Page 14 of Playboy For Hire

“Wait!”

Quinn looked down at my hand on his. His skin was softer than I’d expected, his fingers long and thin. It felt no different from holding a woman’s hand. Nice, almost.

I shook my head. What the hell was I thinking? I needed to fix the current situation, not daydream about holding some hypothetical woman’s hand.

“Just—stay for a minute, please. I didn’t mean to react so weirdly.”

I prided myself on my ability to get along in any social situation. There was no reason for me to be this flabbergasted. And I hated making people feel bad.

I dropped his hand and motioned to the chair across from me, but he folded his arms again—protectively, I thought—and shook his head.

“No, it’s fine. I appreciate the offer, but there’s really no point if you can’t help me this Friday. I should have been more clear that I was gay in my inquiry, I guess.”

So hewasgay. That was interesting. I supposed I should have assumed that, once he showed up. But still, it was interesting for him to confirm it.

Not that it mattered.

“I just didn’t think—well, anyway, that’s on me,” Quinn said. “So I’m going to go.”

“Who says I can’t help you this Friday?” I asked, before he could turn away again.

His eyes narrowed. “Well, you. From your reaction to me being a guy. You know, your website really ought to say that you guys don’t work with gay people. It would save a lot of time.”

“But we do,” I protested. “It’s just usually Amir or Raf who handles those clients, not me.”

I happened to live with both of them. But Raf was out of town right now on vacation, and Amir never worked Fridays unless it was a VIP client. Quinn frowned, and I hurried on.

“That doesn’t mean I couldn’t do it, though. In theory. Or in practice. This Friday. Or some other time, even. Sorry. I’m rambling. Please sit down? Let me buy you coffee at least, as an apology for the mix-up.”

Quinn gave me an assessing look, then nodded. “Okay. But I don’t have a lot of time.”

“That’s fine. Just tell me what you want, and I can get it for you.” I gave him my best lopsided, I’m-just-a-big-goofball smile. “That’s kind of my job anyway, right?”

As I waited for the bartender to make his order—an iced oat milk mocha with a shot of almond—I berated myself for being so awkward. If I wanted to salvage this meeting, I needed to be chill. Normal. Act like it was no big deal.

And it was no big deal, right? So Quinn was a guy. And gay. Thatwasnormal. And I could go on a date with a gay guy. It’s not like it mattered that I wasn’t gay and wasn’t interested. I wasn’t interested in my female clients either. I could totally do this.

I risked a glance over my shoulder. Quinn had pulled out his phone and was leaning over it, his shoulders hunched. It made him look even thinner. He was that ‘I run twelve marathons a year for fun’ kind of slender. I wondered if he really was a runner.

“Order up.” The bartender slid Quinn’s iced mocha across the bar with a smile. I thanked her, left another big tip, and walked back to the table, cool, calm, and totally collected.

“Here you go.” I set the drink next to Quinn’s elbow, then sat back down. When he looked up, I nodded at his phone. “Work stuff?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I told them I was taking an hour off this afternoon, but you know how it is—that just means ten urgent emails will come in the moment you leave your desk.”

I did not, in fact, know how that was. My only other job experience was helping my dad out on the farm. Soccer had kept me busy each summer except the last one, and the internship I’d had then… Well, best not to think about that.

“Right.” I gave him my broad, easy-going, I-agree-with-whatever-you’re-saying-but-not-in-a-creepy-way smile. “Well, as long as you’re here, we might as well talk about Friday.”

“Oh, you really don’t have to do that,” Quinn said quickly. “I wouldn’t expect you to keep the appointment, under the circumstances.”

“No, it’s okay.” I had the strangest urge to put my hand on his in a reassuring gesture, but realized halfway there that was a terrible idea. I patted the tabletop awkwardly instead. “I might be straight, but I don’t mind.”

I didn’t. I was sure of that. It might take a minute to wrap my head around my client being a guy, but at the end of the day, it was still the same job.

“I won’t leave you a bad review or anything,” he said. “I get that it was just a mix-up. No hard feelings.”

“It’s not about the review,” I said, and I meant it.

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