Page 7 of Bonking the Billionaire

I squinched up my nose at the thought of consuming anything that had been inside a toilet bowl. “I would never drink toilet wine.”

“No, you’d produce and sell it, you scrappy go-getter.” Layana swished her black braid over her shoulder. “Then you’d sell it to people like me who would pay top jail dollars—cigarettes and snack cakes I assume—to dull the monotony of every day being the same, and also the pain of what happened after we dropped the soap.”

“First, what do you think happens in a women’s prison when youdrop the soap?”

“Something sexy, probably. And painful.”

“There’s no big dudes waiting to get your butt. Everyone’s a woman.”

“A big woman could get you, and who said what she’s doing back there. Maybe the pain is psychological.Or,maybe you’ll like it.”

“I don’t like it. I don’t like the thought of it. And second, in this fictional scenario of yours, we’re in jail together?” I asked, referring to thewein herwe dropped the soapcomment. “Youweren’t accused of kidnapping.”

“I’d do something exciting and illegal to join you in prison after your sentencing, obviously.” She flashed me a blinding, crooked grin.

“Obviously.” I smiled back at her. We really were two messed-up peas in some weirdly deformed, messed-up pod.

Layana popped a Bugle in her mouth, stuffed it into her cheek, and asked, “So, forget the toilet wine. Tell me what happened today. Start at the beginning, with why you were wearing your Ralphie pajamas.”

The alarm on my phone went off.

Layana threw her hands in the air, sighed, and flopped down onto the mattress.

“I know. I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“Go on, call your father, like the saccharine sweet daughter that you are.” Her tone was sharp and sarcastic.

Pretending she was sincere, I said, “Fine, I will.”

Every weeknight that I could manage during college, I had called my dad at seven thirty. About half the time it would work out and we’d watchWheel of Fortunetogether like we used to back home. It was my way of holding on to my old life, of trying to appease my guilt for leaving Dad all alone. Since I finished college and moved to Epiphany, North Carolina with Layana, Dad and I had yet to catch a show together.

I hitsendand hoped this time would be different.

It rang and rang. Then came the voicemail, the same one that he’d left on the machine since Mom had died. It was her voice asking me to leave a message. I didn’t.

Maybe tomorrow would go better.

As soon as I hung up the phone, Layana popped back upright and said, “You. Delymo. Pajamas. Go.”

I said, “Well, I should have listened to my gut when I saw the lister’s screen name.”

“What was it? Call_Me_Daddy_69?”

“Close. SpankKing69.”

Layana snorted. “Tell me he didn’t request you wear a bunny suit for this…job.”

“Well—”

Layana narrowed her blue eyes at me.

“He seemed perfectly normal before we met,” I said. “He left a message saying thank you and everything.”

Layana sucked in her lips, clearly having more to say about this, but she waited for me to continue instead.

“It was supposed to be a babysitting gig. And I was an appropriate level of concerned about the whole SpankKing name. Also I was hoping the Ralphie suit would be useful for self-defense purposes.”

“To make you look like a crazy person.”

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