Page 2 of Hung Up

Other than that, there was no contact. If they wanted to make any changes, they had to tell me the session before.

It was strict, but it worked.

A chime broke the silence, and the corner of my mouth quirked.

I grabbed my cellphone. The scenic ocean lock screen showed it was past ten at night. Rain softly pattered outside—the remnants of a monsoon storm—a stark difference from the digitally picturesque white sand and crystal blue waters, and I settled back into my leather couch.

At the bottom of the screen, a green app with a white dollar sign boasted a notification: You’ve been paid. I clicked into the app and smiled. God help ya, John. John had just tipped me over two hundred dollars. Not bad for thirty minutes of faking it. Looks like you’re my new favorite client.

I laughed. That would never happen. I already had a favorite client.

I swiftly transferred the funds, and stretched on my couch. A groan slipped out as I arched my spine upwards. The soft white throw blanket laying haphazardly over the armrest called to me, and I snatched it to wrap it around my legs.

I had another call in exactly ten minutes, and this one I was actually looking forward to. Ezra had this deep, throaty voice, and his laughter sent electric sparks straight to my clit. His fantasy was of the milder variety—your standard degradation mixed with praise—but I never had to fake with him. Truth be told, I think I got just as much out of our calls as he did. Maybe even more since he was paying me.

I got off and I got paid. How could it get better than that?

At the rhetorical question, my stomach sank a millimeter and my palms grew damp against the blanket. I forced each knuckle to release the tempting fabric, smoothing it out along my thigh.

No one but my best friend, Amelia, knew I was a phone sex operator, and I wanted it to stay that way. Truly, I couldn’t imagine my parents finding out what I did for a living. I told them years ago I was getting into interior design consulting, hence why I sometimes traveled to places all around the world: to learn about culture and trends, and to network. They never even hesitated to believe me. Why would they? I’d never lied to them on this scale before.

Well, I supposed I had.

They were so proud to see me walk across that stage five years ago, graduating with my bachelor’s degree in marketing. I couldn’t break their hearts and tell them that their income had been just above the threshold of the salary needed to qualify you for all those scholarships. The day my acceptance letter came in, their faces were so proud. I hadn’t seen such genuine excitement on either of their faces in years. My mom had tears in her eyes when they dropped me off on campus four months later, standing numbly in front of a grand quad, with a fair of booths and groups with fliers being passed out. Sports, activities, community . . .

With three boxes of dorm-friendly appliances and clothes on the ground next to me, I held tightly onto my mother’s frail shoulders as my dad ran back from the car, shower-slippers waving in his hand above his head. He’d cursed when he realized I’d forgotten them in the car, parked two blocks away. Key word: forgotten. The redness of his face was concerning by the time he’d reached us again.

I’d laughed it off, but in my bones I knew that was how he showed me he cared. One last task he could do for me, to help me, while he was still close enough to do so. I don’t think I ever used the slippers—I wasn’t trying to stay a virgin—but I kept them in my room as a reminder of their support and love.

Tucked incredibly deep in the back of my closet, but they were there.

Even still, that first day was nothing compared to the pride on their faces when I graduated. My newly fifty-thousand-dollar-caged smile shone brightly back at them, and I couldn’t help but feel like I was on top of the world.

But then reality sank in and no one was hiring, no matter where I applied, no matter the fact that I had a college degree. And suddenly, it was time to start making student loan payments and I didn’t know what to do . . .

Now it had been over four years of holding empty conversations—if you could even call them that—to fill an otherwise empty life. I’d worked so hard in the beginning—even taking a few trips here and there, you know, whenever I could justify them—but I never let up. This was my life now. And for the most part I didn’t mind it.

Amelia understood, thank god, and she never made me feel less for choosing this path. We took a few trips together over the years, and I saw her fairly regularly for two adults in their twenties. She was the only other constant in my life, other than dodging questions like a pro when my parents asked for details on my job.

But I’d be lying if I said part of me didn’t enjoy it. I liked knowing I was financially taken care of, with my student loans and credit cards paid off.

I loved knowing I was making a total stranger so hot he had to beat off.

A shrill ring broke the silent tension, and I snapped back to attention. Blood rushed in my ears, my pulse picking up pace and buzzing beneath my skin.

The cool plastic shell of the phone only heightened my awareness of what was to come.

Ha.

My lips sealed to stifle the chuckle at my own stupid joke.

“Harper,” a grumbling charcoal voice slipped into my head. His deep breaths filled the empty space between us, and my fingers twitched. I could only hope he was as good looking as he sounded. But shit, if he sounded like that, I almost didn’t care what he looked like.

And hell, I wouldn’t mind a blindfold or tie, if the occasion called for it.

Leaning the phone against my shoulder, I made a split decision. The elastic around the coiled phone line was the first to be untied, allowing the line to be used to its full length. Quickly, I grabbed the phone and crossed the tidy living space to my bedroom door.

“Ezra,” I whispered sensually, bumping my door open with my hip and cutting across to settle into my large bed. The duvet felt smooth on my skin, its fabric inviting like a lover.

---