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The way Zak smirks always looks devilish, like he knows something you don’t. “My thing.”
“You gonna give me some kind of clue what this thing is?”
“Would you date a fifty-two-year-old?”
Of all the random things he could ask … “Huh?”
“Hypothetically.” He crosses his arms. “If … a fifty-two-year-old man—good-looking, healthy, awesome attitude about life, and bearing all the wisdom that comes with a gay man who’s made it through his twenties, thirties, and forties without needing therapy—were to hit you up for a dinner date, would you take him up on it?”
I shrug. “Sure. Age ain’t a thing.” I give Zak a dubious look. “Are you telling me you got yourself into some kinda … sugar daddy situation …?”
Zak snorts at me, then shakes his head. “Nah, never mind. Was just a hypothetical. Anyway, I’m off tonight, so I’ve got nothing to do but think.”
I give him a questioning look, then decide to drop it. “I guess that makes two of us. Someone canceled on me tonight. Death in the family.”
“Oh, a photo shoot? That’s no good.”
“First time someone’s canceled on me since … damn, can’t even say how long.”
As the loud noise persists on the rooftop, Zak glances down at his hand where he starts to pick irritably at a finger, once again looking frustrated.
This guy looks as strained as a well-done steak.
Is this really all to do with some fifty-something he’s so “hypothetically” stressing about?
An idea pops into my head. “Hey, you need any shots done for your, uh … little side business?” I ask. “Looks like you could use a distraction. Plus, the roof work is apparently messing up your gig, so I owe it to you anyway.”
He lifts his eyebrows in surprise, then eyes me. “I don’t think I can afford your services, Dante.”
“I said I owe it to your pasty ass, didn’t I? It’d be on the house. Tenant special.”
Zak laughs at that—until he realizes I’m serious. “Really? Huh. I guess I could use some new shots, yeah.” And then he gawks at me when it belatedly occurs to him what I said. “Hey, I’m not pasty …!”
“You never go out during the day, your hours are always at night …” I shake my head. “You’re a damn vampire, Zak Attack. Until I see you go for a jog at high noon, I won’t be convinced otherwise.”
My phone chimes with a new email.
I give it a look, squinting at the message. “Oh, now that’s a lucky bastard if I’ve ever seen one.”
Zak takes off his hat and gives his hair a raking of his fingers. “Who?”
I lift my phone up in surprise. “I just got a new client inquiry, requesting a scheduling for tonight.” I snort as I give the words another look. “Talk about a ballsy bitch. Tye Jenson’s this joker’s name. Come on. Booking a session’s gotta be done with more than just a few hours’ notice, damn.”
“Well, hey, money’s money,” Zak points out.
I consider it for a moment. “Nah. I’m taking your shots I owe you tonight, remember? Fuck this guy.” I start typing a reply.
Zak’s hand covers my phone. I look up at him, squinting indignantly. “Dante. Seriously. I’ll take a raincheck on my pro bono shoot. C’mon. Book this client, whoever they are.”
With Zak’s hand on top of mine, stopping my typing, I’m forced to give it another thought. After a grunt of frustration, I pull away, revise my reply, then hit send. “Fine. Scheduled. Happy?”
Zak gives me one of his charming dancer-boy smiles. “The happiest.”
I leave Zak to return to his “business” while I slip back into the building and head downstairs to tend to mine. When I reach the first floor, I find Lex at his mailbox sorting through his mail. He eyes me on my way by, then squints suspiciously. “Yep,” I confirm without his asking. “I was upstairs chatting with your favorite stripper. Really, Lex, you gotta bury that damned hatchet of yours.”
His eyes go dark. “Is burying it in his back an option? By the way, that kid you were looking for the other night …”
“Is long gone,” I cut Lex off, leaving him there with his messy handful of mail as I turn and head down to the basement.
I have a back-and-forth with the new client via email, asking him what he’s looking for in a shoot. He gives me an uncertain reply, claims he’s never modeled before, then just tells me he likes my work and trusts me to make him look hot.
In other words, he’s thrust the ball right into my court to make all the creative decisions.
I guess I can roll with that on a night like tonight.
A few productive hours pass where I finish up some edits I had postponed the other day. After a quick change of clothes, I do an inventory of my workspace. I’ve got all my toys. I’ve got whips and rope in all colors. The sling is ready, just in case. Lights, too. The camera has a fresh card in it. I’m—
