Boy in the Club a boy & billionaire novel - Rachel Kane Page 0,80

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So I’m caught off guard when a nurse leads me into something that looks more like a hotel lobby than a clinic. There are big plants catching the sunlight, magazines published in this century instead of old faded copies of People, and, more importantly, I’m the only one here. It takes me a minute to realize this isn’t the waiting room; this is the office.

“Have a seat, Mr. Smith. We’ll make this very quick,” she says. “I know you have to get back to work.”

“You’ve got a nice place,” I say, still gawking like a tourist.

She grins. “We cater to a certain caliber of men, like your boss, and their… Well, I don’t want to presume.”

Suddenly I’m a little mixed up. I’m thrilled and chilled at the same time.

Is she saying I’m not just his employee, I’m his boyfriend? Did she pick up on a vibe? Colby and I haven’t talked at all about this. Not at all, even though all last night I’d been dying to sneak into his room, and I was so eager to finish this appointment and get back to him.

On the other hand…how many other guys had he brought to this clinic to be tested?

I ask her that, and her face tightens a bit. “I’m not allowed to discuss any other patients.”

“No, no, of course,” I say, but it is definitely on my mind.

The test itself is quick, and negative as expected, and sure enough, she hands me pamphlets, which I show to Colby once we’re back in the car.

“How come I never get pamphlets?” he says.

“Because you are allowed to do stupid things like last night. You are allowed to make mistakes. Guys like me…we have to be smarter.”

“Well, if I’m negative, and you’re negative, then we must both be pretty smart.”

“Or lucky,” I tell him.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re about to give me a lecture about safe sex? A lecture I don’t actually need, since I’m an adult gay man and have heard it literally a thousand times before?”

How do I tell him what I’m thinking? That we dodged a bullet, but we have to be safer next time…

…but that safer might also mean…

…being exclusive.

Is that even something Colby would want?

I can’t bear to ask him. This is all too new, strange territory for me. I don’t know how any of it works. All I know is that I get butterflies when I think about it…and apparently I’m thinking about it a lot.

“You know what’s weird?” I change the subject.

“The fact that there are a hundred voicemails on my phone I haven’t answered yet? The fact that it’s nearly nine-thirty in the morning, and we’re still not back at work?”

“Your clinic doesn’t have the posters,” I tell him.

“The posters?”

“They’re all over the place in the clinics I go to. You know, the ones that tell you not to do IV drugs, the ones that tell you to use a condom. They had one really graphic one about gonorrhea, but I guess everybody was grossed out, so they took it down.”

He blinks. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to a doctor’s office that had posters instead of art on the walls.”

I wonder if he’s thinking what I’m thinking, what a gulf there is between our lives. He never has to clean. He isn’t even really sure how. He doesn’t know about the health posters. It’s like we come from two different planets.

Is that a problem?

I think about how he didn’t want his brother Dalton to find out about us.

Is that a problem?

Work. There is so much to do, it’s like walking straight into a tornado. Piles of messages on my desk to give to Colby, but calls I need to return myself, meetings to reschedule… I don’t even look up from the phone until noon, and that’s only to pay the guy who delivers lunch.

Colby’s in the glass room having a conference. I check the time. It should be over before his sandwich gets cold.

See, he has a sandwich for lunch! He’s not so different from you after all!

I’m not having anything. The events of the past couple of days have left me feeling too antsy to eat.

I’ve got to know…are we going to sleep together again? Was it a fluke?

Maybe it was. Colby has been all business since we returned. Barking orders into the phone, shaking hands, rushing, rushing. Not even a look at me. Not the kind of look I’ve been hoping for.

I look at the clock again. His meeting

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