Page 6 of Valentine's Slave

“Of course you didn’t,” I say. “You’re there for the reimbursement.”

“I mean, I wasn’t planning to prostitute myself,” she goes on. “I was going to choose an old guy who couldn’t get it up, let him wear me on his arm like eye candy, and then go back to my own place at the end of the night.”

“And how’s that going?”

She sighs. “To be honest, I thought it would be easier. There are old guys, but they’re weird. Hungry, you know?”

I’m impressed by her openness. “Weird like me?” I ask with a smile.

She chuckles. “Kind of. But you’re younger and slightly better looking.”

“Just slightly?”

Two hours of strength training and yoga per day hasn’t been all for nothing.

“But I’m still worried about getting killed,” she says, leaning forward, looking at me with those crystal-blue eyes, earnest and open. This is why I chose her. This is how I knew.

“I understand your concern,” I say. “And that’s why I’d like to ask you out on a date. Come back to my place, get familiar with things. We can have dinner and talk, get to know each other a bit. And then, we can go over the contract.”

“Sounds a lot like ‘contract and chill’.”

“Something like that.” I smirk. “We can explore your limits to see if they’re a match.”

“Where do you live?” she asks.

“I have an apartment in Greenwich Village.”

She hesitates. I can see straight into her soul, the fear mixed with the desire to jump at the potential. Finally, she grits her teeth.

“I need a photo of your ID as a security verification and your address.”

I pull out my wallet and hand her my driver’s license. “I can text you my address,” I add, and she nods as she slides out her phone.

All throughout the security measure, her breathing is even, her face a sheet of calm, with that determination blazing in her eyes, and I know that she doesn’t want to do this. She doesn’t want to be here, and she doesn’t want anything to do with me. But she will. She’ll sell herself just like she would have on the sugar daddy site to get what she wants. She’ll be all mine.

“Forty-four years old,” she says, eying me. “Aren’t you a little old for a fuck boy?”

I chuckle. “I believe fuck boys can be any age, not that I would personally include myself in that category.”

“Sure, because men’s sperm lives forever,” she mutters. “Doesn’t mean they all get game, though. Look at SugarDaddy.com.” She hands me my driver’s license back, eyes hard. “Let’s get a move on.” She takes the last sip of her tea. “I have to get up early tomorrow.”

4

Ava

Icould be following a psychopath to my grave right now. But does it really matter? I can’t survive in New York on part-time Cora’s, and I’m not getting any callbacks. The sugar daddy site is a joke, and while Valentino may be a sick fuck, there’s something about him that draws me in, as much as I hate it.

As soon as I have his address and a photo of his ID, I shoot them over to Hailey.

Me:Going to his house now. He kinda wants a sexual companion for the week, someone who’s open to kinky shit, but he also looks like he could be on the cover ofRolling Stone. I’ll fill you in later.

I half expect Valentino to call a private limo driver, but no, he calls an Uber instead, like a regular human.

We’re sitting in the back seat together, and I drum my fingers on the armrest, glance absent-mindedly out the window as I zone out. When I don’t want to be somewhere, when the stressoverwhelms me, I simply disconnect. It’s what I did when I first found out that Shawn was cheating.

Valentino makes small talk to fill the empty spaces. He’s a software engineer, which doesn’t surprise me. And then, maybe since I’m not responding much, he stops talking.

I watch the cars and buildings fly by as we cross the city, from Queens to Greenwich Village, where there are trees on almost every street. The Uber pulls up in front of a tall building with brown bricks and black-barred balconies jetting out from each apartment. I follow Valentino as he unlocks the door, and we go up to the third floor.

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