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there really anything wrong with it, if everyone consented every step of the way?
    Even the nightcap had been no pressure. Jeremy had wanted to do far more than he’d originally agreed to, and it had been awkward. But what was wrong with any of it?
    Nothing.
    Jeremy decided then and there if Thomas would have him back, he’d work again at the Dinner Club. And he’d loosen up and have some fun. Not all the gentlemen had been as handsome as Mr. Green, but Green had said he wanted to come back too. A win-win, right?
    Jeremy spent another twenty minutes fantasizing about having Mr. Green’s hands on him at the dinner table and letting the other boys watch Jeremy’s gentleman ordering from the menu. God, how ridiculous their code phrases were, but Jeremy wanted to be on Mr. Green’s menu and wanted to perform whatever the man might ask.
    Let’s just hope he asks.
     
     
    L ATER THAT day Thomas called to let Jeremy know he’d performed well enough to become a regular. He needed to let Thomas know his availability. Which days could he work, and how many nights a week did he want? Jeremy agreed to one night a week and told Thomas which days were best and how far in advance he needed to schedule around his academic commitments. Now all he had to do was wait.

Chapter FIVE
     
     
    B RICE WOKE up alone in the room. Sunlight flickered through the edges of the heavy drapes, but there was a chill anyway. Remy’s pillow bore an indentation, but it was cold. He’d gotten up and left long ago. He glanced toward the bathroom, but it was wishful thinking. Remy was gone. His sports bag wasn’t in front of the armoire, where it had been the night before.
    Brice checked the clock on the night table—an old-fashioned one with a second hand that clicked its way around the face. It was after 9:00 a.m. Remy only had to stay till eight to get his payment. Was the money all he cared about? Despite both their comments to the contrary, Brice thought they’d connected on more than just a physical level, though the physical had been satisfying. He sat up in bed, craving coffee. It was Saturday, and he wouldn’t need to go into the office. He’d just check e-mail. Reluctantly he crawled out of bed, visited the bathroom, and grabbed his phone out of his jacket pocket as he made his way back to the bed.
    He sat there for a few moments, then crossed the room to the armoire and began dressing. He checked his reflection to make sure he looked presentable and then slipped into the hallway. The elevator was on his floor already, and he rode it down slowly, then got out at the ground floor. He didn’t know if he was supposed to check out. He left the key on a table near the door, then slipped out of the Dinner Club and into the bright, clear sunshine of a San Francisco autumn morning.
    He’d taken a cab with Watkins the night before, and he walked toward the next main street—Mission—stopping along the way at a tiny grocery store for their largest cup of coffee. The Starbucks across the street would be packed, and he didn’t fancy standing in line wearing yesterday’s suit, his dress shirt unbuttoned, and his tie rolled up in a pocket. He didn’t like announcing he hadn’t been home the night before. Coffee in hand—and after ignoring the judgmental stare of the turbaned man behind the counter—he hailed a cab and headed for home.
     
     
    B Y M ONDAY Brice realized he couldn’t get the thought of Remy out of his brain. He found himself far too obsessed with the young man. Ten times during the weekend he’d considered calling the Dinner Club for another reservation, and ten times he stopped himself. Thankfully, the number was unlisted, or he might not have had the necessary willpower. He certainly couldn’t call Watkins on the weekend to ask for the number. He’d never live it down.
    Brice had been in his office less than an hour Monday morning when Watkins slipped in, carrying a large Starbucks cup with half a dozen instructions