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“Make yourself comfortable,” says Richie with a vague gesture toward the room. “I haven’t really been in it for more than a couple hours myself.”
I take a leisurely stroll around the couch. The TV, huge and wide-screen, sits on a long glass table across from it. “So where were you messaging me from earlier? When you were in my chat room?”
He’s at the kitchen counter with a menu and his phone in hand. “On my work laptop, while sitting right there on that couch. It goes everywhere I go. What do you like?”
I’m inspecting the hotel emblem embroidered into the throw pillows on the couch: a big white clover with black, cursive lettering. “Anything.”
“How about I have them grill us up some tasty steaks? Side of asparagus? Red garlic potatoes, with a salad lightly spritzed with vinegar and oil? Finish off with a slice of their signature White Clover lava cake topped with strawberries for each of us?”
I quirk an eyebrow at him. “Honestly, I could just go for a mean grilled cheese and fries, man.”
Richie blinks once. Then he gently brings the phone to his ear and speaks while keeping his eyes on me. “Yes, hello. I’d like to put in an order for two grilled cheese sandwiches with fries. Yes, that’s what I said. Actually, make those truffle fries. Yes, thank you. Please add two slices of your signature White Clover lava cake as well, with extra sauce and strawberries. Yes, that’s right. That’ll do. Yes, perfect. Thank you.” He hangs up the phone, then spreads his hands. “Compromise.”
I smile. “Been a while since I’ve allowed myself to eat a slice of cake.” I pick up one of the pillows, squeezing it out of curiosity. Firm, yet silky.
“Says the man who just asked me to order him a grilled cheese and fries.” Richie watches me from the kitchen. “I see so much of myself in you.”
I toss the pillow back on the couch. “That so?”
“The life in your eyes. The open willingness to just … go with whatever’s thrown at you.” Richie shakes his head. “I miss feeling so free.”
“Free?” I laugh. “Says the man in a penthouse, with the freedom to buy whatever he wants, travel wherever he wants, and stay in penthouses. How free do you really think I am?” I walk along the outside of the room, gazing through the windows at the city stretching out below. “I dance at the club and strip on camera to pay my rent and my tuition … which will someday be enough to attend an offline college for my Bachelor’s degree. Any extra dough I can spare goes to my sisters, even if it means postponing my dreams a bit longer. And—”
“I suspect you do that a lot.”
I pause by the window closest to the kitchen and turn to him. “Do what?”
“Postpone your dreams for the sake of others’.”
He’s a walking contradiction in his own way. He has the strong, groomed beard of a husky man, yet speaks as softly as fresh-fallen snow. His eyes carry the hunger and depth of a man who will go to any length to get what he wants, yet I know his sexual interests are relatively tame and safe, and his mannerisms, gentle.
I’ve never been so intrigued by someone.
“You gotta do what you gotta do,” I reply. “I make sure my loved ones are taken care of.”
“It speaks volumes about your character. It truly does. But it leaves me wondering … when does Zak take care of Zak?”
“Zak always takes care of Zak.” I smirk proudly as I come up to the counter across from him and slide onto a stool. “By the way, how much does a penthouse suite like this cost a night? Just curious.”
He ignores my question. “I have no doubt you pay your rent on-time, every time. You’re far more organized and responsible than anyone would give you credit for—parents included, I’m sure. And you are studious. And you are driven.”
“Please, you’re giving me a hard-on.”
“There’s your deflecting humor, again. But what of your true needs, Zak? What about satisfying the needs of your soul? Your passions? Your dreams? In fact, this brings me to the very reason I wanted to meet with you in person, at long last.” He props his elbows on the counter and leans forward. His voice lowers, softening to something between mist and cotton candy. “I can help you.”
Yes, of course. The savior thing.
I felt a pinch of it earlier tonight when he first messaged me and went on his polite tirade about how he can save me from having to step foot on another stage ever again. How he’d support me. Pay for me. Push me into my future with loving arms, wanting nothing in return.
But if there’s anything my life has taught me, it’s that nothing is free—and no matter how much these cam-boy saviors insist otherwise, they always want something in return.
