Page 12 of Mean Machine

Something in Nathaniel’s face relaxed. “Some friends would dispute whether there are only two ways, but that’s a technicality.”

“Listen, you want to fuck, you say the word. There’s no need for small talk. I don’t need roses to get in the mood. You paid for the time, what you say goes. We’re both getting out of this what we need.” Hell, he was now selling this thing to the guy who’d paid for him. Maybe because the situation was already so weird. Usually it was about sex, and that was fine. Some tried to start a conversation, but it was clearly nothing more than a social convention. Others jumped him the moment he came through the door.

This guy, though, didn’t seem to have anything riding on it. He didn’t seem focused on the sex, didn’t even seem to want him particularly badly. Maybe he was getting over his shyness, but if this man was shy, he was hiding it well.

“You’re straight from a fight. Maybe you want to rest? Sleep?”

“Maybe.” He stood and stretched his legs, noted that Nathaniel was about as tall as he was. Six foot three-ish. But Brooklyn had at least thirty pounds on him, and a much lower body fat percentage. Plus, he was a fighter, and Nathaniel clearly wasn’t. Nice dark blue eyes, though. “You seem very relaxed.”

Nathaniel chuckled. “I don’t think you’ll get violent. Despite your reputation.” He left the room, and Brooklyn followed him, for lack of anything better to do. But that at least made him feel less vulnerable.

The vast lounge had a fireplace, surrounded by glass on three sides. Lights were dimmed. An enormous LED screen was mounted on one wall, showing golf.

“Now there’s a pointless sport if I’ve ever seen one,” Brooklyn huffed and plonked down on the couch. “May I?”

Nathaniel regarded him with one ironically lifted eyebrow. “Do you want to sleep here?”

“I could.” Brooklyn sank back in the soft cushions.

“I’m like that. I sleep best with the TV still on,” Nathaniel said and motioned for Brooklyn to suit himself.

Brooklyn grabbed one of the cushions, placed it against the armrest, and stretched out, arms crossed over his chest. However, he couldn’t drift off. Despite the fact that he’d lived in communal quarters for close to three years, he still struggled to fall asleep with a stranger moving around the room. He cracked an eye open. “So what’s your plan?”

“Do some paperwork.”

“That’s weird. I mean, you’re paying for this place and my time. And then don’t use either.”

“I got a very good deal on the suite. Maybe it’s not what you expected, but trust me, I’m getting my money’s worth.” Nathaniel glanced at him, mock-coyly.

“Understood. You’re all about control.”

Nathaniel smiled. “No. I’m all about savouring the moment.”

“Well, I had a fight, and I’m wrung out. I’ll catch a wink or two. Wake me when you want to fuck. Don’t stick anything in my face while I’m asleep, okay?”

“Okay.” Nathaniel seemed to suppress a grin, with the sudden tightness around his lips, but his eyes gave the humour away.

MORNING WASbright, golden, and glorious, pouring into the window at the front of the suite, and Brooklyn basked in it before he fully realised where he was and why. The clock on the wall said seven thirty. He’d slept through his usual waking time. Sunday morning. When was he expected back? He rolled off the couch and went in search of the bathroom to piss.

Nathaniel wasn’t around. There were a couple of bedrooms—but Brooklyn didn’t walk into any of those—a kitchenette, and a bathroom larger than the communal shower at the gym. He had a quick shower and dressed again before he finally headed for the kitchenette in search of a cuppa.

“Good morning.”

“Fuck, you move like a wraith.”

Nathaniel looked pleased at that, the way his eyes lit up. He was almost dressed—the same sharp grey suit trousers with a white shirt tucked in and open at the collar. French cuffs, Brooklyn noticed, and Nathaniel was fiddling his cufflinks into the openings. “Breakfast?”

“I could eat a horse.”

“I don’t believe it’s on the menu.” Delivered straight-faced with an underhanded humour Brooklyn tried not to like. “But I’m sure they’d make an attempt if I placed the order.”

“Bacon and eggs would do me, then.”

“Tea? Coffee?”

“Tea.”

Nathaniel nodded and turned to call room service, Brooklyn assumed. He headed to the dining area with its high-backed designer chairs surrounding a glass table. Friday’sFinancial Timessat next to the fruit bowl. The Lex column was on top. Headline:PM to announce a “final” round of austerity.

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