Page 29 of Thirst Trap
I shake my head, trying to process his words right now. “Dude. Nothing you are saying makes sense.”
He shoves his phone into my hand. “Just look. I think you could make some serious money.”
I take the phone out of his hand and open the first message, still skeptical about everything he is saying.
We would love for you to do a dance to this song for one of our up-and-coming artists. Payment is $300 for a one-minute video.
I give my head a little shake. Three hundred dollars for dancing to a song? Is this for real?
I open up message after message. Some are from women who are… let’s just say I never want Whitley to see these messages.
But between those are what Trent said, messages from companies wanting to work with me.
Holy hell.
“And that’s not the only part,” Trent says, taking his phone back as I sit stunned that this is even a possibility. “There is this program through the app. You sign up and you get paid per video view. Dude, I think you could make the money in a few months. Easy.”
I give him a sideways glance. “How the hell do you know all of this?”
He just shrugs his shoulders. “For as much as my phone has been blowing up the past few days because of notifications from this app, let’s just say I’m now invested in your career. I’m like your agent.”
“You could have deleted it.”
“I could have, but then, how could I be helping you now? Admit it. I’m your hero. Your financial savior.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I say, taking the phone back to read the messages again. “It seems too good to be true.”
Could this work? I look at some of the messages and what they are asking. It doesn’t seem that hard, and if I’m doing my calculations right, I could earn money quick. And a lot less work than an overtime shift.
But will it work? If I’m going to do this, and that’s still a big if, I need to know it’s going to work. I don’t have time to waste. Mom’s roof isn’t collapsing, yet, but it’s one good storm from falling in.
“How about this,” Trent says, sensing my hesitation. “Let’s make a video right now. I’ll film. Let’s see how many views it gets. Then you make your decision.”
I look around the gym. We aren’t alone. A few high school kids are lifting a few spots down from us. A Pilates class is going on, and Daisy and Doris are slowly walking on a treadmill. I’m definitelynotdancing in front of them.
“Fine, but not here.”
Trent smiles. “I have the perfect place.”
* * *
“How is this the perfect place?”
“What?” he says, looking around like I’m crazy. “This is perfect.”
I look around at the old basketball court that’s attached to our gym, unable to hold back a sneeze. “It’s dusty. And dirty. And I’m pretty sure no one has been here since we were five.”
Trent looks around but doesn’t seem to have the same worries I do. “It has ambiance. And it’s private. You don’t have to worry about anyone walking in.”
That’s true. I didn’t even know you could still get in here. And as much as I want to know how Trent knows, at the same time, I don’t. I have a feeling I might have to arrest him if I did.
“Okay, what do I have to do?”
Trent perks up. “I love this. It’s like I’m your manager. Agent/Manager Trent Martin.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever you need to call yourself. Just tell me what to do.”
He scrolls on his phone a minute before playing a song. I’ve heard it, though I can’t put my finger on where. It’s not my cup of tea, but it has a good beat.
