Page 8 of Mating Theory
A relieved smile. I’ve fooled her. Human, she thinks. “The best time.”
“I like your friend.”
She gives the giant inflatable penis a squeezing hug, making its Sharpie-drawn eyes bulge. “Dick is our chaperone. It’s not safe for young women to be on the streets alone, you know.”
This is Harper—effervescent and irreverent. Being around her, you can’t help but feel lighter. Christopher is the very opposite. He makes everything more serious. More weighty. They’re perfect for each other, and I… well, I don’t belong here.
The silence underlines that fact.
I see her ask him without words: did you ask him yet? I see Christopher answering without words: no. I’ve watched him do a hundred negotiations. So I know the precise moment he decides this is the time. There’s cunning in the air, like electricity before a storm.
“Do you want to come over?” he asks. After. Oh God. A threesome.
That’s what he’s offering right now. Like I’m a gift he’s giving her. Here’s your last chance to fuck someone else before we get hitched.
Or worse, it might continue after they say I do. I’d be like a living, breathing vibrator in their marriage bed. The sick part is how badly I want to say yes.
I can almost taste her salt sweet skin. I can almost feel the bristle on his jaw. My body’s taut with hunger. Yes, I’ll come over. Yes, I’ll eat her out and suck your dick and do whatever you want. I’ll leave whenever you want.
Bile burns my throat. “No, thanks,” I say, the words stiff and staccato.
“Oh.” Disappointment in her eyes almost changes my mind.
I don’t have to say anything else. I don’t owe them any explanation. Certainly I don’t owe them any lies, but I find myself speaking anyway. “I’m seeing someone.”
Christopher’s blue eyes lighten. “That’s great.”
That probably means he’s still worried about Harper changing her mind. I could reassure him that won’t happen, but then he says, “You should bring her to the wedding.”
“Or him,” Harper says, sounding hopeful.
“Right. Maybe.” No one’s coming to the wedding, man or woman. I’m not seeing anyone. My facade has cracked. I can no longer pretend I’m fine. I turn toward the door and walk away, leaving the party and the two people I love behind me.
Chapter Four
Ashleigh
Cold. Hungry. There’s no other word for it. Desperate. Everything about this life hurts, but there’s nothing I would have done differently.
Sometimes life doesn’t give any good choices.
Male laughter punches the silence as the door opens and closes, more men arriving. Droplets quiver on the windows. It’s shaping up to be an epic party. In a few hours there’ll be drunk men willing to pay two hundred dollars for me to follow them to a motel room.
As long as I don’t lose my nerve, I don’t have to starve tonight.
A dark sedan slows on the street. The window slides down. A man in his late forties looks me up and down. I could have passed him in a grocery store or a gas station without looking twice. An ordinary man. Gold glints from his ring finger. Of course he’s married. His wife is probably at home, warm and fed, scrolling through Pinterest right now. “How much?” he asks.
Tell him two hundred dollars. Ky told me that the first time I worked this street corner. He also gave me a pack of condoms. “You let your mind go somewhere else. Do what they say, don’t ask questions, and you survive. That’s the important thing.”
An unexpected guardian angel, for sure.
Tell him twenty dollars. Then maybe he won’t expect so much. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, and I want it to be over soon. Twenty dollars is enough to buy hot French fries, salty on my tongue, and a cool, bubbly soda to wash them down. I’m almost sick with hunger.
Tell him a thousand dollars. Anything to make him drive away.
“I’m not for sale,” I say, my voice catching.
“What? Speak up.”
“I’m done for the night,” I say, more clearly.
Anger flashes through his eyes, mixed with disdain, and I’m glad I didn’t get into his car. I’m glad I didn’t let him put his hands on me. It might have cost more than my dignity. “Your loss,” he says, before driving away, leaving a spray of gravel on my bare legs.
Red taillights disappear behind a building, and then I’m alone again.
Hungry and cold and desperate again.
Why couldn’t I have gone with him? Spread your legs. Open your mouth. Survive. That’s what Ky told me to do. It makes so much sense, but I’m stubborn. And stupid, maybe. Filled with this pointless hope that something will save me.
This isn’t a fairy tale.
The door slams open, and someone steps out of the Den. He’s framed by the garish, glittering light—only shadow and movement. Broad shoulders and long legs. I take a step backward without thinking about it. I’ve learned to trust my instincts in the past six months. Something about this man says dangerous.
