In my peripherals, I see her put her glass on the coffee table and sit back on her haunches. “Shock? Are you okay? Do we need to go to a hospital?”
The concern in her voice makes my skin feel uncomfortably tight, and I shake off the feeling. “No, not like physical shock. Mental. The gift—it’s more, Oaks. A lot more.”
“Well, that makes sense. Ten thousand dollars for a single night is their bar. For the whole weekend, I’d expect them to offer you at least another five.”
I take a deep breath. “Try twenty. On top of the ten. So, thirty total.”
“Holy shit, do you have a magical vagina?”
Her outburst catches me so off guard, I can’t help but laugh.
“Why the hell are you sitting here, laughing, and not packing an overnight bag? For that kind of money, I’d beg for orgasms for a week.” Oakley shakes her head, amazement lacing her words.
“I take it you think I should accept?” I ask, voice as level as I can make it.
Ithink I should accept the invitation, but this was supposed to be a one and done. Get the cash I need to ride out at least one year of college, hopefully more, if I can score a part-time job.
I’m not supposed to let myself fall back into old patterns.
This was a one-off exchange of my body for cash.
A final hurrah.
But when I’d made that decision, I hadn’t factored in another twenty fucking thousand dollars.
I would be able to push through nearly my entire college career with thirty thousand dollars in my bank account.Realistically, I’d only need to buy the occasional new clothing item, textbooks, groceries, et cetera. My housing is paid for by a scholarship, and so is my tuition, both of which are dependent on my grades.
And I have absolutely zero plans to let those slip.
“Yes, I think you should accept! Girl, are you crazy? That’s a goddamn car. It’s a deposit for a house. It’s...it’s... Damn, I think that’s minimum wage for a year, and you would earn it in a weekend.”
It’s actually more than minimum wage—almost double—but I don’t bother pointing that out.
I take another sip of my water, not really sure what to say.
“You said it was good, right?”
I glance back at Oakley. “Really good.”
“And they didn’t hurt you?”
Not in a way I didn’t like. “Nope.”
“They matched their pictures, they made sure you had a good time, too, and they didn’t hurt you. I’m not seeing the problem. Unless there is something you aren’t telling me?” She keeps her tone level, applying zero pressure on me to respond.
But, since we are going to be bosom buddies, I decide to throw her a little something.
“If this was a romance novel, and I was the female main character, my tragic backstory would make all the dark romance girlies on BookTok go all gooey in the knees.”
She huffs a laugh. “I’m one of those dark romance girlies.”
I smirk and then focus on the glass in my hands. “Oaks, it's the classic shitstorm. Dead parents. Foster care, with every deadbeat foster parent type you can imagine. Sleeping with men to protect the people I cared about. Tonight was supposed to be for me, for my future. Then I would be done. Set myself up, so I don’t need to stress about money for at least a year.”
The quiet that stretches between the two of us makes my skin crawl, and when I can’t take it anymore, I look at her. Immediately, I squint my eyes at her sad and pinched face. How she still looks cute is beyond me. “You said no judgment. Sheesh, it was your rule, you could at least respect it.”
My voice sounds wobbly, even to me.
She sucks in a breath and straightens up, gathering her hair and rebuilding the messy bun on the top of her head. “You’re right. Okay. Look, tragic backstory aside, I think that, if you are emotionally up to continuing with your fuck fest and netting yourself another twenty K with four smoking-hot men who know how to make you come—or not—I totally stand by you. I’ll be waiting for you to come home Sunday night. I’ll get us some wine, there will be a cheeseboard and face masks. Candles. Whatever you need.”