If It Drives (Market Garden, #7)(14)

If the trips to Market Garden had a silver lining, it was that this part—the waiting outside on the kerb—didn’t usually last long. James knew what he liked. He had a few regulars, a few favourites. Sometimes there were new faces. Whether he went for the tried-and-true or sampled someone else, one thing was consistent: he worked quickly. Which meant that within the hour, Cal would be on the road again, following that familiar-but-not route back to the house, and he’d be relieved of duty after they arrived.

It also meant that within the hour, he’d be on the road again, knowing all too well what was going on behind that opaque privacy screen. Maybe he didn’t know exactly what the rentboy du jour was doing or saying, or how he’d charmed James and got himself picked over the others, but Cal knew how James sounded when he was on edge. When he was flustered. Did they make him beg? God, he knew they did. They had to. Because nearly every time James emerged from the limo at the house, he was off-balance and trembling just the way he’d been when he’d begged Cal to f*ck him.

Cal closed his eyes. He tried not to think about that night, but it was pointless. It was about as pointless as trying to convince himself he wasn’t at all jealous of whichever leather-clad piece of arse would be riding in the back with James tonight.

For money, Cal. You’re no man’s whore.

He sighed and glanced in the side mirror. Still no James. Of all nights for him to be picky . . .

His mobile buzzed beside him. He picked it up and saw a text from one of his mates.

We’re going out on the piss in Soho tonight. You in?

He chewed the inside of his cheek. Much as he hated Soho on a Saturday night, getting tanked with his friends did sound like a good way to anaesthetise the fantasies that would otherwise keep him awake all night. Passing out would be easier than sleeping when he knew some rentboy was balls deep in James and—

Oh, no. Not jealous at all.

He texted back, On the clock. Off in an hour or so. Meet somewhere?

He hit send, and right then, movement in the side mirror caught his eye. He glanced up just in time to see James coming down the sidewalk beside a slender set of muscles and sass all wrapped up in tight leather.

Gritting his teeth, he got out of the car. He opened the door for James and whoever this kid was. Looked to be about twenty-five, if that. Just a few years younger than Cal. Apparently James liked his whores around that age.

Yep. Definitely needed to go out on the piss tonight.

James conspicuously avoided Cal’s eyes as he got into the car. The rentboy glanced at him, a hint of a smirk working at his lips, and the down-up glance made Cal’s skin crawl.

No. I am not joining you. Don’t even ask.

He was careful not to slam the door this time. It was tempting though, especially with the sound of squeaking leather and hushed voices coming from the back of the car. He shut it, went back to his seat, and started the engine.

Beside him, his mobile buzzed again.

We’re mtg at leicester sq tube station. 830p.

Cal quickly sent back, I’ll be there.

He glanced at the screen and did something he rarely did: he turned on the radio and turned it up. Everything was easier when he could shut down some of the sensory input. He wouldn’t see or hear anything of James and the rentboy until they got out of the car, so for the moment, he just rolled along with his favourite Queen songs blasting from the speakers, letting Freddie Mercury lift his mood. It worked, and almost made him forget what was going on right behind him.

When he arrived and opened the door, James was flustered and turned on. It hit him right in the gut.

He hadn’t worked through it, they weren’t back to normal, and he was one hundred percent sure they’d never get back to normal. That was why that one f*ck had been such a mistake. There really was no way to go back after that.

James slung his arm across the rentboy’s shoulders. “Take the night off, Callum.”

Cal refused to look him in the eyes. “Yes, sir.” He cleared his throat. “Tomorrow is my day off, sir.”

“Oh. Is it? Well, that’s fine. I’ll get him a cab back. Enjoy your Sunday.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He watched them vanish into the house, and something pinched in his chest. Jealous of a whore? Really?

No, it wasn’t just jealousy. He’d have been okay if James had brought a friend home. It was that the strutting, leather-clad rentboy only saw a meal ticket in James. Wouldn’t care, barely gave a f*ck. James would be all right for a few days and then slowly sink back into the place where he needed to buy another piece of arse—he’s buying their cocks, Cal, and you know it—and so on, and so forth. It was always the same and there seemed to be no escaping. If James would just date, find somebody who cared about him at all—

He’s not your responsibility, Cal.

Grinding his teeth, he took the car round to the garage, then went into his house, changed into something more casual, put on the leather combo, and got his motorcycle out. They were much faster than a car in traffic, much cheaper to run, and it was as far away from the limo as it could possibly be. He debated taking a cab in case he decided to get rat-arsed tonight, but he rarely drank much. If he changed his mind, he could always lock up the bike and come get it tomorrow when he was sober. Bonus: he didn’t have to wait now for a cab while they were in the main house doing God knew what in exchange for God knew how much money.