Page 7 of Wild (Chicago Underground 4)
Except he didn’t want a prostitute for a girlfriend; he’d basically said as much. More than that, he didn’t deserve one. I had quit, fled, had wanted to never go back to hooking, but clearly that wasn’t in the cards. My lip curled. “Come on, sweetheart. Do you really think someone like him can have a real relationship with someone like me?”
It was a joke, but I held my breath.
“No,” she said finally. “But you deserve to have some fun, even if it’s only for a little while.”
Yeah. That was what I thought. Maybe it was for the best anyway, that I would go back to the one thing I could do so well. I never could have afforded to fund this place on what I made as a cashier or any other normal job. I swept out the door with a “Bye, honey” and a swing of my hips. Girl’s got a reputation to rebuild.
I drove home on fumes and climbed directly into a scalding-hot shower. I scrubbed away the rejection from earlier, the fear and the stench of the streets. After using up half the bottle, I poured the rest of the soap out and watched as the peach-colored gel swirled down the drain. I couldn’t have used it again anyway, not after using it today. Maybe it was strange, but the rituals kept me sane, and what did they hurt? Who did they hurt? I lay down on the cold, hard floor of the tub and curled into a ball on my side, letting the water rain down on me.
Distantly, I heard the phone ringing, but I couldn’t have moved. Not until the water turned cold and I began to shake. I pulled myself up and turned off the shower. After throwing on a large shirt to sleep in, I grabbed the answering machine and climbed into my plush bed with six-hundred-thread-count sheets. I curled my body around the little black box and pressed Play.
“Hey, it’s me.” He sounded tired. “I guess you’re busy.”
There was a pause, which I scribbled in with well-deserved recriminations. I might not have been with a client today, but I would be tomorrow. This was my life. I could apologize for it, but I couldn’t change it any more than a ship could change the tides.
“I worked a double shift today,” he said on the recording. “One of the other guys, his wife went into labor, so I took over for him. Wasn’t too bad, though. Just tiring. For her, I mean. It took her ten hours to push him out, so what the hell do I have to complain about? Nine pounds, a boy. I didn’t see him yet, came straight home.” There was silence. “Straight home and called you. Funny.”
The answering machine broke the awkwardness with a click.
There were no more messages. I pressed the button again.
“Hey, it’s me. I guess you’re busy. I worked a double shift today. One of the other guys, his wife went into labor…”
Chapter Five
The party turned out to be a corporate affair in the penthouse of a swanky modern hotel. A bunch of high-profile CEOs getting high and horny amid miles of glass surfaces—what a brilliant idea.
The guys at the front desk checked me out, but discreetly. With furtive glances instead of leers, as befitted an escort of my price range. For all they knew, I was a spoiled girlfriend, not a prostitute. But then, what was the difference?
Outside the suite, I sank my stilettos into the carpet. The dull beat shook from behind the door, already matching the throb in my head. I had the sudden urge to call him as I brushed my fingers against the little black clutch.
What could I s
ay? I know I promised I wouldn’t do it anymore, but I’m about to go bang assholes for money. I tried to join the regular world, but they didn’t want me. I’m sorry. Don’t hate me. Help me.
The door swung open, revealing a man with a shiny forehead and a bulbous belly hanging from between his open dress shirt. “I call dibs,” he shouted, spittle flying in my face.
Fabulous.
“Sure, lover.” I tried to squeeze by him, but he caught me in the doorway. His hands were everywhere, his foul liquor-breath suffocated me, and the doorjamb cut into my back. “No need to rush, handsome. We’ve got all night.”
He grunted and stuck his tongue into my cleavage. His sweat-sheened head filled my vision, and I swallowed bile.
Shit, I wasn’t ready to go back. I never would be.
I had to. It was a miracle Henri had let me off so easily. The least I could do was bear my punishment gracefully.
But my new boyfriend’s face felt slimy. I felt slimy.
I’d only been out of the game for a few months. Maybe more, if I didn’t count Philip, which was debatable. Still, there was no reason to freak out over a simple groping. I’d made it through much worse.
Just let him. Let him.
Let him touch and grab and pinch. Let him slobber. Let him treat me like I was a piece of meat, no thoughts, no feelings. Let him treat me like this was all I was good for. Do it for long enough, and I might start to believe it. Lord knew I already did.
Think of something else.
Not him, the man on my speed dial I never called, not while I did this. I didn’t understand why it hurt him to see what I was when he met a dozen other hookers in his daily work, each worse off than me, but it did. I couldn’t think of my best friend Allie or her daughter either, because to imagine them in this position was a weight too heavy to carry.
