I had to smile myself. Gina was cocky, confident, and incorrigible .
I still wished it was Michelle on the phone .
"We're lighting up with responses from our readers on social media, email boxes are full . They want more, Jake. They want more of you . The bosses here want a series of articles. What do you say ?"
My instinct was to correct her and say that they wanted more of Michelle. After all, it had been her way with my words that had written the article that had lit up social media and filled inboxes .
But...
"I might be interested," I said slowly, turning to look at the magazine .
"Fantastic. What will make that might into a one hundred percent ?"
"I want Michelle to handle it ."
Gina was quiet, but only for a split second. It had been my estimation that very little slowed her or swayed her for long. I was right. It didn't take her long to say, "I'm totally cool with that. My editor and I came up with the idea, but Michelle handled the interview and her article is going over like gangbangers. But I can't make any promises. My editor has to give the final okay. Are you cool with that ?"
"Cool enough to wait and see what they say ."
Because if they didn't say yes, I wasn't doing it .
"Excellent. You'll hear from me or Michelle soon." She hesitated, then added, "Jake ?"
"Yeah?"
"Michelle...she's a nice girl." She didn't add anything else, but she didn't need to .
"I noticed, Gina. Don't worry. I don't make a habit of eating nice girls alive and leaving nothing but a quivering, broken heart ."
I ended the call and pushed my phone back into my pocket, then went over and picked up the magazine, skimming the article one more time .
It wasn't good, I told myself, that she was filling my head as much as she was, taking over my thoughts .
I'd been honest with Gina when I said I didn't make a habit of messing around with nice girls. I didn't have time, and honestly, the kind of nice girls she meant when she talked about Michelle – nervous, shy, a little uncertain about her own sexuality – they didn't often come looking to pay a man for sex. Maybe they dreamed about it, thought about it...? I had no idea .
But they steered clear of men like me .
I tossed the magazine back down on the table, running my hands through my hair. I hadn't always been a whore .
There had been a time when I probably qualified as nice and normal myself. Looking up, I stared at my reflection in the mirror, the tattoos covering some older, rougher – uglier – work, studied the muscle that had been developed over months and years of a hard life. There was no sign of the nice, normal boy I must have been once upon a time .
Maybe that was why I wanted to spend time with Michelle .
She hadn't instantly gone from hi to let's go fuck .
Although one thing was sure...let's go fuck was pretty high on my list of things to do .