Page 33 of The Liar's Reckoning

It makes him obnoxiously interesting. More so now that I know he’s not opposed to messing around.

He’d be a perfect rebound. I’ve been all over the place since Ben left, mostly using my contract with Katia and those clients to get my needs met. An orgasm is an orgasm, and I usually manage one, even in situations where I’m less than attracted to the person I’m with. Graham was rare—a jackpot hookup. Sexy, enthusiastic, able to take instruction, and surprisingly talented at all the things that matter.

It’s no wonder I can’t stop thinking of him.

Eric is studying at the kitchen table when I emerge from the bedroom dressed for the gym with my backpack strapped on. He glances up at me ruefully. I give him a questioning look.

“This research is killing me,” he says.

I don’t know what to tell him. I used to want what he wants—to go to school, study hard, and have a real career, but life didn’t go as planned. “Did we confirm the date for the birthday party?” I ask.

“Yeah. Next Wednesday. Are you bringing anybody? I was thinking about asking Hailey, but I didn’t know if anyone else would be bringing dates.”

“I won’t have one.” I grab a premade protein drink from the fridge and give it a thorough shake.

“You’ve been busy, huh?” he asks.

“Yeah, and I’m heading back to my mom’s this weekend to give my aunt a break. I’m sorry I haven’t been much help.”

“Hey, we’re good with you just showing up,” he says.

“I can handle that,” I tell him. My phone buzzes in my other hand. I glance down at the screen to see a message from Katia. It makes me sigh. I’ll look at it later because I have a feeling it’s going to require rearranging some of my weekend plans. Heading for the door, I tell Eric I’ll see him later.

On the way to the train, I open her message. This one makes me cringe. A threesome with a mananda woman. A married couple willing to pay three grand for my Friday night. When I’m hired for a job, the details aren’t always obvious. The person paying for my time is under no obligation to state what they want me to do for them. There are rules I have—boundaries that can’t be crossed in every contract—hard limits. Sex with women is actually one of them.

Group scenarios aren’t, though. None of this means clients will always adhere to my limits. I’ve been talked into inserting my cock into a vagina before, or have gotten so caught up in a frenzy of fucking that things happened, but I’m GAY in all caps. Thepossible one percent of me that is capable of being attracted to a woman has a very specific type down to build, bone structure, haircut, robust slutty energy, and a preference for anal sex. These women—if they even exist outside my imagination—would be unicorns.

I’ve yet to meet one, and I’m not looking. What I’m saying is I don’t want to be around a vagina Friday night, but three grand is more than enough for me to deal with one in close proximity.

When Graham walks into my training area exactly on time, he’s a sight for sore eyes, cleansing my mind of conjured images of a threesome and reminding me exactly why I prefer men.

Gone are the cap and sunglasses, leaving an unobscured view of his dazzling eyes and his dark, wavy hair. In his political ads, he’s always got it slicked back like an Armani model, but in real life—or I guess the casual side of his life—it’s soft and frames his face in a way that looks not at all senatorial. He’s so fucking handsome. “I like your hair like that,” I can’t help but tell him.

He reaches up to touch it, like he’s reminding himself he has hair at all. “I need to cut it.”

“Why?” I ask as I rack a barbell for his squats.

“Need to look the part.”

“Right.” My general annoyance when it comes to Graham Lawther crests. As a gay man who doesn’t think I have anything to be ashamed of, people living a lie at the level he is piss me off on principle. I don’t know if it’s because I think there’s something about me they find shameful—like is he secretly judging me for admitting to liking cock? Not that he would ever say that to my face, which also annoys me.

Or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s a liar. But all politicians are. I’m not new here. It makes me reconsider what happened in the park earlier, though. Am I that guy now? The one who’ll trade blow jobs with no feelings just because some asshole I was in love with for a few years cast me aside for a job opportunity?

I want to say no, no way I’m that guy, butthisguy still doesthings to me. The majority of thoughts I have about Graham are filthy and borderline depraved. The others are like I said before—annoyed. And he wonders why I have a hard time being civil around him.

“Leg day?” he asks innocuously.

“Why? Your shins bothering you? We can do core again, but I wouldn’t recommend chest and arms.”

“I was only asking. That looks like a lot of weight.”

“Yeah, it’s a leg day.” I clip in the last plate and straighten up. My gaze rakes down his body, taking in the tighter workout clothes he’s traded for the baggier t-shirts and sweats of last week.

I hate to say it, but I don’t remember what his dick looks like. It’s been about six months since that night at the Plaza, and I don’t recall ever getting a great look at it that night. It felt good enough when it was buried in my ass—I remember that much. It knew how to get the job done. He pitches a big tent, too. Not that I see one now.

Now, he’s clearing his throat, and when I meet his eyes, he’s smirking. “Might be a little too public for me here,” he says.

I give my head a shake, frustrated with myself for being so fucking obvious. I wish desire had a switch. One I could flick off when it becomes too bright or inconvenient. I feel way more hard up than I should, given that he blew me this morning, and I’ll almost certainly get laid tomorrow night.

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