Dexter is a rent boy falling for his new client. Logan is a homicide cop falling for his rent boy. Now madly in love, Logan discovers Dexter is dangerously in thrall to a gangster whose clutches he can’t escape. When the gangster finds out about the two of them, he targets Dexter’s friend in revenge. The quickest answer is a safe house, but how long will it be safe?
It’s Tuesday night. I’m sitting in the bar of the Oceanfront hotel in Seal Beach. It’s an upmarket place, expensive, but I know the manager, Michael, and he lets me rent a room by the hour. For free favours obviously. I think he’s half in love with me and I try not to encourage him, but what can a man do?
Tonight I’m meeting a man named Logan. He found me via my website as most people do these days, now I’ve reinvented myself as high-class after years of hanging around on street corners as the lowest kind of rent boy. My website is tasteful, no naked shots or anything as crass as cock size or prices.
I’m not choosy about being with men or women. The women are harder to please than the men. I always seem to get the ones who can’t come during penetrative sex and maybe that’s why they come to me, seeing as my oral skills are legendary. I’ve never sent a woman home without at least one orgasm and I’ve had ladies crying in gratitude on their way out the door because they’ve never come in their lives before. That’s quite a satisfying part of the job I can tell you.
Logan had sounded nervous and hesitant on the phone yesterday. At my most professional, I spoke to him calmly and took charge of the situation, telling him I would meet him in the bar at this hotel. I told him we would have a drink and then go up to the room if that was okay with him. He agreed and then I ran through a list of prices and asked him what he wanted.
He was silent for a long time and then finally he said, in the lowest voice, “I don’t know.”
I formed a mental image of him. Either a married guy in his thirties, or a very young virgin with no sexual experience at all, trying to come to terms with the fact that he was gay. He didn’t sound that young though. Either way, it sounded like a nice easy night for me. Nothing to place too much pressure on me.
“That’s okay,” I reassured him. “Is it likely to be anything not on that list?”
“All right. Then we’ll discuss it in further detail when we meet. What’s your name by the way?”
“Okay, Logan, I’ll see you on Tuesday. Looking forward to it.”
I’m sitting at the bar with a vodka, eyeing the door when a man walks into the room and my glance turns to a stare. Christ on a bike. He’s maybe in his early thirties, tall, perhaps six feet two and all muscle, his biceps straining the smart black shirt he wears, his black hair slicked back from his pale face and gleaming. Handsome in a satanic kind of way. He pauses and looks around for a moment and it feels like my heart jumps into my mouth. I really can’t be so lucky, can I?
Then his gaze focuses on me and he starts to walk towards me and, oh my God, my cock actually twitches.
“Logan?” I ask as he reaches me, trying not to stare, trying not to let him see how hot I find him.
He nods, smiles a tight, no-teeth smile and I gesture to the stool beside me and ask him what he’s having. “Jack and Coke.” His eyes are fixed on the bottles behind the bar rather than on me.
He thanks me when his drink arrives and takes a large gulp of it.
“So, Logan.” I never like this small talk, but the air of tension radiating from him is palpable. “You from round here?”
“Not too far then.”
Logan downs some more of his drink.
“What do you do for a living?” I ask politely. Not everyone wants to volunteer this information, but some of the more nervous clients prefer this chit-chat. He glances at me and his eyes are an odd colour, like honey, with tinges of green and amber, fringed with dense lashes. They change colour when he turns his head to the light. Up close he’s beautiful. I’m quite honestly amazed at what I’ve managed to bag myself here tonight. This kind of client comes once in a lifetime, no pun intended.
“I can’t really tell you that,” he replies.
Alarm bells go off in my mind. “If you’re in any kind of law enforcement, you need to turn around and walk back out of here.” My tone is sharp. “I haven’t entered into any kind of contract with you and I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Logan gives a sigh. “Okay, I’m a cop.” When he sees my horrified face and how I’m about ready to jump off my stool, he adds quickly, “I’m not here to arrest you. When we go up to the room, you can check I’m not wearing a wire and I’m not carrying my badge or my gun.”
“This is fucked up.” I down the rest of my drink. “How can I trust you?” But even as I say the words, I’m thinking of Logan in uniform. To say I have a fetish is an understatement. I’ve been arrested for soliciting a couple of times, and honestly, they were the hottest moments of my life, to be handcuffed and manhandled by a cop. My eyes have probably gone glassy at the memory. I’ve never fucked a cop and I’ve always wanted to.
“How can I trust you?” Logan replies. “It works both ways.”
Our eyes meet. “What’s your last name?”
“And that’s your real name? Logan Maden?”
“And you’re on the force in Huntington Beach?”
“Yes. There. I’m not much of a threat to you now, am I? You could ruin me.”