Page 87 of Escorted

“What aboutyour clients? Your engagements?”

Ander rubbed ahand over his smooth bald head, and he looked rather uncomfortable as headmitted, “There are no clients.”

“What?” Herwhole body was shaking with shock, bewilderment and expectation.

Meeting hereyes, Ander said simply, as if he weren’t upending her entire world, “I have noclients anymore. I’ve retired.”

“But all thoseevenings you’re gone—with your case?”

Reluctantly, Anderpulled up his case and set it between them on the couch. He opened it andtilted it over so Lori could see inside. No condoms, DVDs, vibrators, or props.Just books, pens and pencils, a notebook, and a small laptop. “I don’t go tomeet clients. I have classes, seminars, or go to the library to study.”

Lori sprawledback on the couch, so overcome she felt limp and weak. “I can’t believe this.You’re working on a degree?”

Ander noddedand looked a little sheepish “A PhD in Archeology.”

“And the joball next month?”

“A fieldproject on Santorini.”

“Oh, God, Ander,”Lori said hoarsely. “Why didn’t you tell me? We’re supposed to be friends.You’ve been lying to me all this time.”

Ander leanedover and pulled her up again so she was sitting upright. He kept his hands onher shoulders, their weight warm and strong. “I’m sorry, Lori. But, yes. I waslying to you.”

“For how long?”

“A long time.”

Suddenly, Lori’sheart started to hammer, and her blood began to throb through her veins. “Whendid you stop seeing clients, Ander?” she whispered.

Ander took abreath and moistened his lips. Then he admitted in a raspy voice, “You were mylast client.”

Somehow, sheknew there was more. “And when did you stop seeing all the others, Ander? Youtold me you were cutting back.”

“I was cuttingback. Cutting back on all of them but you. Sarah Jacoby was the last.”

“Oh God!” Lorifelt like the world was spinning around her. She pulled out of Ander’s handsand got off the couch. She paced the room restlessly, not even seeing the wideexpanse of sunny windows, the solid, historic furniture, or the books and artthat were scattered around.

When she feltlike she could breathe and speak normally, she returned to Ander on the sofa.“But why?”

It took a longtime before Ander answered. Then he said without a trace of his normaleloquence, “I...I didn’t want to do that...to myself. Anymore.”

And it wasenough. Lori understood. There might be more to the explanation—in fact, sheknew there must be more since he hadn’t stopped seeing her as a client—but Lorididn’t need it. Not until Ander was ready to tell her.

He’d understoodeverything she did about how unhealthy that job was for him. Understood it farearlier than Lori had hoped. Months ago now.

His retirementwas not a dramatic gesture made in hopes of achieving a romantic fantasy. He’ddone it for himself—because the man he’d been for the last ten years wasn’t whohe wanted to be.

There wasanother question she needed to ask but she wasn’t yet ready to ask it. Wasn’tyet ready to hear the answer.

“Why didn’t youtell me sooner?” she asked instead, reaching out to put a hand on his knee sohe’d know she wasn’t mad.

Ander exhaledthickly and shook his head. “A lot of reasons. Your being my client made it difficultfor full confession.”

“I haven’t beenyour client for the last two months. And yet you’ve kept lying to me.” Shespoke gently, not wanting the words to sting.

Apparently theydid anyway. Ander turned his head away with a jerk. “I know. I am sorry. If ithelps, I’ve felt like an ass about it. But it was a delicate situation. And Idug myself into a hole by letting the ruse go on for so long. And, also, Ithought perhaps—if you knew I was no longer seeing clients—you might not letyourself get so close to me.”

He seemedalmost embarrassed at the last admission, but he cut his eyes over to check herexpression.

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