LYDIA

"So he likes to pay for it? Is that what I'm dealing with here?" Lord, he's really not making this easy on me. I know they say nothing worth having comes easily, but this is asking a lot out of a virgin. Yet… I'm strangely attracted to the idea. But is that fucked up? Being turned on by the idea of him paying me for it?

Probably.

But I am.

Imagining Rhys picking me, it makes me warm, makes me flush in places I shouldn't. The idea that I could control the experience. The when and where. The idea that I'd turn myself over to Rhys, let him spread my legs and fuck me, without even taking me to dinner first… it turns me on.

It's so backwards. Upside-down and confusing and wrong. But it removes the doubt, doesn't it? If he picks me, if he pays for me, he wants me. And that is thrilling and freeing and liberating in ways I wouldn't have thought. I won't have to question if he's interested. If I'm his type, if he's sexually attracted to me. If my boobs are too small or my inexperience too off-putting.

Maybe my lust is making me delusional, but it makes sense to me. It's just so oddly clear-cut this way. It feels right to me, it turns me on, and that's all that really matters, isn't it?

"He loves paying for it. Allegedly. Per my source," Payton says, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper even though we're alone.

"Your source is a bellhop who swipes his keycard so the girls can access the elevator to the executive floor."

"I confirmed the story with my new friend in housekeeping!" Payton's done speaking softly, clearly outraged by my assessment of her intel. "I didn't bring this story to you without confirmation. This isn't Watergate."

"Nope." I shake my head. "I agree, this is nothing like Watergate. Not even a tiny bit."

Payton nods smugly as she takes a bite of her lunch and while I think.

I spend the rest of lunch lost in thought—the rest of the day, if I'm being honest. Then I hatch a plan. A completely crazy plan.

"Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?" Payton asks for possibly the third time since last night. "Or that this idea you have is even feasible? Maybe you could try propositioning him again first? It seems like that would be a lot easier. And saner. I feel like we might be getting a little carried away here with this plan of yours."

"Possibly. But I'm a very goal-oriented person and I want to lose my virginity this century. Preferably to Rhys. There's definitely chemistry between us, and he's clearly on the licentious side so he's either rejecting me because he's got some kind of fetish for paying for it or some hangup I haven't figured out yet. Or he thinks I'm too much of a good girl to be interested in what he's interested in." Spoiler, Rhys, I'm not that good.

Also, I read a romance novel once about a virgin auction and it ended in a happily-ever-after. But I keep that to myself because it's too crazytown to say out loud, even to Payton.

Payton plucks her Del Taco cup from the cup holder in my car and takes a sip. Their java iced coffees are life-affirming, and the value size is only a buck and less than a hundred and fifty calories so I can have one without fat or financial guilt. Plus, we deserved the caffeine this morning because we're on our way to Double Diamonds, which is reported to be a frequent club of choice for Rhys.

"Are you sure this place is open before noon on a Saturday?" I ask again, because why would a strip club be open before lunch? I'm in no position to judge anyone's life choices but I'm having trouble visualizing a scenario where one would need a lap dance before noon. Which is precisely why we're going this early, so we won't accidentally bump into Rhys before I'm ready.

"Twenty-four hours. I checked their website."

"They have a website?"

"Who doesn't have a website?"

Hmm. "Should I have applied online, do you think?"

Payton chokes on her iced coffee before setting it back in the cup holder. "No, I don't think you should have applied to be a prostitute online. I think that's an in-person kind of application."

"Okay."

"Besides which, their website is just for the dancers. I think the hookers are all very hush-hush."

"That sounds right."

"Totally."

"You know what I don't get though?"

"What?"

"Can't he find women willing to have sex with him for free? Clearly I would. Look at him."

"Well, you know what they say."

"What do they say?"

"Men like that, they're not paying for sex. They're paying for her to leave after."

Wow. That's really sad.

"You know he's gonna want anal, right?" Payton adds.

"I assumed so," I reply with a shrug.

"Don't worry," Payton says breezily. "I'm gonna make you a 'butt stuff' badge."

"You're a good friend."

"I really am," Payton agrees, rattling the ice in her drink.

When we arrive at Double Diamonds and step inside it's not what I expected, not at all. It's as awkward as I'd expected, two women walking into a strip club before noon. We're immediately asked if we'd like applications.

"I'd like to speak to the owner," I reply, doing my best to sound confident.

"Me too," Payton adds and I give her the side eye because I'm not sure if she's supporting me or if she actually wants an application.

It's my lucky day because it turns out that the owner, Vince, is here. And he's willing to give us fifteen minutes.

