Page 54 of Sexy Bad Escort

I catchhis eye, give him a nod, and then slide out of my seat andmake my way toward theexit. Time to head home to Danny’s Love Den.

Whichhasn’t felt like home in a long while. Even before Ronnie and I called itquits.

Longest weekof my damn life.

I scrubmy hands through my hair and then stuff them into the pockets ofmy shorts as I amblealong the streets of downtown Chicago. At some point I need to headout to the ’burbs. But right now, I don’t feel like dealing withPucker, who keeps asking where the hell Ronnie is. Or Erin, whochecks on me constantly, all while giving me these annoyinglysympathetic looks. Or Garrett, who randomly offered to give me golflessons this morning.

Jesus, Imust be seriously pathetic if he’s going that far to try tocheer me up.

I find abar with outdoor seating along the riverfront, andI park myself at a two top, myback to the building. I place my order, and a short time later, theserver brings me a beer and a plastic basket of popcorn. I prop myfeet on the railing and stare out over the water as I mentallyrecap my latest assignment.

Mylatestsuccessfulassignment.

In fact, Ihaven’t had a single disappointed client. Not one. And the tips andbonuses have surpassed both mine and Ronnie’s expectations.

No,wait. I can’t saythey’ve surpassed her expectations, because honestly, I don’t knowwhat she thought she was getting into with this gig. Ah, who am Ikidding? She’d been far more enthusiastic in the beginning than Iexpected. And while I initially thought she hadn’t wanted to tellher family because of the nature of the business, in reality, she’dbeen hiding for her own personal reasons. They had nothing to dowith me, this business, or us.

“If youtruly respect yourself, you aren’t going to let them into yourhead.”

I’dgiven Sylviasome damngood advice tonight. Advice I should consider following, actually.I frown, my gaze on the river, the beer bottle a couple inches frommy lips.

“If youtruly respect yourself, you aren’t going to let them into yourhead.”

Sylviahad been worried about how other people perceived her bodysize. Not Mike, the guyshe’s in love with, but a bunch of other people who were prettydamn inconsequential, when it comes down to it. And to be honest,she didn’t even know if they looked down on her or if they had beenspeaking in general terms. Like, did they even know she was hisgirlfriend at the time? They might have changed their tunes ifthey’d spent ten minutes in Mike and Sylvia’s company. Because thelove those two share is pretty damn obvious. I don’t think Mikewill be swayed by superficial supermodels if or when he makes itbig.

Becausehe won’t even see them.

Just like I amwith Ronnie.

I’vespent a hell of a lot of time in the company of other women sinceshe and Istartedsleeping together. And a fair share have made it clear they werewilling to give me a physical bonus as opposed to a financial one.I turned every single one down, and it wasn’t because I’m a highlyethical person.

It’sbecause I didn’t even see them. Not as potential dates or fuck buddies or one-nightstands. Whenever one of my clients propositioned me, all I thoughtwas,I can’twait to get home to Ronnie.

Andevery single time, she greeted me with the enthusiasm of someonewho doesn’t see otherpeople either.

My feethit the concretewith athud as I sit up in my chair. I’m blinking like there’s a fog andI’m trying to clear my vision.

Holyshit. I’ve spent most of my life creating a personato protect myself against myfather’s critique of the person I really am. But never once did Istand up to him and say, “I like who I am. This is the person I’mgoing to be, take it or leave it.” I never respected myself enoughto have faith, to believe I was actually a good person.

And thefact that I’ve only justrealized this is exactly why Ronnie and I split up.

I gottatalk to her.I need toexplain. To beg her to give me a second chance.

I’m onmy feet, tugging my wallet out of my pocket. I toss atwenty onto the table and thenbolt, jogging down the sidewalk that runs along the riverfront, notheading to the garage where my car is parked but to Ronnie’sapartment.

I need to talkto my girl.

***

…whoisn’t home.

Panting,I bend at the waist, press my hands to my knees, and struggle tocatch mybreath. Okay,maybe jogging all the way here wasn’t the wisest choice. Especiallysince she isn’t answering the door.

I pull out myphone and press the button to call her number.

“Hello?”There’s noise in the background, like she’s at a concert. Thatmelodic voice soundsfamiliar.

“Are youatTheHideout?”

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