Page 23

“Why not give things with Kalon a try?” Oakley suggests, just as we reach her mustard colored door. She unlocks the studio, and I follow her inside. “You said you might be having coffee with him today?”

“I think so, his text didn’t say one way or another, and I told him I’m working. So, who the fuck knows.”

Oakley does a little shimmy. “Maybe he’ll surprise you.”

“And maybe we’ll get married,” I reply sarcastically. Of course, the statement will come back to bite me in the ass. Oakley and I dive straight into work, and at some point in the morning, Sebastian stops by with some coffee. He can’t stay, something about a polo match, so he’s in and out between clients. By lunch time, we’ve seen four clients, all of which are female. Oakley pops out to grab us lunch, and I decide to work on Kalon’s suit. I’m busy with it when I hear her come back, her laughter giving me pause.

“She’s upstairs,” she says. I frown from where I’m standing in front of the mannequin we’ve aptly named Kalon — Oakley even stuck a label on it. Because I plan to buy a new male mannequin when I’m done with this one, I’ll probably order it with my new vibrators. There’s some mumbling as I see Oakley’s head crest the landing, followed by a head of inky black hair with some silver streaked through. Oakley smiles when she sees me. “Channing, look who stopped by to see you.”

Kalon’s smile is small, and awkward, but his eyes immediately say ‘fuck me.’ See? There is something about him. And now he’s here and I have to act normal. Fuck. Butterflies take flight in my belly — when last did a man, a grown ass man, give me butterflies? Do you even call it butterflies when you’re approaching thirty? Or do they become ostriches?

“Channing.” His voice is deep, and he sounds a little nervous. Also, he’s dressed to impress in a pair of navy suit pants and a white button-up shirt. “How are you?”

It takes me a minute to reply, purely because I wasn’t expecting to see him. “H-Hi. Kalon.”

I completely forget about the mannequin. At least until Oakley clears her throat. Sadly, it’s too late. He steps forward, hands me a venti cappuccino, and looks over my shoulder with a smirk. “I think you’re at least half a dildo short.” My cheeks warm with embarrassment, and Oakley tries, and fails, to contain her laughter.

I want to crawl into a hole, but instead, I say, “It was the, uh, easiest, way to get your measurements right.” I’ve never had to explain this to a client before, but I’ve also never had to tape a dildo to a doll in order to make their suit pants. This is uncharted waters for me. I watch Oakley walk away in my periphery, and I can hear her snorting with laughter. Oh, Jesus.

“So is this how it works with all your clients?” Kalon asks, taking a sip of his own coffee. His eyes stay glued to me, and they’re the most exquisite blue. “Does everyone get a mannequin named after them?”

I choke on my cappuccino, and then clear my throat. “Actually, you’re the first. And the only. I’ve never had a client with your, uh, situation before.”

“What situation is that?” That damn smirk. He’s making me uncomfortable on purpose. Asshole. But it kind of makes me smile, too.

“A long, thick…” I pause. “Thigh.”

His eyes flair, but he keeps his composure. I wouldn’t expect anything less from someone like him. “You’re thorough,” he remarks. “Are the dildos part of the cost?” Only if he replaces them, which I’m not going to ask him to do.

“Those are free of charge, actually,” I reply, trying to contain a giggle that wants to come out. “I brought them from home.” His eyes widen a little. They’re not small.

“Let me know if I should replace them for you, Channing.” The way he says my name? I think I just came. I take a sip of my coffee, and reply, quite brazenly, “Would you know where to find them?”

Of course, I’m teasing him and don’t expect an answer. Most guys don’t even know where to find the damn toilet paper, let alone where to find the good dildos. I’m playing with fire, and for once, I’m not afraid to step closer to the flame. Something about Kalon, his age, and the way he dresses, makes me want to know more. They say older guys are the best because they have experience, and I’m suddenly open to testing that theory.

“I found you when I wasn’t even looking, didn’t I?”

I smile. “Technically, your children found me.”

He grins, showing off his perfect white teeth. “I think I’m glad they did.”

“You think?” I tease.

“Hmmm,” he replies. “Why don’t you join me for dinner, and we can find out.”

I search the depths of my brain for an excuse, and then Oakley butts in. She sticks her head out from around the corner, and yells, “She’s free every night this week!”

Damnit. I was going to play hard to get, even if my cooch is making grabby hands for what I know is perfectly packed away in his suit pants. That’s another thing that does it for me for some reason. The suits. It’s a nice change from the jeans and t-shirts guys my age are wearing these days. The fact that he’s rich is irrelevant; I’m not a gold digger, not by any stretch of the imagination. But a man who has his shit together? That’s like catnip for my kitty. Oakley might have told him I’m free every night this week, but I don’t want to seem overeager. I also can’t afford too much time off, given our client roster. Which includes Kalon and his kids. Kids. That’s something else that makes me hesitant because I never in a million years thought single dads would be my vibe.

“Why don’t I give you some time to think about it.” He says it as a statement, and not a question, giving me zero opportunity to answer. “And I’ll let you know when I’m available.” He leans closer, kisses my cheek, and strides out of the studio. I stare after him, and his tight ass, and hear Oakley squeal just as Kalon disappears down the staircase and out the door.

“Oh my God,” she breathes. “That hot piece of dad meat wants you.”

“You think I should say yes when he asks me out?”

She smacks my arm. “Duh.”