Page 252 of The Sinner: James

We lock eyes as she pulls up and straightens.

“Hire?”

She snatches a bottle of water from the table, unscrews the cap, and gulps half of it.

“What do you mean by ‘hire’?” I ask.

She puts the cap back on and runs her hand over her mouth.

“Like an escort... A male escort,” she says, enthralled with the idea.

Rolling my lip under my teeth, I study her, suppressing a smile.

“Why would you do that?”

She slides into a chair.

“Because I had enough of this shit,” she says only half-jokingly this time. “I’m sick of games and guessing and texting and waiting for calls. And all that crap. You know, the shit you need to go through so you can fuck someone... once,” she says, flicking her finger up to emphasize her point. “And then if you want to do it again, you have to go through the same shit... again.”

She pauses, pondering for a moment.

“Although, if it sucks the first time around, he’s usually pursuing you for another round, or maybe that’s my luck.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“It may not be for others, but this has been my experience so far. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.”

She searches my eyes for a moment.

I stay silent.

“Or maybe you don’t. You’ve always had access to a different dating pool,” she murmurs.

I keep my mouth shut.

“Seriously now. I don’t think I’m asking for much. And I’m a fairly reasonable person when it comes to men. At least, that’s what I like to think,” she says, a bit disappointed. “But it’s such a tedious and complicated process. And the waiting part is killing me. I always need to have patience and play the fucking game. It’s a matter of fate or luck or whatever other crap. Who knows what it is? I don’t think anyone does. And then, even if I find someone remotely interesting, I have to go down my list. Is he crazy? Weird? A creep? Does he live in a cardboard box under a bridge? Does he know what he’s doing when he lays his hands on me?”

She pauses.

I look at her.

“In bed, I mean...”

I jerk my hand up.

“Yeah... Yeah. I got that.”

She tosses her head back and rakes her hand through her long dark hair before pulling it all back into a ponytail.

“Who knows? Maybe I’m hanging with the wrong crowd.”

“Maybe,” I say seriously.

She glances at me, smiling.

“I’m not joking.”

“I’m not joking either… So how would you like your escort to be?”

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