Whatever the Cost (3 page)

“After one look at my, uh, presentation,” Liam tells him with a heavy look, “the boss really stuck it to me good; really had my balls in a vise.”

Jacen lets his stirring spoon drop against the side of the pot, his absurd red and white gingham apron, complete with frilly ruffle at the bottom, sagging just like his expression. The apron was a gag gift—a Christmas present from Liam, since out of the two of them, Jacen is the one that really knows how to cook. Liam never actually expected him to ever wear it, but it has improbably become Jacen’s favorite cooking attire. Splattered, as usual, with runny drips of red sauce, Liam knows he’ll have to scrub them out himself before he goes to bed if they don’t want the stains to set and Jacen to get a hang-dog expression like the one he had the last time he accidentally ruined one of Liam’s presents. As if Jacen was already anticipating this, all levity drains from his face as he asks, “You’re kidding, right?”

Cocking an eyebrow, Liam purses his lips around a repressed grin at his best friend, co-worker and roommate, and assures him, “Yes, Jacen. I made a funny.”

Jacen smiles; his deep dimples denting his cheeks, framing his recently whitened teeth. Pushing a stray tendril behind one ear and picking up where they left off in their typical banter, before Jacen’s usual over-protectiveness of Liam derailed them, he says, “So the big man really reamed you out, huh?”

“Pretty much,” Liam smirks, flipping through the small pile of mail, mostly bills and junk, though there is one coupon for his favorite Moroccan restaurant. He holds it up, waving it.

“Ooh! Stick it on the fridge. Maybe we can go there Thursday night,” Jacen says eagerly.

Walking to the refrigerator, Liam puts a whale magnet that he’d bought at the Vancouver Aquarium on his last vacation, taken too many years ago, on top of the slip of paper and heads over for a taste of the simmering sauce.

“Mm, wow. That smells incredible,” he hums, inhaling deeply and favoring the chef with a chaste peck on the cheek. Since Liam never kisses
anybody
, ever, getting even that much from him is like a precious gift. It brightens Jacen’s expression until he’s beaming. Warm affection for his dear friend temporarily makes him shy. Dropping his gaze to the sauce, Jacen stirs it diligently.

Leaning back against the counter beside Jacen’s workstation and folding his arms, Liam happens to look down at himself. Seeing that two of his shirt buttons are still open, revealing a small triangle of bare skin, he closes them quickly up, teasing his lip between his teeth as memories from his day come back to him.

Jacen watches Liam fiddle with the buttons and, while Liam is distracted by the task, uses the opportunity to scan all of his visible skin for any bruises or marks. There aren’t any and for this Jacen is incredibly grateful.

“You’re smiling. What’s with the smiling?” The question has the same teasing tone to it that Jacen’s previous comments had too, but in a subtly different way. It’s just a hair softer, a smidge more earnest.

Chuckling softly, Liam represses an even wider grin, his eyes alight.

“What?”

Liam’s only response is to rub a hand restlessly over the back of his neck.

“What?” Jacen gapes. “Oh, well, now you have to tell me.”

With a sly upward glance, Liam murmurs, “Client was a cowboy.”

“A cowboy?!” The spoon clatters on the counter, spraying another drop of sauce on Jacen’s gingham. He wipes his hands on a rag, then plants them on his hips, waiting.

Though Liam admittedly is dressed in full-on cowboy-mode himself, complete with one of many oversized silver belt buckles the roommates share whenever their attire seems to warrant it, that doesn’t mean anything really. Jacen is still completely surprised. “I shit you not. Country singer and everything. The real deal. Southern gentleman.”

“How did you get a cowboy?” Honestly jealous, Jacen stares and shifts his weight to the other foot, “Well? Spill. Was he hot? Please, at least tell me he was a pig.”

“No, he was hot,” Liam chuckles, blushing. “Gorgeous, thick, wavy long hair that he had tied back. Longer than yours. Soft blue eyes, really nice smile. Sweet as hell.”

“Liam!” Jacen swats him with the dish towel.

“What can I say? God loves me. He was bashful, too. First time. Closet case.”

His brow furrowing, but still retaining a semblance of a smirk, Jacen shakes his head with astonishment. Turning back to his pot, he grabs one of the fresh dinner rolls from the basket already laid out along with the vinaigrette for the salad. Jacen bites a chunk out of the bread and flings the rest at Liam’s head.

Ducking out of the way and laughing, Liam scoops up the roll and overhands it into the trashcan.

“So not fair,” Jacen complains quietly around his mouthful. He shakes some more oregano into the pot’s bubbling concoction and asks without turning around, his tone light on the surface but deadly serious underneath, “He was nice?”

There’s a pause, and it’s long enough to cause Jacen the beginnings of real concern. When Liam grunts and nods, Jacen sees it out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah.”

“Good. That’s awesome, Lee,” Jacen says, using the nickname he alone uses for Liam. It’s become a way for Jacen to punctuate their closeness. He calls Liam ‘Lee’ because everyone who likes to act like they know William, but doesn’t—because, in this case, sexual closeness does not necessarily imply
actual
closeness—calls him ‘Will’ for short. And more and more, when Liam hears
that
particular nickname, it sours his mood and makes him close off. Being called Will is just another way that people try to get close, to get a piece of him, to claim and mark him. So then he just pushes them all away, receding inside himself, putting up walls. Liam has the opposite reaction when being called ‘Lee’ by Jacen. It reminds him that there is more to who he is than what the world sees. It gives him hope. “Maybe he’ll be a new regular.”

