Page 41 of Tips and Trysts

“There’s supposed to be a vegan cookie here,” Everett is muttering while he peers at his phone, eyes narrowed. “I read about it on a DC vegan blog.” He frowns. “Whatever. I’ll just ask.”

He places his phone on the table and reclines in his kitschy wooden café chair. His bandages are gone, and he’s tapping his bruised hand on the tabletop. I study his fingers and the expensive watch on his wrist before I look at my own hands—at the nails I scrubbed free of black polish this morning. These hands don’t look like my hands.

I’m not wearing half of my piercings today either. My nose stud is in because I can’t risk it closing, and I flipped my septum piercing so it’s less visible, but my eyebrow piercing is out and there’s nothing in my ears. My body piercings are intact, and that’s a small consolation, but they’re hidden under the pale pink sweater I borrowed from Valeria’s closet.

A few minutes ago, Everett did a double take when he saw me. It was subtle, but I caught it. He didn’t say anything though. And now, he continues to stare at me across the table, quietly assessing me until he asks, “How are you feeling, princess?”

I meet his eyes and sigh. “How long do we have to stay here?”

“I could use a coffee,” he mentions, ignoring my question. “What about you?”

I’m tempted to ask for a big glass of arsenic, but I know Everett doesn’t want to be on this PR-mandated outing either. He’s just remarkably skilled at pretending this is the highlight of his day.

“Fine,” I agree.

A couple minutes later, he returns with coffees and two pastries. He sits down, sips, and says to me, “So, I’m two for two. Are you proud of me?”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“The things you said I had to do to get you. I apologized—”

“Barely.”

“—and I became a customer—”

“You watchedone stream.”

“And then I watched thirty old ones,” Everett counters. “The one with you riding a Sybian…fucking hell.”

You’re perfect. Such a perfect little slut. You make me so proud.

Everett’s praise shouldn’t affect me, but it does. A flutter of a thrill fills my chest. Still, I force myself to scoff. “You didn’t watchthirty streamsin one night.”

His expression is so haughty that I’m not surprised when he says, “I don’t half-ass anything. Surely I’m your best customer by now.”

Look at all your gorgeous little holes lined up like that, tight and ready for me to put something in them.

“My real customers actually like what I do.”

“I love what you do.” His gaze drops to my hands. “I’ve always respected it. Now, I know you’re exceptional at it.”

“Always? I find that very hard to believe. When we met, you didn’t hide your disgust.”

“Elaborate.”

“‘If you think I’m going to risk a shot at the White House to take naked pictures of a camgirl I met in a bar, you’re out of your fucking mind,’” I recite.

He raises an eyebrow. “Where’s the disgust?”

What the fuck is he talking about? I parse the words, ready to…oh. Okay, fine.Technically,he didn’t say camming was disgusting or an unworthy career, and yes, he was probably weighing the implications from a political standpoint, but…

“You have more to prove,” I remind him. “I’ve already told you: Earn it.”

“I will. We don’t have to fuck yet. But if I’ve learned anything from the thirty streams I watched during my all-nighter, it’s that you don’t need to get dicked to enjoy yourself.” His expression is nothing short of devious.

Nice try, baby boy.

“Cute, but it’s,” I check my phone, “two o’clock on a Friday, so I’m good in the orgasm department. You go right ahead though.”

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