Page 40 of My Escort (A Different Kind of Escort)

“Hmm.” He looks at the wall, rubbing his chin. “You said this looks perfect?”

“To me, yes.”

“Let’s put it to the test.” He picks up the trowel and runs it over the wall, smearing away the flat finish, leaving scrape marks and lines. “There, it’s not perfect anymore.” His brow lifts as he views me from the corner of his eye.

“No. It’s not.” I laugh.

“You can fix anything.” He draws the trowel gently over the marks. “You just need the right tools to do it.” He scoops a fresh clump of plaster onto the trowel and works it on the wall. “There.” He stands back. “It’s fixed.” He smiles.

“Yes. It’s back to perfect.” I gaze up at the smooth wall, wishing I was so easily fixable.

“Anything broken can be put back together. You just need the right tools and the will to get it done. Granted, you might see the cracks or the imperfections, but I don’t know. If you ask me, it gives it character. Battle wounds and scars should be seen. Hiding them just weakens them. Makes them vulnerable to reopen. Ya know?”

I spy at him from the corner of my eyes. “How old are you?”

“Old enough.” He chuckles, causing a dimple to strike his cheek.

Why is he so easy to talk to? Talking to Brett is like trying to go without the internet for a month. It’s impossible.

“Hey.” He wipes the trowel off and sets it on the step ladder. “You want to go for a drink or something?”

“Ah…” I fumble for my next words.

“It’s okay.” He waves a hand. “I see the way you look at Brett, but I figured I’d give it a shot, anyway.”

“Brett and I, we’re not—”

“You don’t need to explain.” He tosses the rag over his shoulder. Shrugging it off, he picks up the plaster bucket and moves it to the door.

“Lix.”

“Yeah?” He turns and looks at me.

I probably shouldn’t. I was warned not to. “Are you an escort?”

“What?” His cheerful face fades.

“I, ah. A year ago, Brett, he came to my ex’s place, and he… I know about the…” I stop, recognizing the perplexity in his watchful eyes.

Maybe he doesn’t know about the escort service. He’s the youngest. Perhaps, he’s not in on it with his other brothers. Or Brett’s doing it alone.

Shit!

“You met Brett a year ago?”

“Forget it.” I shake my head, realizing my mistake.

He walks over to me. His eyebrows dent inward. “Why would you come back?”

His question validates what I thought. He’s part of it. Otherwise, he wouldn’t ask me that. “I had to for my job. It’s okay. He’s in Sarasota, and that’s an hour from here. He doesn’t know I’m back.”

“You lived in Sarasota? Where?”

“Miller Lane. Why? Did Brett tell you about me?”

“No. We don’t talk about the Julias like that.”

“Julia? Who’s Julia?”

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