Dante (Boys & Toys Season 2 3)

But then there’s a nagging curiosity inside me.

Eating at me.

He goes on: I know you’re freaked out. It’s okay. I don’t want to pressure you or make you do something you don’t want to do. Really, I don’t. But you and I have talked, and we’ve bared our souls, and I just can’t believe this is something you want to do for the rest of your life.

I catch myself fidgeting with the drawstring of my hoodie, which I promptly let go, then scratch the side of my face. “I, uh … heh, well, I mean …”

He then says: Don’t you want to see what else is out there? Don’t you want to pursue your dreams? I know you’re doing those online classes, trying to get a degree and chase your real dreams. You aren’t going to dance forever, either. I can save you the trouble, Zak. I can support you.

The savior thing.

Men all across the world … horny men, lonely men, well-intended men or just manipulators … they are all trying to save me.

To buy me.

To keep me away from the other horny men.

I know it, and I suspect he knows it, too.

He says: I’m going to tell you where I’m staying. You can meet me at the hotel bar downstairs. Please give my proposal an honest consideration. It could change your life.

Something about the way Dante has changed rings in my heart like a little bell of hope.

And I thought I’d abandoned hope years ago.

What harm could come to me by meeting a guy like this in a public place like a hotel bar?

Also, that’s kind of the most crazy thing I’ve ever done. I once swore to myself I would never get personal with a customer on this cam site. Not ever. I swore it up and down.

And here I am, standing at the crossroads of that promise I made to myself.

Ready, with a click, to break it.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Sorry,” I tell him. “I’ll be right back. Some very persistent asshole’s at my door. Don’t go away.”

With that, I’m on my feet. I round the corner of my hallway, hurry across the den, and pull open the door without even looking through the hole.

My heart stops.

Alexander—who calls himself “Lex”—my sworn enemy from the first floor, stands before me in a giant pink Pac-Man shirt, sweats, and furry-cat-face slippers. He looks extremely uncomfortable.

“Hi,” is all he says.

I lift my eyebrows expectantly. “Hey.”

“I’ll just get to the point, okay?” He lets out a jagged, irritated breath. “I’m kinda doing this thing. My therapist recommended it, whatever. I’m going around and, like, asking forgiveness. Or giving … forgiveness. Making amends. Letting go. Whatever, blah, blah.” He rolls his eyes. “Look, can I just say I’m sorry I’ve been a bitch to you, and maybe I overreacted about the whole you-rejecting-me thing?”

I consider him for a moment. My heart, ever since I was a kid, was always primed to forgive instantly. I don’t hold any grudges, ever, not with anyone. “Of course,” I answer him simply.

“Of course? That’s it? I’m off the hook?” Lex snorts at that. “Come on. At least yell at me.”

“Why?” I give him a smile. “You had every right to your feelings. Even for hating me.”

The blank, stunned look in Lex’s eyes tells me that was the very last thing he expected me to say.

“Emotions …” I search for the right way to say it. I feel like I’m reciting stuff from my online psych courses. “Emotions can become complex when you build a fantasy in your mind based off of … how you think someone is. I get it all the time. Sure, I’m a dancer at Aubergines, but who am I beyond that? It’s literally my job to create half a fantasy, and let the customer create the other half. That’s what gets dollar bills on the stage, you get me?”

Lex’s eyes drop to the floor as he licks his lips in thought. “Uh-huh,” he grunts vaguely.

“I don’t blame you. You feel manipulated. You crushed hard on the persona on stage, and when it came time to meet me in person, and I turned you down, well … all of those feelings needed to go somewhere, right? I understand. My entire life has been in the business of … fantasies.” I give him an honest smile, regardless if he’s looking at me or not. “I forgive you, man … and I hope you can forgive me for the part I played in your hurt.”

Lex looks me in the eye. Something softens on his face. I wouldn’t say he’s smiling, but it’s about as close as I’m going to get. “Thank you for that,” he says almost too quietly to hear. A glint of a tear appears in one of his eyes. “Truly. And …” He lets out a long, laborious sigh of relief. “Consider the damned hatchet buried. Phew. I’m going to order a pizza with bacon on it. Goodnight.” And with that, Lex sees himself downstairs, and I listen to the clip-clop-clip-clop of his cat-head slippers as he goes.