Page 2 of My Soul for Sale

With a wink, he replies, “Might be able to help with that.”

See, this is why I don’t like to make small talk with newbies at the bar. They start nice and then get creepy, wanting to pay for sex. “I’m not fucking you for cash,” I snap.

He throws his head back, his laughter echoing through the room. “Ain’t offering, babe. But I know a place that will pay you more than that for a weekend of fucking.” He slides a business card across the bar to me.

I carefully inspect it, running my fingers over the embossed design. A Night to Remember Auction. “What is this?”

“Email’s on the card. They’ll want a picture to confirm you actually got the card from a scout. But they’ll drop the information. What I can tell you is it’s a one-night auction where you can make five hundred thousand for a weekend of fucking. After the weekend is up, you get your money and no one ever speaks of it again. It’s reputable and has been going on for years.”

I quirk my brow at him. “Maybe. I’ll check it out. Thank you.”

The night goes on without a hitch. It got pretty busy, but nothing I couldn’t handle. And when Trina comes in tomorrow morning to open she’ll have a stocked and cleaned bar.

Not like she deserves it but I’m not a lazy piece of shit like her.

After locking up, I step out into the cool night air. The streets are quiet, save for the distant sound of cars passing. I hop into my PT Cruiser, the engine rumbling to life, and I navigate the familiar route home.

My place comes into view, it’s not much but it’s mine and I can easily afford the rent. It’s small, just a one-bedroom, but it’s become my sanctuary. The landlord is kind, and the neighborhood feels safe—those are the things that matter most to me.

When I get home, it’s well after three in the morning. Not even bothering to remove my makeup, I quickly shed my clothes and bra, slipping into bed in only my panties. I made almost three hundred in tips, but that’s barely gonna cover my utilities this month.

It’s laughable I even contemplated that I could buy and live in my grandma’s old house. Suddenly, the face of that guy pops into my mind. He had a few more drinks after giving me that card and left.

Slipping out of bed, I make my way across the room to my purse, searching through it until I find the card. I twirl it in my hands as I crawl back into bed.

Could I really have sex with someone for money?

Would someone actually want to have sex with me? He said it was an auction, so someone would have to buy me for the weekend. In the eyes of most, I’m not exactly a perfect ten.

I’m five foot six inches, honey brown hair and baby blue eyes. But that’s not the ‘no thank you’ part. No, that would be the D cups, bubble butt, and the curves I have. My tummy isn’t flat and I have love handles.

Fat… by some standards. Not by mine, but mine doesn’t count for much when I’m trying to get laid.

I could at least apply or look into the auction. Right? My guess is they need pictures and stats, so if I don’t fit their needs, I’ll just go on my merry way. But this could be my only chance to get that kind of money. I’d be a fool to not at least try.

Reaching for my phone, I open my email and type the address on the card into the recipient box.

A guy at a local bar thought I’d be a good fit for your auction and gave me this card. I’m interested in acquiring more information and am highly likely to submit an application. Here is a recent picture of myself and a picture of the card I was given.

Please inform me of the next steps to take.

Sloane

Hurriedly, I snap a picture of the business card and swiftly attach it to the email. Before I lose my nerve, I press the send button, and my stomach flips as I hear the swishing sound of the email being sent.

Tossing the card on my nightstand with my phone, I pull the blanket back over me and close my eyes.

Holy shit! I just half-assed signed up to be a prostitute for a weekend.

I feel the corners of my mouth turn up as images of the beautiful hardwood floors and intricately designed built-in shelves in my grandma’s house flash behind my eyelids. If it means it could be mine free and clear, I’d gladly sell myself.

Chapter Two

Ripley

“Atlas! You ready to go, son?” I holler as I stand at the front door. If this boy doesn’t get his ass downstairs soon, we’re gonna be late for work. We own the company, so we answer to ourselves, but he knows I don’t like being late.

“Damn. I’m coming,” he calls, jogging down the stairs.

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