5
Coffee in hand,Jensen thumbed through his phone’s contacts as he ambled down the sidewalk. He’d almost dialed Wyatt’s number after leaving the bar the night before but decided it was rude to call so late with personal problems. Now that it was a more respectable hour, he couldn’t hold off a minute longer.
“Hey, how’s the conference going?” Wyatt asked upon picking up.
“Very boring, but I will admit that some of the products in the vendor hall seem interesting. I’ll be talking to Mendes about upgrading our software when I get back.” Jensen took a sip of his coffee, being careful that he didn’t splash it down his shirt as he walked back toward the event. “That’s not why I called though.”
“It’s Saturday, Jensen. We’ve talked about me working on weekends,” Wyatt said, exasperation so evident in his tone that even Jensen picked up on it.
“It’s not work related.” After a quick glance around, he came to stop at a window for a long vacant storefront. The panel he’d skipped in favor of coffee was only half over, and he was socially aware enough to know he shouldn’t have this conversation around his peers. “I’ve been spending my evenings with a sex worker. Is that strange?”
Wyatt made a choking sound. “What?”
“Colloquially I think he’d be referred to as an escort or prostitute, though I’m not certain on the delineation between the terms.”
“I know what a sex worker is, man. Jesus Christ, give me a minute. I can’t talk about this around my family.”
Jensen waited, drinking his cappuccino while leaning a shoulder against the old brick of the building he was taking refuge next to. The morning was still developing in the city. Most of the streets were shaded by the tall buildings that lined the street, and they half reminded Jensen of sharp teeth that were clamped down to keep the warm, humid air still.
There was the sound of a door shutting on the other side of the phone. “Okay. What the hell are you talking about?”
“I met a sex worker the evening I arrived.”
“How?” Wyatt asked. It was a good question. Fair even.
Wyatt had already worked at the firm when Jensen was hired and became his assistant the day he started. As they spent five days a week together, they knew each other pretty well. Jensen knew Wyatt hated pickles but ate them if they were fried, lied to his wife about his energy drink consumption, had two kids he adored, and insisted on a work-life balance. Wyatt knew Jensen lived an incredibly vanilla life. He didn’t even go out to clubs or bars to hook up. With the way he preferred to operate, it was highly likely Jensen would have never run into a sex worker if he hadn’t checked into the Lillian.
“The hotel I’m staying at is a brothel,” he explained, tempering his voice so none of the people passing by heard. “So, what do you think? Is it strange that I’m spending time with one?”
“Back up. You’re staying at a brothel? When did this happen?”
“I checked in Thursday. You should know that, since you did my expense report.”
“Isn’t that—you know, never mind. You’re my boss, Jensen. We can’t talk about this kind of stuff. It’s none of my business what you do with your money or spare time. The less I know, the better, actually.”
“Yes, I am aware of that, but you are my only friend, and I can’t face the humiliation of asking my mother her opinion.”
She would have so many opinions that would most likely end with her packing a bag and flying over to work through the whole situation. Jensen loved his mother, but she had a hard time letting go and allowing him to deal with his own life. It was one contention between them they would probably never get over. The woman would be mothering him well into his retirement if she lived that long.
Wyatt blew out a loud breath, causing Jensen to grimace and move the phone away from his ear until the sound ceased. “Okay, so you’ve been spending time with this guy.”
“Right,” he confirmed. “We talked for a while on Wednesday, then we went to dinner on Thursday and talked for hours. Last night, we chatted again at the bar before I went to bed. Should I seek him out again tonight? I quite like our conservations, but I’ve never been good at telling if the other person does too.”
“Is ‘talking’ a code word?”
“What would it be a code word for? Oh! Sex. No, I do actually mean talking.”
Wyatt sighed. “Are you doing okay? You know it’s all right if you’re lonely or homesick. If you need me, you can always call.”
“I don’t get lonely,” Jensen said and almost laughed at the insinuation. He imagined he would have to enjoy people’s company in order to get lonely without it. If anything, he got the opposite of loneliness. In social situations, Jensen yearned for his quiet house. Even at the office, he took regular breaks in thesupply room to be away from the incessant chatter and ringing phones that pierced his ears.
“If you say so.” Wyatt cleared his throat. “How much are you paying this guy to talk to you?”
“The dinner was thirty-six before tip, then I paid twenty for my drink last night, which included tip. So around sixty-five dollars.”
“He charged you thirty dollars for a dinner?”
“The restaurant charged me for dinner.”
