They both waved at Khai from the doorway, but, as usual, he was too focused to wave back.
Out in the parking lot, Quan climbed onto his black Ducati, shrugged into his motorcycle jacket, and propped his helmet on his knee before giving Michael a direct look. “You know I don’t give a shit if you’re into guys, right? Like, I’d be okay with that. Just so you know. You don’t have to hide stuff like that from me.”
Michael coughed and adjusted the position of his duffel bag’s strap on his shoulder as an uncomfortable wave of heat boiled up his neck and singed his ears. “Thanks.”
This was what happened when you kept secrets. People drew their own conclusions. He wondered briefly if he should just roll with it. There was no doubt in his mind his family would take that better than the truth. They didn’t know about his escorting or the bills that necessitated the escorting. He planned to keep it that way.
He took a breath of air that smelled like exhaust fumes and blacktop, feeling touched by Quan’s acceptance but also old and tired in his bones. “It means a lot to hear you say that, but I’m not, okay? I’ve just been . . . seeing . . . lots of people. No one I’d bring home, though.” God no. “No one special.”
As soon as that last comment came out, however, he wanted to retract it. He didn’t know why, but it didn’t feel right to lump his latest client in that category.
“Do me a favor and tell your mom and sisters, then. They’ve been gossiping about it with my mom and sister, and they keep asking me for the inside scoop. I’m going to be honest and say it was a little embarrassing telling them I have no idea what you do when you disappear.” Quan kicked at a pebble on the ground, his face pensive, and Michael knew he was thinking back to times when they’d known everything about each other. Well, as much as guys ever told one another. Their moms were close sisters who had purchased homes two blocks apart and given birth to boys in the same year. As a result, Michael and Quan were closer than brothers. They used to be, anyway.
Michael rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been a crappy friend. I’m sorry.”
“You went through all that shit.” Quan gave him an understanding smile. “First with your asshole dad and the lawsuits and then with your mom’s health. I get it. But things are better now, right? We should do stuff. Friday nights are best for me because I don’t have work or class Saturday mornings. Your ‘no one special’ can hang with mine. Let me know.” With that, Quan started his bike and pulled his helmet over his head.
After his cousin disappeared around the corner, Michael opened his car door and tossed his bag into the passenger seat. Things were a lot better now, but he wouldn’t be double-dating with Quan anytime soon, not when he was fucking a different woman every Friday night. Well, not the next three Friday nights. Those were for Stella and sex lessons. He’d never expected to have the opposite role in his Hot for Teacher fantasy, but he admitted it excited him more than he would have thought.
He knew it was messed up, but Friday night couldn’t come fast enough.
Chapter 7
By the time Friday night rolled around, Stella was a jittery mess. She couldn’t stop her fingers from drumming on the restaurant table as she waited for Michael to arrive. She’d arranged the appointment through the agency’s mobile app—with the state-of-the-art setup, it was as easy as booking airline tickets, but without the frequent-flier miles. They’d sent a confirmation email, but that was the only indication she’d gotten that the date was still on. She couldn’t help worrying that Michael had changed his mind.
She wished she had his cell phone number, but she figured he never gave that to his clients. It was too personal. Especially if his clients had the tendency to get obsessed.
Which was actually one of her main weaknesses, and a defining characteristic of her disorder. She didn’t know how to be semi-interested in something. She was either indifferent . . . or obsessed. And her obsessions weren’t passing things. They consumed her and became a part of her. She kept them close, wove them into her very life. Just like her work.
Going forward with Michael, she had to tread carefully. Everything about him pleased her. Not just his looks, but his patience and his kindness. He was good.
He was an obsession waiting to happen.
Hopefully, she could keep a cool head during the coming weeks. Perhaps it was for the best there were only three sessions. Once they were finished, she’d focus on someone she could actually have. Like maybe Philip James.
When Michael entered the hotel restaurant, she noticed right away. Tonight, he wore a perfectly fitted black suit over a white oxford shirt. No tie. His collar hung open, drawing attention to his Adam’s apple and the sexy base of his throat. His gaze swept over the room and landed on her.
She looked down at the menu without seeing it, horribly aware of his slow advance toward her. Keep a cool head.
“Hello, Stella.” He sat down across from her and folded his hands on the tabletop.
Her lungs drew in a slow breath, and she caught his light scent. Everything inside her turned over and sighed. With a sense of defeat, she lifted her eyes to his, counted to three, and looked away.
“Hello, Michael.”
“Are you nervous already?”
She laughed slightly. “I’ve been nervous since Saturday.”
“About that . . . Who was that on the phone when I left?”
Her lips tightened as she tried to suppress a smile. “It was my mom. Her name is Ann. She thinks you’re my boyfriend now, by the way.”
He pressed a knuckle to his grinning lips. “I see. Will that be a problem?”
“Actually, I think it’s a good thing. Now that she thinks I have a boyfriend, she should stop trying to arrange blind dates for me.”
“Ah, the mother-arranged blind date. I’m very familiar with those.”
“Does that mean you don’t have a girlfriend?” As soon as the question left her mouth, she winced. “I’m sorry. Forget I asked that.”
She had no right to inquire about his personal life, but the intense curiosity burned inside her. She wanted to know everything about him. And if he did have a girlfriend, whoever that lucky girl was, Stella hated her guts.
“No, I don’t have a girlfriend.” He said it like it should have been obvious.
Thank God.
“What kind of girls does your mother try to hook you up with?”
He rolled his eyes. “Doctors, who else? And nurses. By now, I think my mom’s tried to hook me up with the entire second-floor staff at the Palo Alto Medical Foundation.”
Stella couldn’t help being impressed. “That’s really determined.”
“That’s nothing. You don’t know my mom.”
She forced a smile and focused on the menu. What did it say about her that she wanted to know his mom? No, wait, she knew the answer to that. It said she was nuts. Mothers were scary she-bears when it came to their sons, especially sons like Michael.
And Stella wasn’t a doctor.
Enough of this. She wasn’t dating Michael. It didn’t matter what his mother thought of her. Stella was never going to meet the woman. She needed to get back to the matter at hand.
“Let’s discuss my lessons,” she said briskly.
“That’s a good idea.” Michael leaned back in his chair, looking at ease.
Stella tried to copy his relaxed air as she retrieved three folded sheets of paper from her purse. “Because we’re pressed for time, I took the liberty of drawing up lesson plans. They’re not set in stone. In fact, please suggest changes where you see fit. I have no idea if what I’ve written is feasible, but it helps me to keep things structured. I don’t deal well with surprises.”
Michael’s expression went unreadable. “Lesson plans.”
“Exactly.” She pushed the salt and pepper shakers and candle aside. After placing her papers in the middle of the table, she smoothed the creases out with her fingertips and pointed at the first sheet, which was labeled Lesson One. “I put boxes next to each item so we can check things off as we go.”
Eyes on the paper, he opened his mouth to speak, caught his breath, and tapped a finger to his lips. “Give me a moment.”