Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“Staying where I was seemed like a better option than getting up and showing off my erection.”
“That makes sense,” I said, as I scooped up both stuffed animals from the coffee table. “By the way, the fact that you stayed rock hard through that conversation makes me think you might have an exhibitionistic streak. If you ever want to explore that, I’m totally down.”
“You may be right.” He frowned slightly and muttered, “I still have so much to learn about myself, not just sexually, but as a person.”
“How cool is that? Think of all the amazing discoveries waiting for you.”
He smiled at me as he draped his arm over my shoulders. “I love the way you put a positive spin on it.”
“Well, yeah.” I leaned into him and asked, “So, are you really about to impulse buy an entire room full of furniture and accessories? Because we can visit a lot of other stores if you’re not sure about this.”
“Actually, I love everything about this stuff, from the clean lines to the deep, interesting colors. The whole thing comes together like a mid-century modern painting.”
“Okay, now I get it. This appeals to the art lover in you, the guy who wanted to work in a museum.”
“Yes, I guess it does,” he said. “It’s news to me that he still exists, after all these years.”
After Aleksei completed his purchase with the plan of picking it up later in the week, we returned to the car with our stuffed animals. It had gotten cold, and as he put the top up, he asked, “Are you hungry?”
“Ravenous. What would you like for your birthday dinner?”
He thought about it before saying, “You know what sounds great? French fries and a milkshake.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket to do a search as I told him, “That’s a truly excellent idea.”
We ended up at a nearby retro-1950s diner. After we stuffed ourselves, I gleefully let it slip that it was Aleksei’s birthday. He turned a vivid shade of red when the staff gathered around and sang to him. They presented him with a paper hat and a slice of cheesecake with a candle in it before returning to work, and I chuckled and said, “Sorry about that.”
He tried to frown at me, but he ended up grinning. “I may never forgive you.” He took off the hat and examined it as he asked, “What’s the significance of this?”
“It’s an old-fashioned soda jerk cap.”
“What’s a soda jerk?”
“Someone who would have worked at a diner in the 1950s, serving sodas to customers, presumably.” He put it on my head, and I gestured at the candle and said, “You need to make a wish and blow that out, before it melts away to nothing.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, and don’t tell me what you wish for, or it won’t come true. Hurry, because it’s about to extinguish itself.”
He looked skeptical, but after a moment he blew out the candle and said, “I didn’t realize you were superstitious.”
“I’m not really, but I’ll always wish on a falling star, or a birthday candle, or a dandelion. I just want to believe there’s a tiny bit of magic in this world.” He was watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read, so I asked, “Do you think that’s ridiculous?”
He shook his head. “I think it’s absolutely charming.”
A few minutes later, I grabbed the check when our server placed it on the table, and Aleksei tried to take it as he told me, “This is my treat.”
I held it out of reach and said, “Sorry, no. Not today. It’s your birthday, and the least I can do is buy you dinner.”
“You already bought me the octopus.”
“And I’m paying for this, too. I insist.”
He looked like he wanted to argue, but after a moment he said, “Well, okay. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
Even though I won that battle, I lost the next one in a big way. When we got back to San Francisco, Aleksei told me he needed to pick up something at his house before driving me home. It turned out he was referring to a bulging envelope of cash—my exorbitant payment for the last twelve hours.
That didn’t feel right. Today had been special. I’d wanted to be a part of it not as a sex worker, but as his friend…or more.
“I can’t accept this,” I said, when he tried to hand it to me. “You shouldn’t have to pay me for furniture shopping, or—”
“Please, just take it.”
“But it’s your birthday, and—”
He touched my cheek and pleaded, very softly and with a lot of emotion in his eyes, “We have an agreement, Timothy. It’s important to me that we don’t deviate from it.”
I whispered, “Okay,” as I took the envelope and shoved it in my messenger bag.
This wasn’t the time to try to redefine our relationship. His expression made that clear. But things between us were changing…for me, anyway. I just had to wonder if we’d ever be on the same page.