Page 4 of My Soul for Sale

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say it's legal, but everyone who attends is there willingly. And no, I have this one invite and I’m sharing it with you. Don’t know why, but something tells me you'd benefit from this.”

I narrow my eyes at him, not really sure what to make of this interaction. “Thank you. We’ll check it out.”

“Sounds good. See you around. If anyone asks, you didn’t get that here or from me.” He turns and walks straight out the door, disappearing into the crowded street.

“That was fucking weird.” Atlas chuckles, chugging the last of his beer.

“Yeah, it was.”

“What is it anyway? What’s the paper say?”

I look at it, my eyes going wide. “An auction called A Night to Remember. There’s a website.”

"Let’s go home. We can check it out there. That shit was weird even for this place.”

Chapter Three

Atlas

As soon as we get home, I grab the brochure that the guy gave us and rush inside. Curiosity gets the best of me and I need to know what he was talking about. Part of me wonders if he was like an undercover cop trying to get us to solicit sex. The entire situation was downright strange.

I rush up to my room, grab my laptop, and run back to the living room where Dad is. When I type in the address in my browser, a legitimate website pops up and my eyes widen. What’s even more shocking is that there’s a little padlock in the search bar, showing the connection is encrypted.

I may not be a tech geek, but I’ve picked up a few simple things during my searches for her. As soon as I click on the icon for the auction, the location is immediately displayed—Club Lust in Detroit. Hm, I’ve never heard of it. But I’m not really a fan of the club scene. I prefer a dive bar or the comfort of my home.

“Well, anything interesting?” Dad asks as he sits back down on the other end of the couch and hands me a beer.

I scroll down a little, reading the information on the site. “It’s an auction like he said. Takes place in a few weeks, May tenth, to be exact, at Club Lust. You only get invited or told about it from a current or past client like we were. Women and men volunteer and go through a screening process to be auctioned off for a weekend of fun with their buyer.”

Dad’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Like a prostitution auction. How is that legal?”

“No idea. But that guy was right. It’s been happening for years. All merchandise”—I air quote—“undergo an STD test, pregnancy test, a physical, and are given a form of birth control. Then every person, seller or buyer, gives a list of hard no’s or yes’ and everyone signs an NDA. The merchandise gets to keep five hundred thousand and everything else goes to the club.”

Dad whistles. “That’s a lot of money. I might sign up to sell myself for that kind of coin.”

“You make double that in a year,” I scoff, rolling my eyes.

“Exactly, in a year. These people make half of that in a weekend.”

“You should sign up as a buyer,” I tell him.

In the middle of swallowing, he starts choking and coughing. “Fuck no. I have no interest in spending that kind of money on a woman. If I wanted to fuck that bad, I’d just do online dating.”

“Not all women are going to be like her, you know? There are some good fish out there,” I tell him.

Ever since Ali, he has completely closed himself off from the possibility of meeting someone new. Seven years and he’s still bitter. He never goes on dates or socializes with anyone except for me. It fucked him up when she cheated on him and he caught her. I get it. I can’t even imagine coming home from work and finding your wife riding the local drug dealer in your bed.

“If we’re gonna talk about other fish and moving on, what about you? Still pining over a girl you haven’t seen in almost a decade. A girl who was forbidden.”

Dammit. He would turn the tables on me.

“I’ve gotten my dick wet at least in those seven years. What about you, Dad? How’s that right hand treatin’ ya?” I smirk and quirk an eyebrow. I know I got him with that.

“Little shit. You don’t need to worry about my hand or dick. You’re my son, not my sex therapist. I’m happy with my life. Sex complicates things.”

With a click of the admission button on the site, I am directed to a form where I begin filling out his information. “Well then, this is perfect for you. A weekend of fun and then it’s over. No complications and an NDA. They take care of everything for you, so you don’t have to worry about a thing.”

“I’m not paying for sex,” he growls, his voice filled with frustration.

---