Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60418 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60418 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
“So, you should be unwinding at a nightclub—doing a little dancing, tossing back a few drinks, and finding somebody nice to help you pass the time,” George told him. “Why do I have to explain this to you? You’re only thirty-two, you and Eden both. You’re acting like you’re my age, but I tell you what, if my back wasn’t so screwed up I’d be out there having some fun.” Eden started to say something, but the commercial break ended and George raised his hand. “Wheel’s back. Don’t talk over my show.”
I grinned at that and glanced at my brother and his best friend. Not that they’d ever been big partiers, but they really had become total homebodies since we’d moved to San Francisco. At first, I’d thought it was just because they were unfamiliar with the city and needed to settle in. But ten months was plenty of time to establish a new routine and find someplace to hang out.
Okay, so I wasn’t really complaining about the fact that Eden preferred to stay home. It would have hurt like hell to watch him going out with other people, so it was a good thing he never dated. It was definitely unusual, though. So was the fact that he’d only had two relationships in his life. One had started in high school and lasted five years, and the next one lasted nearly a decade. In both cases, the women had started out as friends before gradually transitioning to something more. That was just how Eden was wired, apparently.
He and my brother really did need to get out and have some fun though, so I said, “Tomorrow night we’re all going out, no excuses. That includes you, George, if you want to come along.”
George said, “I’m in. Now shut your pie hole so I can solve this puzzle.”
After we ate, I helped do the dishes and clean up the kitchen before going upstairs to get ready. It took me about half an hour to shower, shave, and do the rest of my pre-date grooming routine. Then I stood in front of my open closet door, contemplating my wardrobe.
I’d recently made a new friend named Jasper, who’d been a sex worker a long time and knew how to attract upscale clients. To keep my website classy, I’d patterned it after his. I’d also been investing in some nice clothes, because I was trying to take a page from his playbook. He always wore a suit when he met with clients, but I couldn’t relax when I was that dressed up.
Eventually, I decided to go with a pair of tight-fitting indigo jeans, along with a royal blue button-down shirt that played up my blue eyes. I finished off the outfit with a nice pair of black boots and a black leather jacket I’d bought myself earlier that week. After I requested a Lyft, I draped a messenger bag over my shoulder and left my bedroom.
Then I stepped into the shared bathroom at the end of the hallway and took a look at myself in the mirror over the sink. The top two buttons on my shirt were unfastened, and I experimentally unbuttoned a third. But now I looked cheap and obvious, so I buttoned it up again.
After studying my reflection, I decided to add a little gel to my short, blond hair. I’d recently gotten the most expensive haircut of my life, and even though I loved the way my hair fell into place, I was still reeling at the cost. My barber shop haircuts used to cost me fifteen bucks back in St. Louis, while this one from a fancy salon had been ten times as much.
But it was all part of the game. I wasn’t just selling sex. I was selling a fantasy, and to do that I had to look my best.
I’d only recently figured out the fantasy part of it. I’d realized Jasper, with his classic good looks, designer clothes, and slender build, drew clients who wanted a fashion model. Meanwhile, I appealed to men who wanted a corn-fed midwestern jock, the captain of the football team, Mr. All-American.
A snort of laughter slipped from me. While I had actually played football in high school and was from the Midwest, the rest of that was such a load of crap. But like I said, I was selling a fantasy—with a twist. Even though I looked like an alpha jock, I was strictly a bottom and made that clear on my web page. Not everyone knew what to do with that, because there was this stereotype that bottoms were supposed to be tiny, little twinks—as if the body type you were born with somehow dictated what you liked in bed. But for men who enjoyed fucking big, muscular guys, I was a dream come true.