Take It Off (Market Garden, #2)(2)

“Yes, still working together.” Tristan stretched and rolled his shoulders, then inched closer. Game face on. He went from mildly annoyed to seductive in his blasé way that Jared envied but still hadn’t managed to copy. “What’s your budget?”

Rolex gave a quiet laugh, eyes narrow as he met Tristan’s. “My budget isn’t an issue. It’s a question of what I want. The price”—he waved a hand—“is a minor detail. I’m just thinking of something a little different than the last couple of times.”

Jared gulped. The first time, Rolex had wanted to watch Tristan f*ck Jared. Second time, he’d had Jared give Tristan a lap dance. What the hell did he have in mind tonight?

“All right,” Tristan said, still locking eyes with Rolex. “What’s your pleasure, then?”

“Something I thought about all the way across the Atlantic.” Rolex’s gaze slid towards Jared, then back towards Tristan. “Watching you guys is hot, but I think I’m in the mood to be watched tonight.”

Jared’s heart sped up. Tristan didn’t give any outward reaction. As always, he seemed bored by the discussion, but Jared had long ago learnt that was just part of his game. He played johns with the most skilled poker face Jared had ever seen.

“Watched?” Tristan casually picked up his drink. “Doing . . .?”

Rolex nodded towards Jared. “Him.”

And Tristan choked on his soda.

Jared blinked, more at Tristan’s reaction than Rolex’s declaration. Tristan was always cool and collected in front of johns, even when he was in one of these moods. His aloof, blasé persona was part of what intrigued these men so much, and Jared didn’t know what to make of him breaking character. It wasn’t like this was the first time someone had asked to f*ck Jared while Tristan watched, though it had been a while. Or, rather, it had been a while since someone had been able or willing to pay the price Tristan commanded.

What the hell, Tristan?

Jared cleared his throat and returned his attention to the john. “So you want to f*ck me while he watches.”

Rolex nodded.

Tristan coughed into his leather-covered arm a few times before schooling his expression, though he couldn’t do much about the red in his cheeks. “That’ll be more expensive than the last couple of times.”

Oh, will it? Jared always deferred to Tristan when it came to pricing out their services, but this didn’t strike him as something that should cost more than their eye-wateringly expensive previous sessions with Rolex.

“I know the routine with you two.” Rolex locked eyes with Tristan. “Hundred pounds every time I want to turn up the heat.”

“Depends on how high you want to turn it up.” Tristan’s voice was flat, almost cold. “Fucking one of us while the other watches? That’s going—”

“I’m not worried about the price, to be honest.” Rolex reached into his inside pocket and pulled a wad of cash out far enough for them to see that he had more than enough. For what he had in that pocket, he could probably have every man in the building blow him. Including some of the other johns.

Tristan eyed the money, and when it disappeared into Rolex’s pocket again, he glanced at Jared for a split second before he shifted his gaze back to his drink. He took a long swallow, then set the glass on the table and pushed it away. “Well. Let’s go.”

Rolex immediately stood. Tristan followed.

Jared hesitated for a moment, watching his partner slide out of the booth. Tristan was moving slowly. No, reluctantly. He was clearly back to his earlier weird attitude. Right about now, he’d usually offer Jared a quick “we’re about to score some serious cash” grin while the john wasn’t looking. This time? Shoulders down. Gaze down.

They needed to talk, Jared decided. Even if the conversation ended on a painful note, it had to happen. Soon. Tonight. After Rolex was finished with them, assuming Tristan still wanted to go back to one of their flats as planned. Wherever they wound up tonight, they needed to hash things out.

But first, they had a job to do.



Tristan didn’t like this. At all.

But why? Rolex was a safe and sane john. He was also loaded and more than happy to pay through the nose for the smallest service.

And Jared was . . .

Tristan stole a glance at him, then swallowed hard and focused on Rolex, watching the man’s back as the three of them headed out of Market Garden. All night long, he’d been chastising himself and telling himself to get it together. So what if Jared had been out with another john? They were rentboys. This was what they did. Tristan himself had sucked off a good-looking lawyer in the back of a limo parked in front of the Garden while Jared was out. Not that he’d been able to focus very well, considering his mind had been on Jared and wherever he’d gone, but the john had seemed satisfied. He’d given him a fifty-quid tip, but Tristan’s heart hadn’t been in it.

His heart hadn’t been in any of this. Not for a while.

Things weren’t quite right between him and Jared, and it was getting worse. Every time they woke up together, the knot in Tristan’s gut tightened, despite his best efforts to ignore it. Something had to give. He’d been pondering getting Jared out of the city for a week or two—they had enough money between them to go on holiday somewhere cheap and preferably warm. Maybe talk things through, figure out where the problem was, and see what they could do about it. It wasn’t something Tristan could tackle on his own.