moved north.
Connor had to be around twenty-one or -two now, although he didn’t look more than sixteen. I wondered if he was off the shit. He looked healthy and downright gorgeous—blond hair tied back in a ponytail, hazel eyes, and a mouth that promised heaven on earth. He wore a pair of designer jeans that highlighted every muscle and line of his long legs, Adidas running shoes, and a denim jacket with patches from various rock concerts. I felt old in the casual trousers and blazer I had chosen to wear.
“I’m not Connor this trip.”
“What are you calling yourself these days?”
“Bailey.”
Bailey? I cleared my throat. “Nice name.”
He gave a short laugh and hunched his shoulder. “The guy who’s paying my bills right now likes it.”
Right. “You’re looking well. Are you off the shit?”
“Yeah. Dan, my boyfriend, helped me. He stood by me the whole time.” Connor bit his lip. “The thing is, once I got clean, he didn’t want me anymore.”
Because he couldn’t be the hero who was saving the rent boy? I rubbed Connor’s shoulder. “But you stayed clean?”
“Uh huh. I don’t know who was more surprised, me or Dan. Oh, yeah, he came back one more time to see how I was managing. When he realized I wasn’t using, he split for good. That was about six months ago.”
The bastard.
“How about you, Sweetcheeks? How are you?”
“I’m good.”
“You’re looking good. Where’ve you been keeping yourself?”
“I’ve been around. I’m not in the business anymore.”
“Yeah, you have a boyfriend now. That was the word on the grapevine. ‘Sweetcheeks gave it all up for the love of a good man.'” Who was the brittle mockery in his voice directed at, me or him? “And how long will it be before it occurs to the man of your dreams that you’ve been had by just about everyone in town? That he can do better?”
“What makes you think something like that would happen?” It had been my worst nightmare, but after the New Year’s Eve Ball, I’d begun to accept that my lover wouldn’t do that to me.
Connor suddenly looked older. “I don’t think, Sweetcheeks. I know.” He kept his voice down, but his bitterness was apparent.
“Because it happened to you?”
There was a little-boy-lost look in his eyes, and then it vanished. “It doesn’t matter. I’m on my own now, and I answer to no one.”
Except the man who was keeping him. “I heard you were living in the Big Apple.”
“I am, and I’m making damn good money.”