“I don’t know. He’s from out of town.” Liam shrugs, as if, with a raise of his shoulders, he can push away any and all lingering hopes on the matter. “So, how ’bout you? Didn’t see you last night, but I had a late one. Couldn’t be sure.”

“Oh. I had an overnight. With Spencer. Got back this afternoon after food shopping.”

Other than the soft aria floating from the stereo, absolute, brittle, tense silence descends on the kitchen. Jacen’s clipped, abrupt way of answering sends a clear message to Liam, but it’s one Liam doesn’t like at all. Spencer is a bad guy, maybe even an evil guy. But he’s also Jacen’s highest-paying client. Glowering at Jacen, even walking around to the end of the counter for a better look at his face, Liam clenches his jaw and fumes.

“Don’t look at me like that. It doesn’t help,” Jacen laughs bitterly, unable to hold Liam’s stare for more than a second.

“Sorry. I can’t help it.”

“Try.”

Knowing not to ask if Jacen is okay, to trust him to say so if he wasn’t, Liam needs something to quiet the unease in his heart, so he comes up to his much taller friend and wraps him in a loose hug from behind, resting his lips against the back of Jacen’s impressively muscled shoulder. He wonders to himself what sort of ugly bruises hide under Jacen’s ridiculous apron and old t-shirt, under his loose-fitting sweatpants, the ones he likes to wear when he’s recovering from a particularly brutal appointment. After a long moment, Jacen softens slightly and nods once to Liam. It’s both thanks and a white flag.

“What can I do?”

“Boil noodles.”

“Wow, you’re actually trusting me to boil the noodles?”

“Just don’t fuck ’em up,” Jacen retorts slyly, but without his usual vim. A cold tickle of foreboding burrows deeply into Liam, and, no matter how hard he tries to shake it off, it just won’t go. Setting the water on the stove, sprinkling in some salt, Liam opens the pantry and looks for the right box.

“I’m flattered that you have such faith in me.”

“As well you should.”

The place Jacen and Liam spend the most time, other than at the downtown hotels and their house, located on the outskirts of L.A., is their local spa, Amé. Their employer, known only as The Company, has a running account at Amé and encourages them to go as frequently as once a day for massage, skin treatments, manicures and pedicures, acupuncture, or whatever else they need. The spa’s employees know them personally, as Jacen has been using them since he started working as an escort for The Company a year ago. For Liam it has been over twice as long as that.

But even after long years working at his trade in different cities, for different people, Liam can still be surprised by the requests he gets from his handsomely paying clients.

At breakfast, wearing a knit hat, a well-worn t-shirt and sweats, Liam sits down across from Jacen and grumbles good morning.

“You headed to Amé?” Jacen asks, taking a big bite of cereal.

“Yeah,” Liam sighs. “You?”

“Yeah, I’ll tag along. Don’t have much to do ’til late tonight.”

Liam sips his coffee and eyes his roommate. “Who?”

“Claudia,” Jacen mutters, scratching the side of his nose. Before he takes another bite he adds, “Tomorrow morning is Patrick.”

“Why do women love you so much?” Liam complains.

“Why do men love
you
so much?” Jacen retorts.

“No, I’m serious. Half your regulars are women. No one else at The Company manages to draw male and female clients. It’s bizarre.”

“You could if you wanted to, which you don’t, from what I can tell. Why, you wanna tag along?” Jacen smirks.

Liam grumbles and buries his face in his mug.

“How ’bout you? What’s up?”

“Don’t ask.”

Jacen discreetly covers his mouth with a hand as he attempts to master his expression, his hair falling in his eyes. Tossing it back with a flick of his head, he asks gently, “That bad?”

“No,” Liam whines. “Just, well, here.” He takes out his phone, pulls up the message from Della, their booking agent, and slides it over to him to read.

Jacen huddles over the phone and, as he reads, his smile gets wider and wider, though he does successfully mask it before looking up and returning the gadget. Clearing his throat, he says, “Well. Hm, that’s, uh—”

“I know what it is. It’s fine. I can handle it. I’ve done it plenty of times before; it’s just been a while.”

Liam’s sweats take on new meaning as Jacen looks him over. “So, what,” he lowers his voice, like anyone could overhear them anyway in their own home. “You’re not getting completely waxed are you?”

“No,” he scoffs, though it sounds like it might be a lie. “Just the usual. But, you know. I’ll get... other stuff done.”

The corners of Jacen’s lips twitch up in a highly amused smirk before he forces them back down. “You need help?” he offers, trying not to sound too eager. “Wanna rehearse? Or something. You probably should.”

“Jesus Christ. Yeah, probably. One thing at a time, though, okay? I’ll worry about the rest once I get past having my balls waxed, thank you very much.” He pushes away from the table and pauses. “Uh, I’m probably gonna be a while, like all morning, so a package might arrive while I’m gone. If you’re here, just, you know, put it aside.”

He shuffles to the door. Jacen bounces to his feet. Taking one last huge bite of Fruit Loops, he jogs to drop his dirty dishes by the sink and hurries down the hall to grab his car keys. “I’ll drive! Just call me when you’re done and I’ll come pick you up.”

“You could try to be less entertained by this,” Liam frowns.

“Sorry, Lee. Not possible. This is gonna be the highlight of my week.”