Page 8 of Judging Duke

Ethan moved his chair a couple of inches away from me. I was bisexual. I didn’t have the plague.

“Struck out, mate?” Adam asked.

“Eh. Plenty more fish in the sea,” I said and tucked into my lunch. Except, right now, I was feeling a little despondent. Usually I couldn’t care less, but his rejection had stung.

Was I losing my touch? I was still good-looking, I took care of myself and worked out in the gym most days.

Or was it his words, calling it ‘gay stuff’?

Yes, that was it. I’d encountered a lot of homophobia in my life, especially while working the streets of Liverpool. I’d thought the younger generation was more accepting, but I guess in his case, it wasn’t.

I couldn’t let it pass by. I placed my knife and fork down and wiped my mouth on my napkin before speaking.

“Are you homophobic, Ethan? Does the thought of a man shoving his dick up another man’s arse disgust you? Because if that’s the case, I’d suggest you leave this table. I think you’ll find you’re in the minority here.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean? Calling it ‘gay stuff’.”

“Go easy, Duke,” Greg said. “I don’t think this is the right place.”

He was probably right, but for some reason, this sat wrong. Letting it go was like all the other times I’d suffered abuse at the hands of another.

Physical, verbal…it didn’t matter. Abuse was abuse.

But Greg was right. I stood, my chair scraping on the expensive wooden floor. My hunger had deserted me, nausea taking its place.

Today had been an odd day. Intrusive thoughts of my former life creeping in.

Adam was right; I needed to get laid, but failing that, a session in the gym would have to suffice.

“Enjoy your lunch, guys. I’m outta here.”

I strode out of the lounge towards the gym. The punching bag had my name written all over it.

As I crossed the reception area, a voice reached my ears. One I hadn’t heard in so long, I thought I must be mistaken.

“Hi, I’d like to check in, please?”

“Certainly, sir. Can I take your name?” Holly was sweetness and light, and if it was who I guessed it was, she’d be staring open-mouthed.

“It’s Simon. Simon Fletcher.”

What the fuck was he doing here? He was the last person I wanted or needed to see, and I retreated hastily, making my way to the staff room. He’d not find me there.

Would this day ever end?

CHAPTER TWO

SIMON

Six long months in LA, and I was dying for a rest. As much as I loved it in the US, my home would always be here. My manager, Dexter, had recommended this exclusive spa, telling me I wouldn’t find a better massage. Discretion was their motto, and he could almost guarantee no one would recognise me.

Well, unless they watched porn, that is.

They’d not know me as Simon Fletcher, but as my alter ego, Simon Stroker. The name was cheesy, as most porn names were, but now I was tiring of the whole thing.

Although I was nowhere near my sell-by date, I had other things I wanted to achieve, and being an award-winning porn star wouldn’t help my case.

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