Page 11 of Mean Machine

Brooklyn refused to picture him, but in his experience, they weren’t people he’d look at twice when sober. Too bad handing him over piss-drunk wouldn’t work.

Finally the door opened. Soft footfalls. Barefooted or socked. Brooklyn realised his hands had clenched, but he couldn’t get them to relax.

Round 2

“BROOKLYN MARSHALL.”

Brooklyn turned his head. He saw formal trouser legs and then lifted his gaze. Not fat, not old. The man was average-looking, dark hair curling wet at his neck, his skin flushed, likely from a long hot shower in one of the other bathrooms in the suite. Midthirties. Banker or other City type, most likely.

“And you are?”

“Nathaniel.”

“Isn’t that some kind of demon in the Bible?” Brooklyn grinned.

“And you—part of New York City?” Nathaniel stepped closer. “No, not a demon. At least, I don’t think so.”

The accent was public school. So he might not be a trader at all. No Essex boy. “My parents got pissed in New York and ended up fucking in Brooklyn. My mother thought that was a cracking name.”Why are you telling him that? Winning time?

“You look just as big as on TV. Larger than life.”

Brooklyn laughed. “If you want to fuck, let’s skip the roses and chocolates.”

Nathaniel paused, then walked closer and touched Brooklyn’s chest below the collar of the T-shirt. Brooklyn smelled an echo of his citrusy shower gel or aftershave. “I have the night.”

Yeah, he had. Brooklyn didn’t do anything and remained sitting on the edge of the bed. He’d not received any instructions, but that touch confirmed this wasn’t a “fan” who’d ask him about his training regimen or what he’d felt and strategised in the ring. And if his guy had that kind of cash to spend, he was very aware of his own power.

“Simply beautiful. You work very hard, and it shows.”

Brooklyn didn’t dare hope that all the man wanted was to touch him a little. “You’re a fan of boxing?”

“I watch a fight every now and then, but you’re starting to change that.”

“You going to tell me you’re my biggest fan?”

“No.” Nathaniel withdrew his hand. “But if you’ll forgive me, I’ve wanted to do this for weeks.”

“Sure. Be my guest.” Oh hell, this was weird. Brooklyn couldn’t read the man, just felt unease creep all over him. It wasn’t a threat but certainly something he was unable to gauge. What did the man want?

“Shower?”

“I’ve had one.”

“Yes, you probably would. Food?”

“I don’t need anything.” One thing few people realised was how carefully he had to count his calories to maintain his shape. Randomly eating a meal would be breaking a habit he relied on.

“I see.” Nathaniel took a step back and studied him.

Brooklyn expected to be told to get undressed now, certainly based on how the man measured him.

“Then allow me to ask you another question?”

“Sure.”

“Are you gay?”

“No. I go both ways.”

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