Page 15 of Wicked

“Do you live here in the city?” Manny asks.

“I used to live in Manhattan. Before Dorian.”

He considers that for a moment. “Then he was your…”

I guess I have to tell my very religious fated mate that I’m a sex worker at some point. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not ashamed of my job. I’m very good at what I do, and it’s honest work. I just hate how judgmental some people are about it.

“Dorian was my client,” I say as casually as possible. “I’m an escort.”

Manny thinks about that for what feels like five million years. “I thought you were in a relationship with him, but the escort thing makes more sense. I can’t imagine you dating someone like that.”

Is that it? No lectures about sex outside the “sacred bonding rituals of the red wolf god?”

“Do you know what being an escort means?” I ask.

“Yeah. You date people professionally, and sometimes there is sex involved? Or maybe that’s only in the TV shows Anne likes. I don’t know much about the profession.”

That is not the reaction I was expecting. I thought I’d have to explain myself or at least argue with him until he promised to be polite.

“And you’re not upset?”

He holds back a smile. “Would you like me to clutch my pearls or something?”

“Um, yeah. Maybe a little bit.”

He squeezes my hand. “Judging other people is a sin, and you know how I feel about sin.”

Why is that so fucking romantic? He’s giving me butterflies while talking about sin.

I guess Anne warned me he’s a good man. I was right to trust her.

“How are you being so cool about this?”

He shrugs. “My best friend does porn.”

“What? Who is your best friend?” The words fly out before I can stop them. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

“There’s no need to be sorry. He’s not secretive about it with his friends or anyone else for that matter. It’s Timber.”

My eyes widen. “Timber? As in… Daddy Timber? Not that Timber, right?”

Timber was arguably one of the most famous porn stars in the business. I wasn’t all that interested in porn, and even I knew who he was.

Manny laughs. “I think he does Daddy stuff? I don’t know. His mate calls him Daddy sometimes when he thinks I can’t hear.”

I open my mouth and shut it again. How did someone like Manny become friends with someone like Timber?

“We’re here,” the driver says, pulling up to the curb in front of Revolver’s apartment building.

Manny pays the driver, and we step out onto the wide sidewalk in front of the building. The lobby is lit up, even in the middle of the night. A doorman I’ve never seen before waits in front of the big, glass doors. I wonder what happened to Larry, who was often working when Revolver and I came back here after the bars closed down for the night.

Will Revolver still buzz me in after what I said the last time we saw each other? I made up some stupid story about falling in love with Dorian. I told him I had to cut ties with them because Dorian wanted me to make friends who weren’t escorts.

He didn’t believe it. I could see it plain as day on his face. But the hurt in his eyes was very real. “Just like that? You’d choose some rich bastard over us? Fuck you, Candlewick. Fuck you.”

The doorman stares at Manny’s clothing as we approach. Instead of shrinking in embarrassment, Manny approaches the door without shame. He even leans in and whispers, “I don’t think he’s ever seen a taco cat before.”

I don’t know why I find his humor so surprising. Maybe because I assumed he’d be stodgy and inflexible because of his religious beliefs. I certainly didn’t expect him to be charming or funny.

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