Page 77 of Anger

I wonder how many people who really know me would look at me in shock if they found out I’ve only had sex twice in my life.

Neither experience was worth a shit.

The first time was in high school with a boy I’d only known for a couple weeks. Yeah, it was dumb of me, but I was too stupid back then to understand what love meant. The kid didn’t last much longer than a few minutes, and I was left lying there with jizz on my stomach, a sore twat and a head and heart full of disappointment.

Thankfully, Mom moved us away a few days later, so I never had to break it off with the guy. I just left without saying anything.

The second time I slept with someone was a guy I met at one the motels we were staying in. He was a decent person—an artist. Older than me by ten years, at least. He had talented hands and a keen eye, and he asked if he could paint a portrait of me one night.

I agreed to it.

We got to talking.

I stripped down for him to finish his painting, and one thing led to another.

I thought maybe, with his age, the experience might be worth it.

It was …okay, I guess. But not something that left me wanting more with him or any other guy for that matter. All the movies and books make love and sex seem like such a wonderful thing.

In my experience, it’s not worth all the hype.

Just like with the first guy, I never had to say goodbye to the second because we dipped out of the motel the next day when Mom ran out of money.

A year later, Kane shipped me off to college, and I learned to side hustle with shitty men to get by.

It worked for a while, and I never felt guilty for doing to those men what they had done to so many others. I could have been truthful with Kane and told him I couldn’t afford the cost of my apartment, but doing so would have meant he would work harder to send me more, and that money could be better used to take care of my mother.

By the time I started the hustle with Granger, I was desperate. He was the only person left that I thought I could manipulate without it becoming sexual. I knew it was a stupid idea from the beginning, but desperation leads to stupidity, and now I’m sitting squarely in the consequences.

The problem is that Granger not only expects sex with me, but he’s to the point of demanding it.

Either I give it up, or my happy ass is fired.

That’s why every time Granger traps me in the dressing room, I consider Damon’s deal.

Accepting it would only be another act of pure desperation.

And that means doing so would be stupid.

But the other choices aren’t much better.

To be fair, I’m no longer sure the offer is still on the table.

I haven’t seen Damon since that night, and I’m pretty sure he’s changed his mind in the two weeks since he made the offer.

Not that it should matter.

I can’t let it matter.

If I do, then it’ll have a hold on my heart with the potential of being a way out of this mess. But with Damon as messed up as he is—with his scars and nightmares that he’s fighting against—I fear he’ll only end up twisting my heart and ripping it from my chest until I’m left bleeding out and a broken mess.

A knock on my door alerts me to the time. I’ve been getting ready for another night of work and praying that Brinley will stay at Myth this time after giving me a ride to the club.

“You’re going to be late again,” Brinley censures as soon as I open the door. “You know how Granger gets.”

It takes effort to pack away all the worries and shame I’m feeling to protect her from the truth of my life.

My lips curve into a mischievous smile, and I look her up and down.

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