Page 10 of Plum

I make my voice real breathy. “Oh, yeah? What would you have done with your plum?”

“I would have held her very carefully.” He lifts his other hand and traces my jawline from my temple down my cheek. He steps closer. He’s so tall, I see less of his face and more of his broad chest. He’s like a campfire. His heat warms my front while my ass is gettin’ chilly from the contrast.

He tilts my head back with a nudge under my chin. “You’re so beautiful.”

Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. I’m a six or seven on a good day. I’ve got a great tush, but without a push-up, my boobs are like a buggy-eyed swamp critter lookin’ in two different directions at the same time. My face is okay. I get told to smile a lot, if that tells you anything.

“Thanks.” I shake my head to get back in the game. Compliments are good, but they don’t pay the bills. “You want a closer look? Let’s go to the back. I can dance for you. You can take a real close look at whatever you want.”

“Sounds like you really want me to go to the back.” He’s smirking. Well, fuck him. I bet he really likes to get paid on a Friday, too.

“I want to do whatever you want to do, baby.”

“Adam.”

Sure. “Adam.” I turn it into a perfect purr. My best 1960s Catwoman impersonation. I used to love watching that show on Sunday mornings on Channel 54.

“Okay, Plum Pudding. Let’s go to the back.”

I have to catch myself from correcting him. He’s the customer; he can call me whatever he wants. Plum Pudding’s dumb as shit, though.

He leads me away by the hand. I catch Austin’s eye as we go, and he follows at a distance. Although he’s built like a brick shithouse, Austin’s a youngster, twenty-one or twenty-two. He’s also the kind of sweet that’s hard to tell apart from stupid. I prefer Nickel to bird dog, but he’s off tonight ‘cause Story’s scheduled for later.

Nickel and Story got some kind of push-pull thing going on where she thinks he hung the moon, and he’s all Edward fromTwilight.

I cannot possibly! I’m a vampire!

But he’s no vampire; it’s worse than that. He’s a Kobald, and that’s basically one-part mean-as-a-junkyard-dog to two-parts completely insane. Story’s gonna catch him one of these days, and then she ain’t gonna know what to do with him.

Not gonna lie. It’s fun as shit to watch. Way better thanThe Bachelor.

I guess I’m a little distracted when we get to the way back. Clark K—Adamhesitates and tugs my hand, eyein’ the doorways hung with hippy beads.

“Card.” I hold out my hand. He digs in his wallet while Austin passes me his phone with the credit card reader. “It’s a hundred for a half hour, up front, extras in cash. Okay?”

He passes me a card. It’s black. Don’t see that every day.

I swipe it, and then I take him into the room on the left. It’s the same one we were in last week with Eric the Stepbrother when Adam sat in the corner and pretended to play on his phone.

Tonight, I push on his chest and plop him right in the center chair. It’s ridiculous. He’s so tall his knees are all folded up. He better have a long dick, or I’m gonna be grindin’ on his thighs.

Austin loosens the beaded curtains and they clink together. It feels private, but there’s a camera in the ceiling with 360-degree view. Steel Bones don’t play with their property.

Adam glances up at the black bulb on the ceiling. I ain’t particularly worried about him, but I like that he knows he’s bein’ watched.

I slink in a circle, take a few steps, try to find the beat. Cue’s got some club music blasting back here so loud you got to shout if you aren’t right up on a person. Covers up the grunts andoh, Godsreal well.

Adam settles in, easing his knees apart and stretching them long legs out. That looks more comfortable, but he’s still too much man for the chair. I better not bounce on his lap or I’m gonna break the seat.

I shake my ass. Bend over. Twerk. Check out his reaction.

He’s watchin’, but he ain’t into it.

I learned a long time ago that I ain’t a mind reader and time is limited, so I slide on up to him, straddle his legs—he’s so solid, I can actually feel the stretch in my hip sockets—and I lean over to whisper in his ear.

“What do you want me to do, baby?”

“Adam.”

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