On the Clock (Market Garden, #8)(12)

But as he waited for the elevator, shifting his weight to get the blood flowing, a few lingering aches in his legs made him wonder if a rematch with Jason would be worth possibly making some costly faux pas tomorrow. He did like to live dangerously, after all. Maybe playing “super subtle emotional cue” roulette with a client wasn’t as crazy as skydiving or bull riding, but a f*ckup could be expensive. On the other hand, the risk of an expensive f*ckup would be a small price to pay for a long night with Jason.

The elevator opened, and Blake stepped inside and requested the street level.

Was he getting too into the thrill of hot prostitutes who could push his buttons? He was becoming more of an adrenaline junkie than perhaps was wise. At this rate, by the time he was forty—which wasn’t that far off—the only way he’d be able to get excited would be by having sex in the middle of the road during the running of the bulls.

Then again, after one hot night with Jason, why not indulge in another? Maybe a few more, since he was in town for a week? It was entirely possible that by the time he came back to London, Jason would have moved on anyway. If Blake wanted some of last night’s thrill, he was going to have to suck it up tomorrow.

And stop at the ATM on his way to Market Garden tonight.

So, later that evening, he walked into Market Garden. He was a bit nervous he might meet a British colleague here, though it would quite possibly not be a problem, much like the unspoken rule that allowed colleagues to stand at the urinal and neither chat nor comment on what was happening. He didn’t care if he outed himself; it was more that there were things he didn’t want to know about a colleague, and their choice of rentboy was one of them.

The security guard—Brandon—grinned at him when their eyes met, and Blake smiled back. “Good evening. Any chance that Jason is in tonight?”

Brandon shook his head. “Not for another hour or two. He keeps his own time. Sometimes he only peeks in for ten minutes and decides it’s not worth it.”

“Damn.” Momentarily at a loss, Blake surveyed the rentboys in the room, but no one caught his eye. His appetite for tonight was all about Jason. The others might do in a pinch, but he wanted Jason, and he was the type who’d rather wait an hour for a good steak than make do with takeout. Speaking of . . . “Is there any place you’d recommend for food around here?”

“Depends what you like,” Brandon said. “We’re spoiled for choice, and it gets worse if you’re willing to drive a bit.”

“But then I might miss him if he comes in.”

“I’ll tell him you were asking, but yeah, he can get impatient.”

And here I am trying to fit into a prostitute’s social calendar. When did that happen?

“You guys need to serve food.”

Brandon grinned and shrugged. “Don’t really have the facilities for that, I’m afraid.”

“Guess not.”

“How desperate are you?” Brandon lifted an eyebrow, and Blake did appreciate the double edge in the question. Hadn’t Jason mentioned that Brandon was a Dom? No surprise he too knew how to press Blake’s buttons.

“Desperate for food, or . . .?”

“Either or.” The eyebrow stayed up. Yeah, Brandon saw right through him, didn’t he?

Blake broke eye contact and scanned the room again. “A Coke will probably do me for now. I’ll eat something later.”

He might have imagined the snicker coming from Brandon. He sure as hell didn’t imagine the “yeah, I’ll bet you’ll be eating something later” grin. Bastard.

“Well, there are plenty of booths available,” Brandon said. “Grab one, and I can send him your way if he shows up.”

“Great. Thanks.” Blake flashed him a smile, then headed to the bar for what he guessed would be round two of the pre-Jason mind-f*cking: Raoul.

The beast of a bartender was already mixing a couple of drinks for a lanky rentboy in—as all his colleagues were—black leather and not much else. The rentboy glanced at Blake and gave him an appraising down-up, but didn’t say anything. Considering two of the three drinks he’d ordered were alcoholic, Blake suspected this guy’s dance card was full for the evening.

While Blake waited for the bartender, he glanced back at Brandon. The security guard made eye contact. Then he held up his cell phone and winked.

Blake’s heart accelerated. Had he called Jason?

Please, please, please . . .

“Another virgin rum and Coke?” Raoul’s voice startled him.

Blake faced him. “Uh, no, let’s make it an actual rum and Coke this time.”

“No more virginity.” Raoul winked as he reached for a glass. “Good man.”

Blake almost choked. He’d been here enough times, he should have been used to how shameless and flirtatious all the employees were in this place, but . . . Jason. That guy had f*cked up everything in Blake’s mind, and it probably showed. God help him tomorrow when he had to read the guys in his meeting.

Raoul chuckled. He quickly mixed the drink and handed it over. Blake muttered a thanks, left a tenner on the bar, and went searching for a booth. He found one near the edge of the room, and from there, he could see the door. Not that he had any reason to be watching it like a hawk. Especially not with the growing number of well-dressed men beginning to hover around the sidelines. Some were getting drinks. Some were checking out the leather-clad guys who were in turn checking them out. Some were watching that door.