Page 180 of Trouble from Abroad
I groan, pressing my face into my palms. “Urgh, Callie. Can you not make me second-guess it? Just let me have this.” My list is pages long. I’ve worked so hard on it.
“No can do, babes. As your instant-soulmate and new best friend, it’s my sacred obligation to stop you from doing stupid shit.”
“Wow, Callie. Thanks,” I deadpan. “I’m so glad I confided in you.”
“Brutal honesty is part of the package deal when you roll with me. No need to thank me. This is how I stop you from making the worst decision of your adult life. I’ll save you from hiring a man-whore to teach you how to fuck.”
I give her the deadliest stare known to mankind. “Callie, we literally met today.”
“That’s how strongly I feel about this.”
Oh, here we go.
I flop down on the sofa cushions and toss a throw pillow between us. It’s my conversational airbag. “Hey, feminist,” I tease, “ever heard of ‘my body, my choice’?”
“You’re not pregnant. You’re trying to hire a man-whore to—what was it again? ‘Bang the awkward out of you’?” She refills both our glasses, as if that will help either of our arguments.
I drink it anyway and take another shot at convincing her.
“I’m in a new country. For a limited time. When else am I going to have the chance to go from ‘oops, what do I do with this’ in bed to a confident woman who knows how to satisfy a man?” God, that sounded pitiful even to my ears. “Back home, I’m ‘the reliable one’, the planner, the friend who holds the purses while everyone else gets chosen.” I finish my drink. “Here I get to do this anonymous wild thing that is only for me.”
She watches me, sadness apparently sobering her up.
“This is not something I’ve been wondering about, Callie. I’ve put a lot of research into this. I looked up male escorts in New York. Found the perfect agency, emailed them before I flew to the States and already have the contract in hand. All that’s left to do is choose the guy and set a meeting to see if there’s enough chemistry to book a… date.”
At first, she doesn’t say anything. Just stares at me.
Come on, I don’t sound that unhinged.
Fine, a little bit. I’m just… very enthusiastic. And detailed-oriented. Or so I’ve been told.
“I want to do this in a safe, no-pressure environment—where the guy doesn’t have expectations, and I don’t feel judged, already bracing to fail.”
Callie stills, watching me closely.
“Sort of how you’re staring at me now. Judging. I don’t want just another guy. This is not a ‘swipe right’ kind of situation. I want someone with lots of experience. Someone I can brief. Someone who won’t care if I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. And I want this to play out away from my real life. This is an… independent project.”
“Girl,” Callie says firmly, “first things first: I don’t judge my friends. Ever. And also… Babes, you had me fooled the entire night.”
My head pops up. “What are you on about?”
“I thought you were smart. Like, almost April-smart.”
Backhanded compliment received and logged.
“But you don’t get it, do you?” Her brow creases, mouth pulling into an incredulous smirk. “No expectations? The guy should be on his knees—figuratively, and yeah, literally too—thanking the heavens for a chance with you.”
I roll my eyes so hard I practically see gray matter. “Hmph,” I mutter. It's the universal sound of ‘shut up’, but Callie isn’t having it.
She sits across from me on the coffee table, grabs my knees and yanks my body towards her. I nearly slip off the sofa to the ground. “Hey, you listen to me now.” We’re face to face. Nowhere to hide. “Look, I get it. You want control. You want someone who doesn’t make you feel one wrong move away from a bad Yelp review. We’ve all been there.”
She leans back, eyes a little glassy. “My first was Arnold, my assistant teacher.”
I blink. “Your what?”
“Yes,” she confirms unapologetically. “In college. And before you go full protective-mum mode, yes, I was legal. Just.” She laughs, but I don’t. “He was older, but I wasall grown, babes.” Her smile falters when I keep staring. “I know how it sounds. But it wasn’t how you’re picturing it.”
I don’t realize how hard I’m gripping my glass until my fingers ache. “Callie…” I whisper, every cell in my body ready to fight Arnold in the parking lot of my imagination. “It sounds like you’re trying to make it sound better than it was.”
