Zack checked the time and cursed under his breath. He was three minutes late. In any other industry it wouldn’t matter, but in the world of phone sex, time literally translated to money.

Zack snatched up his phone and dialed the number for the call center. From there, the operators would redirect him to the client, which kept the call anonymous on both ends. As the lines clicked over, Zack mentally prepared himself for another bout of unimaginative sex.

On the second ring, a male voice answered. “Hello?”

“Hello,” Zack said, lowering his voice to a smooth rumble. “My name’s Wesley. I’m here to make all your dreams come true.” Zack rolled his eyes at the company tagline, as he always did. He understood the purpose of it, of course. It wasn’t like he could just come out and say, Hi, did someone order some phone sex? but he wished Colette had chosen something less corny.

Zack continued, “What’s your name?”

“John,” the man answered.

Zack almost laughed. Of all the fake names to use with a sex worker—and the names were always fake—John was certainly appropriate.

“Tell me about yourself, Wesley.”

Zack opened his desk drawer and pulled out a memo with his fake information written on it. He pretty much had it memorized, but he liked to have it out for quick reference just in case something tripped him up.

“What would you like to know?” he asked, just to be coy.

“The usual,” John replied. “Where did you grow up? What are your hobbies? What are your deepest, darkest secrets?” John laughed, a low vibration on the other end of the line, and Zack’s skin prickled. It occurred to him that John had a sexy voice: deep and reverberant like the purr of an engine.

Zack switched the receiver to his other ear and leaned forward, getting into character. “I’ve lived in LA my whole life. I love everything about the city: the noise, the people, how alive it feels even in the dead of night. I play guitar in a band in my free time. We book gigs in local dive bars sometimes, but for the most part we play for fun.” Everything he’d said was partially true. Zack did play guitar, and he’d always lived in LA, but he’d never been in a band. He liked this particular persona. It was easy to remember and the perfect mixture of Boy Next Door and Rock Star.

John seemed to like it as well. He made a sound under his breath that was halfway between a moan and a sigh. Zack’s body warmed in response.

“As for my deep, dark secrets,” Zack said, “you’ll have to find those out for yourself.”

“I look forward to it. So, Wesley, do you have a last name?”

Zack froze. Shit. No one had ever asked him that before. He quickly racked his brain, and a moment later a bit of a poem he’d read during his one year of college popped into his head.