About Luca
Ethan
Hockey season is over, and that means one thing—returning home to my empty condo. With nothing to distract me from this loneliness, it’s going to be a miserable summer.
Then I hire Luca for one night.
At least, it was supposed to be one night.
Luca
Ethan isn’t like my other clients (not that I have many these days). He’s nice. He’s genuine. He doesn’t treat me like I’m here to earn my pay.
When he asks me to make this a regular thing for the summer, my wallet doesn’t leave me much choice.
But I’m pretty sure my heart isn’t supposed to get involved.
Gentlemen of the Emerald City
Luca is Book 1 of Gentlemen of the Emerald City, a sexy series centered around the high class, high-dollar Gentlemen of Seattle’s most exclusive escort service. Each book is full of snark, sass, and sweetness, and like any Emerald City client, you’re guaranteed a happy ending.
Chapter 1
Ethan
The mood on the Seattle Breakers’ charter jet was about as bright as the rain-blackened Chicago sky outside. Thanks to the weather, our takeoff was delayed just like everyone else’s, and God knew when we were actually getting out of here.
A few of my teammates were talking quietly amongst themselves or on FaceTime with their families. In the seat in front of me, Grayson, our second line right winger, was obviously trying to sound upbeat as he talked to his kids. They were excited that he’d be home and not going back out on the road for a while. I had no idea how he did it—keeping that smile in place and sounding almost as enthusiastic as they were about an upcoming trip to Disneyland. Maybe he was that enthusiastic, and maybe that soothed the sting of our heartbreaking loss in the playoffs. A lot of the guys were family men, and for them, the end of a season meant the beginning of three months or so with their wives and kids.
Even with the prospect of families and vacations, though, the vibe on the plane was pretty damn miserable. Kind of came with the territory of a season ending like that.
I pressed my head back against the seat and stared out at the shitty weather and the congested tarmac. A plane took off. Another took its position on the runway The others steadily moved forward. Eventually, it would be our turn.
Closing my eyes, I sighed. As much as I wanted to be off this plane, I wasn’t exactly in a hurry to get home. The chaos of the hockey season was what I lived for. The constant traveling. The intensity of the game. The pressure to win. I loved it all.
It always ended eventually, though. Sometimes we went out on a high—we’d won the Cup two seasons ago, and it didn’t get any better than that. Sometimes we didn’t make it into the playoffs at all. And sometimes we almost had it before things ended abruptly. Last night, we’d been so close to hanging on to our spot in the semifinals, I could taste it. Then their rookie defenseman got one of those one-in-a-million goals that people would be talking about until long after he retired. I’d never really thought about what it was like to be on the other team when someone scored a legendary shot like that. Turned out it really, really sucked.
And on that demoralizing note, our season was over, and now I had to figure out what to do with myself. After four college and nine pro seasons, you’d think I would have it down, but I never got used to this part. The lull. The quiet. The solitude. I lived and breathed hockey, and when there was no hockey except for casual practices and scrimmages throughout the summer, I was restless.
No, not restless. I mean, I did get twitchy and bored, missing the constant stress and adrenaline, but the off season for me was like winter for my sister—depressing and draining. For her, it was the cold and the lack of sunlight. For me, it was the lack of people and chaos. The lack of hockey and being constantly on the go. When everything stopped, there was nothing left but my quiet, empty condo and my cold, empty bed.
I suppressed a frustrated groan and glared out the plane’s window. That was it, wasn’t it? The sudden stillness at the end of the season meant I couldn’t ignore everything that was missing in my life. While my teammates went home to partners and kids, I went home to… no one.
Maybe it was time to do something about that.
I dropped my duffel bag beside my suitcase in the condo’s entryway. Unpacking and laundry could wait until tomorrow. On the other hand, it would keep me busy tonight, and maybe that would distract me from how twitchy I was in this empty place.
But whatever. It could wait.
Instead of being a responsible adult, I grabbed a quick shower, then flopped onto the couch with my phone to hunt down… something. Anything. A distraction? Something to do? Whatever.
Tinder offered up plenty of temptation, but I was hesitant. I was one of three out players on the Breakers. Warner was married with kids. Me and Smitty, though, we were both single, and we kept our dating and hookup habits out of the public eye as much as possible. That didn’t stop the public from trying to dig up details, though. The handful of times I’d hooked up with someone on an app, I’d worried the entire time that he’d run to a tabloid or write a salacious blog post. It was also possible someone might see us—that had happened before. Worrying about all that kind of took the fun out of casual sex, you know? And dating was just a massive headache because, as I’d learned from experience, once someone caught wind of a boyfriend, they’d be falling all over themselves to dig up details on him, regardless of how he felt about those details being discussed publicly.
So hookups were a gamble. Dating was a nightmare.
That left…
A conversation from a few months back worked its way into my brain.
“Wait, you’re serious?” I’d stared incredulously at Smitty. “You pay for it?”
“Why not?” He’d shrugged. “Skip all the hookup games, and the guys are way more discreet than anyone on Tinder.”
“Huh. Discreet? Really?”
“Oh yeah. They’re completely professional about everything.” He’d paused, then smirked. “Well, not everything, but you know what I mean.”
I’d been dubious of the idea back then. A prostitute? Sorry, an escort? That just… That wasn’t my style. Then again, some paid company was better than no company, and as the silence of my condo rang in my ears tonight, Smitty’s argument sounded more and more persuasive.
To hell with it. What did I have to lose? I could look. Didn’t mean I had to buy. Rent. Book? Jesus, I didn’t know how all of this worked. I didn’t even know where to start.
Since I couldn’t come up with any other ideas, I texted Smitty: So hey that thing we talked about a while back? How do you find them?
He didn’t respond.
Damn. Okay. Not that I’d expected him to be waiting on the other end for me to send him a message. I had just hoped he’d reply quickly so I wouldn’t have to keep trying to find something to do tonight.
While I waited for him to respond, I went into the kitchen to make something to eat. I wasn’t particularly hungry—just bored. And of course since I hadn’t been home much in the last few weeks, I didn’t have anything fresh. Eh. It was the second day of the off season. A slightly freezer-burned Hot Pocket wouldn’t kill me.