When I open my eyes again, Lindsey looks shocked. "Oh, my God, Gare. Is it serious? You went all gooey and smiley there for a second."
I shrug again, my smile losing its shine. "I'd like it to be, but he wants to keep things professional. So, I don't know where that leaves me."
She considers me for a second. "I know you made a lot of mistakes, Gare. There were probably red flags in hindsight that our relationship wasn't good for you. But I really hope you know you deserve to be happy." I open my mouth to argue with her, but she interrupts me. "This is the first time I've seen you happy outside of the kids in a long time. That's important, Gare. I know I've said this before, but I would really love to see you in love. With the right person," she adds. I run my hand down my face in frustration.
Could I be in love with him already? Probably. If he gave me any indication he wanted more, I'd already be at his feet. But it'snot as simple as saying, "I'm gay. I want you. Be my boyfriend?" I wouldn't want to share him with anyone. I don't know if I could be at home while he went out on a Friday night to see a client. The insecurity and jealousy would eat me alive. No matter how committed to each other we were. Would he leave his job for me? His career? All of his regular clients? That's a lot to ask from anyone.
For someone who's never been chosen, I find it hard to believe that anyone would give up their career for me. Choose me over something as important as their career.
Lindsey's hand resting against my chest brings me back to the present.
"I know you tell me you know all this already, but I wish you felt it. I wish you felt that you deserve love and happiness. You were a good husband and are a great dad. You're a catch. He'd be lucky to have you."
I chuff out a tired chuckle.
"I'm lucky to have you, Linds. You know that? Don't give up on me. Maybe if you tell me that enough, I'll eventually believe it?"
I give her the biggest smile I can muster, and it's not much. She wraps me up in a hug again before we say our goodbyes. I drive back to my apartment like a zombie. My world fades into black and white again without my kiddos.
I let myself into the apartment, click on the TV for some background noise, and plop onto my couch. I'm not really interested in watching anything, but I bring up my banking app on my phone.
I get paid on the first and the fifteenth. Yesterday was the fifteenth, but since it’s Sunday, the money won't hit my account until tomorrow. Or, I guess, tonight at midnight.
So, I spend the next six hours watching and waiting for the minute the money hits my account at midnight.
Then I send Trey another deposit.
Chapter twelve
Trey
Gareth's waiting for me again in the same hotel room. I'm glad he reached out again, but I'm a little nervous about round two. If the first session with him messed up my mental focus so much, what will another session with him do to me?
He stands from the bed, wiping his hands on the front of his slacks; still nervous, but his easy smile hits me low in the gut. It's eager, hopeful. His eyes shine with excitement. And I find it warming my chest at the idea that just my presence has that effect on him. I've had plenty of clients happy to see me, but something about the vulnerability and trust of the man standing in front of me has my lungs squeezing in on themselves.
"Brockman," I say, a small smile tugging at my lips.
He clasps his hands behind himself and rocks up on his toes. "Huang," he replies, his smile growing impossibly wider.
"Should I..." he starts, jerking a thumb towards the bathroom.
I nod. "Please."
He spins on his heel quickly and shuts the bathroom door behind himself. I take a few deep breaths in and out, willing my thrashing heart to calm down and my soul to center.
I take the lube and plug out of my bag and set them on the nightstand next to the bed, knowing exactly what I want to explore with him tonight. I pull my shirt off and my jeans. I know he likes my body if the heat in his eyes and the way he drank in my chest are any indication.
The shower shuts off a few minutes later, and he appears again in the doorway, wrapped in a white towel, a rivulet of water he missed trails down his chest, and his hair is still wet on the bottom. His eagerness is charming.
My own cock thickens against my leg in anticipation. Gareth is the poster boy of an all-American jock. Strong jaw, longish crew cut, thick biceps, broad chest. He has the build of a football player, and I find myself wanting to drag my tongue down his chest. Maybe I will tonight. If he's comfortable. That's obviously the priority.
"Would you like to lie down?"
He nods eagerly and crawls across the mattress, settling himself on his back. His towel sags open between his legs, showing off a teasing slip of pale inner thigh.
I take a moment to appreciate how sweet he looks lying on the bed for me. I want to do everything to him. I want to touch him, drag my lips all over his body, make him feel good, see him come. He's glorious when he lets himself go. The memory of him coming a week ago floats through my mind again. Head tossed back, jaw slack, eyes soft, like the weight of the world finally slid off his shoulders.
It filled me with a sense of pride and satisfaction that I could do that for him.