Quid Pro Quo (Market Garden, #1)(2)

He never imagined he’d ever be a rentboy. Might be

something to leave off the CV, but he’d deal with that if there were any jobs available at all when he graduated. For now, he enjoyed it, especially with that thick wad of quid he had in his back pocket at the end of an evening.

At the end of most evenings. Before the past three weeks or so, anyway.

Part of him still thought a guy paying for sex was

somewhat pathetic, even though he now understood that

not everybody who did so was too ugly or too creepy to score on the open market, as it were. Some guys just considered it a legitimate shortcut past all the wining and dining or even getting onto Grindr and dealing with people who faked their profile pictures—or total sexual incompatibility even if they hadn’t.

He could get behind that, he supposed, certainly with the

income possibilities it opened up, though he was studying

bloody hard for his exams and thus had cut back on the

work. He didn’t need slow nights like this at al . He was too 3

skint. And his landlord was an arsehole, one of those buy-to-let vampires that kept increasing rents at least every year but consistently failed to get even the most basic repairs done.

Though, it was really hard to think about broken fridges

when he watched Tristan walk. Jared just hoped he looked

even half as nonchalant when he planted himself down in the booth next to Tristan.

Well, if there was a silver lining to all this boredom, it was that it did create an opportunity for Jared to get to know Tristan. Usually work didn’t leave enough time for more than the most superficial socialising with the other employees, so he knew nothing about the guy. Except that he was hot and popular. Tristan might not even be his real name. The only thing he could safely assume was that Tristan’s slouching petulance likely meant he had never managed to hold down a minimum-wage job at Tesco. They tended to like people more eager and awake in those pathetic cashier jobs. Tristan would probably just turn around and saunter off if he got shit from a customer. And jobs like that bred boredom, something for which Tristan obviously had no tolerance.

Jared toyed with his straw. He still couldn’t quite believe he was sitting here next to Tristan. At Tristan’s invitation, no less. He tried not to flatter himself; Tristan hadn’t sought him out in a crowd. Jared had just been the nearest bendable ear without a john trying to climb into his lap.

Jared chased an ice cube around in his glass. “So. Um.

Doing anything for Christmas?”

Tristan shrugged as he leaned back in the booth. He slung

one arm across the back of the seat, almost touching Jared’s goose bump–covered shoulders. “Probably working here.”

He grinned, and his wink f*cked with Jared’s blood pressure.

“You might want to do the same.”





4


“On Christmas?” Jared shook his head. “No way. My

family would string me up.”

“If you didn’t show up? Or if they knew you were here?”

“Both. God. I can just see that. ‘Sorry, Mum and Dad, I’ll be sucking cock on Christmas Eve.’”

Tristan laughed, slim lips pul ing across perfect teeth.

“But think of the lovely gifts you could buy them! They’d just be a little . . . late.”

“I’ll pass,” Jared said. “Maybe next year.”

“Well, you’ll be missing out. This place gets busy as f*ck on Christmas.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Not at al .” Tristan paused to sip his drink. “All those

bankers and traders and managers who’ve worked so hard their wives have left them?” He waved a hand at their surroundings.

“We ought to hang up stockings on the bar, put up a bloody tree, and have Saint Fucking Nick show up.”

Jared laughed. “Can you imagine a Christmas party in

this place?”

Tristan chuckled, his mood lightening a little. “Wrap all

of us lads in garland, paint candy cane stripes on our cocks.

Wouldn’t that be a sight?”

“Could hang ornaments off all the boys with piercings.”

Jared nodded towards Nick, one of the Dominants currently

working his way into some john’s wallet. “I could see him with a couple of coloured balls hanging off his nipples.”

Tristan choked on his drink.

“Sorry,” Jared said, laughing behind his hand.

“Well played.” Tristan coughed a couple of times. “And I

dare you to suggest that to Nick.”

Jared started to speak, but movement beside him caught

his attention—a john, maybe? He turned, and leather creaking 5

behind him told him Tristan had shifted a little. Maybe not sat up, but moved.

The john was in his late thirties, Jared guessed. Good

looking. Short hair, probably light brown, though it was hard to tell with the dim lights. Well off, judging by the bespoke pinstripe suit, not to mention his choice of whorehouses and especially that gold Rolex around his wrist.

Behind Jared, leather creaked again. Tristan had noticed

the watch, no doubt.

Jared was about to get up and get out of the way so Tristan could get to work on his potential client, but the way the guy looked back and forth between them made him stay still.