If It Drives (Market Garden, #7)(18)

“Red tie?” Frank asked. “He been in here tonight?”

“That’s the one.” Cal felt a little less anxious. If there had been many like James, how would he have explained to them who he was? He could hardly run around telling pimps and whores James’s full name.

“And who are you?”

“I’m his driver.”

Frank tilted his head slightly. “Just his driver?”

“Uh. No.” Cal cleared his throat. “I mean, I was. Still am. I’m . . . We had sex. We were drunk. It didn’t go very well afterwards. I was an idiot. He was, too. It didn’t work out.” He paused just to stop himself from rambling. “I want one of your guys to teach me what it is they do that he needs.”

Frank looked him up and down and leaned forwards a bit. “So what do you need to know?”

What he needs.

“He gets these moods where he’s really down and just seems, I don’t know, lost.” Cal took a quick drink to wet his mouth. “And he comes here. Then afterwards, most of the time, he’s fine. And I’m not here to judge rentboys or the people who use them, I just think he needs . . . I mean, what he’s getting here, he . . .”

“You said you think he’s self-medicating,” Brandon said quietly. “Possibly self-destructing.”

Frank gave a soft grunt. “There’s no shortage of men like that in here.”

Cal drummed his fingers. “To tell you the truth, though, I’m not sure it’s working for him. Not anymore.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I’m not even sure why I came here, or what I hoped to get out of this. But I can’t stop thinking about him. I’m not nearly as over it as I should be, considering it was just a one-night stand. And I guess I thought if I learned what it is he’s getting from your guys, maybe I can be what he needs.”

Brandon and Frank exchanged glances. There was no judgement, no “is this guy for real?” in their expressions. If anything, some unspoken thought passed between them. As if they knew each other well enough to share an easy telepathy.

Frank faced Cal again, absently scratching his jaw. “Do you know what kinds of guys he gets from here? Do any of them look familiar?” He made a sweeping gesture at the club.

Cal looked around. “Well, those two.”

Frank nodded. “Tristan and Jared. I see. Anyone else?”

Brandon turned to Frank. “I think I saw him leaving with Sahin once.”

“And there was one he really liked,” Cal said. “Came looking for him again not long ago, but he was gone. Nick, I think?”

Frank nodded again. “Ah. He wants a Dom.”

“A Dom?” Cal swallowed. Bloody hell. What kind of stuff was James getting into here?

“So if I’m understanding you correctly,” Frank said, “you think your boss needs a Dom. And you’d like to learn to be that Dom.”

A shiver ran down Cal’s spine. A Dom. That changed the rules a bit. Explained a lot too. He remembered the way James had begged, and how he’d eagerly sucked Cal’s cock before Cal had even finished giving him the command.

The command. Oh, he did like the sound of that.

He looked Frank in the eye. “Yes. I’d like to learn to be that Dom.”

Frank chuckled. “And you want one of my guys to teach you so your boss doesn’t need to come in and pay my guys—and me—to do it for him?”

Cal’s face burned. “I . . . yeah. I hadn’t thought of it like that, but . . .”

Frank glanced at Brandon again.

Before either of them could say anything, Cal said, “I’ll pay. I’m not looking to take away your business or anything.” Well, except for one client in particular . . .

Smiling, Frank nodded. “It’s all right. I understand. Sounds like this guy is lucky to have you.” He tapped his big fingers on the table. “I think I know someone who can help. If you leave me your name and number, I can have Nick get in contact with you.”

Cal blinked. Nick? Really? “I thought he wasn’t here anymore.”

“He’s not.” Frank waved a hand. “But a situation like this? I think he might be able to help.”

“Oh. Okay. Uh, thanks.” He hesitated. “Except then I’ll be taking your business away and going to someone who doesn’t work here anymore.”

Frank’s smile was gentle and kind. “It’s not something I plan to make a habit of, but Market Garden won’t cave in if it loses one occasional client. And if you learning to help him is best for him in the long run . . .” He half shrugged.

“Thank you,” was all Cal could say.

He gave Frank his name and mobile number, and left Market Garden feeling . . . strange. A little guilty that he was seriously overstepping his bounds. A little optimistic that he might be able to give James what he needed, whatever it was he was getting here. Perhaps more.

And terrified that this was going to blow up in his face.



He did go home with a clearer head, so when he arrived back well before midnight, he settled down with a cup of tea and actually got some writing done. He forced himself to write five hundred words on his thesis, but it started to bore him so he opened another work in progress. This one was a space opera, his “unstucking project,” and he always turned to it when his thesis or the other book stalled and he still had words in him.