Page 143 of The Liar's Reckoning

“Perfect.”

She gives me a hug, and we sway like that for a minute. “Can we not just slip out the back?” I ask. “I hate being here.” Drew and Olivier are too close for comfort, and Drew isn’t being subtle about checking out me and my date. My phone has buzzed twice since I’ve been here, and I’d bet my pay for tonight it’s him.

“Fine, but Gil isn’t expecting us until eleven.”

“Then let’s grab a drink and a slice,friend. My treat.”

“Deal.” She slides her palms down my arms and takes one of my hands in hers. “Elevator’s open. Let’s make a run for it.”

I wasGilbert Montgomery’s 21stbirthday present from his sister, which isn’t to say he didn’t ask for me. He, like someone I used to know, wanted to lose his virginity. And not unlike the senator, was unable to go about it in the usual way.

He’s a beautiful mess, and easily the most rewarding client I’ve ever had. I know I’m not a doctor or nurse or what I used to think I wanted to be—a physical therapist, but as an escort, I do offer a service that makes people feel good—at least in a moment. I’m not delusional—they probably leave me feeling like shit about themselves half the time, but not Gil.

Gil has a terrible stutter which led to being bullied, which led to severe social anxiety. Like way worse than anyone I’ve ever met. His preferred form of communication is online. Some of his online friends are even local, like the Z guy, but he won’t meet them, afraid of being mocked or rejected.

He doesn’t talk about his past much—he doesn’t talk much at all. I get it. No one likes to dredge up their painful pasts. I would know since ninety-nine percent of the time I pretend I don’t have a past at all.

My broken and his broken fit together in a nice way. Not inthe kind of way where I could fall for him—he’s too young and not my type. But in the way that makes sex feel less like a transaction and more like a mutually satisfying experience. He’s usually the one I think of now when I’m with other men. I imagine I’m here in his dark, moody bedroom, that those are his hands around my hips. His cock inside me, although, in reality—we don’t usually have sex that way.

The few times he’s topped were magnificent, though. Exactly what I needed.

If you didn’t know him, you might think Gil was in a band. He’s tall and lean—all sinew and muscle. He dyes his long hair black and wears black nail polish. He dresses in flannel, jeans or baggy loungewear. Almost exclusively black. He has no discernible scars or tattoos, but he does have a tongue piercing. Lilah’s gift for his 18thbirthday, I’m told.

I like it.

Especially when he hooks it through my nipple rings.

Lilah calls me his sex nanny, and I can’t argue with the implication. A good nanny is paid to look after the children and usually bonds with them. Just because it’s a job, doesn’t mean I can’t like the person I’m being paid to take care of.

Gil is safe for me, and we’re attracted to each other. But that’s it. If he decided to end our arrangement tomorrow, I’d miss him, but I’d survive. I certainly wouldn’t feel like my life was over or my heart would never recover.

In fact, I’d wish him well. Not for him to burn in hell.

I come on his abs after tossing the condom aside, mixing my release with his. He drops his feet heavily onto the bed and eventually opens his cool, blue eyes. His eyeliner is smudged halfway down his cheeks and his sweaty hair is plastered to his head.

“Ouch,” he says with a smirk.

“Too rough?”

“Was the wedding that b-bad?”

“Yeah.”

He grabs his discarded t-shirt to wipe up our jizz. I move out from between his legs and look for my underwear. “Come on,” I tell him. “Let me clean you up.”

I shower him, massaging his expensive soap into his skin, working his shoulder and back muscles as I go. I kiss the scar from his collarbone surgery—one of the bones the bullies broke. He also suffered a broken arm and broken nose in his teens. I clean all the makeup off his face before shampooing and conditioning his hair.

He’s capable of all this, of course, and I’m not being paid to fuck him and clean him, too, but we both enjoy it.

I’m aware that there’s some transference happening with him. He lets me take care of him, and I’ve realized I need that. We met a few months after my mom died. I’d bathed her and dressed her, helped her to the bathroom and made sure she took her medication. I’d kept her room clean and her nails trimmed. I’d taken care of her every day for months before she finally passed.

Once she was gone, I was at a loss. I won’t talk about the similarities between Gil and someone else I used to know—another man who suffered broken bones at the hands of mean kids who wouldn’t accept him—but it fucks with me, regardless.

So yeah. I like washing Gil up and tucking him in. I like making sure he has everything he needs before I leave. And I like it even better when he asks me to spend the night.

I still hate sleeping alone, but it’s my fate, I guess.

He doesn’t ask me to stay tonight, though.

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