The wooden cigar clock on the wall behind the counter read half-past six. Charles would be waiting outside. How had an hour passed so quickly? Not only had Niko given him a break on the fee, he’d taken twice as long as scheduled for the consultation.
“None right now. Thank you.” He shoved the glossy card into his wallet and stuffed it in the front pocket of, yes, his bright-blue skinny jeans. Heading toward the door, he knew the fantasy of the guy he’d seen in the magazine was no comparison to seeing the real deal sitting across that table. Niko may be straight, be he was any man’s wet dream.
He paused and smiled. The antique rectangular sign hanging on the wall advertised the Tattered Gentleman’s Club, est. 1926, members only.
As expected, Charles was waiting by the curb in the shadow grey Jag that probably cost more than three years of paychecks at the coffee shop. Ethan tried to hide his sigh and opened the car door.
“Hey, beautiful, how did it go?”
Being called beautiful sounded disgusting coming from Charles’s mouth. “Okay, I go back on the nineteenth.”
“No skull and crossbones or naked ladies I hope. Wait, you’re not into the ladies. How about no naked sailors?”
Ethan found no humor in the joke. Hell, he couldn’t find any humor in anything anymore. Well, except Niko’s comment about the Chinese tattoo. “No naked sailors.” He latched the seat belt.
“How about Christoph’s for dinner? I already made reservations.”
Then why fucking ask? He rubbed his flat stomach, trying to ease the rumble. “I have a lot of homework. I’d rather stay in.”
When Charles ran his pudgy fingers along Ethan’s thigh, he fought the urge to crawl under the seat. How had it come to this? “My beautiful Ethan wants to stay in? Ah...I think a play session might be in order.”
The tender area on his hip still sent a throb down his leg when Charles touched it. There was no way he was going to be able to get it up. Last time his cock wouldn’t perform, Charles slapped his face. The thought made him shiver.
“I have a lot of homework. Maybe tomorrow night.”
Charles pulled the car away from the curb. Pouting his fat bottom lip like a scolded child, he mumbled, “Tomorrow night it is, then.”
Two more months. He could hold on for two more months, pawn the necklaces and bracelets Charles had given him and make the deposit on an efficiency.
That was if he didn’t cut himself into a mess before then.
*****
Niko followed his last client to the front desk. Scarlet, with her swelled belly, waddled from behind the counter and chit chatted with the man until he walked out the door and she could lock it behind him.
“You’re running pretty late.”
“Yeah,” Niko turned to walk back to his studio. “You need to get home. I’ll finish up here.”
“Niko?” He heard the click of her flat shoes cross the floor. “Forty dollars. The kid held onto several twenties like his life depended on it. That was really nice of you. I know you’d prefer not to be talked up, but, in my opinion, you can’t help being a nice guy.”
Niko didn’t let her see his smirk. Hell if he was a nice guy. “Your opinion.” He didn’t wait around in case she decided to go in for a hug, instead he left to gather some supplies and turn off the lights. Scarlet had been at the shop a hell of a lot longer than he had. Being The Professor’s daughter, she’d grown up in the club.
After twenty minutes of cleaning and organizing his space, he grabbed the black bag from the table and filled it with a box of charcoal pencils and two drawing notebooks. He had six custom tats to get started and one...well, one in particular driving him crazy to get done.
The three commissions he had been hired to do were done and ready to beautify the restoration project of South Chicago. Sure, the neighborhoods needed work, but the new buildings going up and houses being torn down didn’t set right in his gut. Still, he had to make a decent living. The cops had already run off some of the riffraff...except one. He still felt like he didn’t belong among the redesigned facades and trendy shops springing up. Flashbacks of running through the alleys with cans of spray paint in a backpack skipped through his mind.
Niko rubbed the back of his neck and popped his head from side to side. He waited for the sound of the back door closing then, starting with the lobby, shut lights off as he made his way through the shop. All six of the other artists had already cleared their studios, so he only had the cigar lounge left to check. The large humidor against the wall was closed and the lights turned off.
Time to go home.
The apartment he rented was within walking distance of the shop. It was past ten o’clock, but walking in the shadows between the street lamps didn’t bother him. He liked the quiet as each step cleared his head. And the riffraff? Come at him. The black letters tattooed across his fingers read FEAR NONE for a reason.