As we're escorted through the club to Vince's office, I take in my surroundings. I expected it to be dark with an elevated stage in the center of the room outlined with neon lighting. There is a stage, of course. There are three of them, each smaller than I'd envisioned in my mind. The chairs are so much closer to the stages than I'd imagined too. Overall the place feels more like a buffalo wing bar than a house of ill repute. If buffalo wing bars had poles, obviously. There's a pretty blonde dancing for a man sitting alone. He's drinking coffee, his eyes never leaving her body as we pass. I wonder what brought him to a strip club by himself before lunch, but seeing that I'm here for my own nefarious reasons I'm in no position to judge.

Once we're seated in Vince's office, Payton breaks the ice with her signature chitchat while my heart races a million miles an hour. I focus on my surroundings and take a deep breath while I summon the courage to ask what I want to ask. The office has an oddly comforting vibe. Safe. There's not a neon light to be had or needed, as natural sunlight streams in from the oversized windows lining an entire wall. The office décor is nondescript corporate. I'd think I'd just wandered into a law office, if law offices had lobbies with poles in them.

"So, do you have multiple girlfriends?" Payton dives right in with her own agenda after we've been offered coffee by a woman who's got to be in her sixties. I fleetingly wonder if they advertised for that position on a job board or if they promoted her from within.

"Excuse me?" Vince replies, eyebrows raised in question, clearly confused if he's misheard Payton or simply misjudged the audacity she's capable of.

"You know, like Hugh Hefner did?"

"I run a gentleman's club in Vegas, not a lifestyle magazine."

"Same thing. Anyway, do you? Because Rhys is gonna fall in love with Lydia and they'll move in together and yadda yadda yadda. I'll have to get a new roommate and I'm not sure I can be bothered to vet someone new right now. So I'd be open to being girlfriend number three. I don't want to be girlfriend one or two, it sounds like too much responsibility, you know? Also I'd like my own room. Is that how you do it? Do the girlfriends all get their own rooms? That's how Hef did it. Do you have a nice place? Because I'm not sharing you if you live in a shitty condo with coin-operated laundry."

"Are you serious?" Vince narrows his eyes at her, as if he can't tell if Payton is indeed serious or simply fucking with him, and Vince doesn't look like a man used to being fucked with. I find most people have this reaction to her, so I'm used to it. For the record, she's rarely joking when she's saying something ridiculous.

"Serious as a shark," she replies without blinking.

"That's not even a thing." Vince brings a cup of coffee to his lips, eyeing her over the rim. "The saying is 'serious as a heart attack.'"

"Like sharks aren't serious?" She leans forward, her eyes narrowed. "You try swimming with a shark and then tell me how not-serious they are."

"You know he slept with all of them, right?"

"Duh," Payton replies, completely nonplussed about the sleeping arrangements of a man and his multiple girlfriends.

"You're really something, aren't you?" Vince asks, still looking at her as if he's not sure what to make of her.

"I'm a lot of things. It's true." Payton beams as if he's just paid her a compliment. I'm honestly not sure what his feelings are about her because his expression isn't giving away much. But if I had to guess, he's not inviting Payton to be girlfriend number one, two or three anytime soon.

"Vince," I say, squaring my shoulders and interrupting before Payton gets us kicked out. I take a deep breath. I can do this. I can, I can, I can. "I have a proposition for you."

He takes his eyes off of Payton and levels me with the full force of his attention and I have a fleeting worry about who exactly I'm dealing with. He could be a mobster, couldn't he? He owns a strip club—gentleman's club, whatever—in the heart of Las Vegas. He might have ties to organized crime. Or loan sharks or hitmen. I don't know this man or what he's involved in. I doubt he's leading a church youth group on the weekends, I assume that much. And I'm sure he's not someone to mess with. Not that I'm messing with him, I'm not. I'm serious. But it doesn't mean I'm not in way over my head.

"I'm listening, Miss Clark," he says, his eyes flickering to his desktop monitor and back to mine. "You've got nine minutes left. If you want something you'd better get to it. Quickly."

So I blurt out my request because I've got nothing to lose. Because I'm not a quitter. Because I've got a plan.

There's a moment of silence when I'm done. A long moment. Vince stares at me, silent, his fingers drumming on his desktop. Payton takes a drag on her iced coffee, but there's nothing left in the cup so the room fills with that rattling hollow noise that occurs from creating a wind tunnel in an empty cup. She rattles the ice as if that might get her an extra drop or two and slurps again.

"Are you for real?" Vince stops staring at me to address Payton.

"So real. And so are my boobs."

His eyes drop slowly to her chest before he shakes his head and returns his attention to me. "This isn't a brothel," he says, and I'm afraid he's about to boot me from his office, my time long gone. "Prostitution isn't legal in Clark County."

"Of course not. Double Diamonds is a business, isn't it, Mr…?"

"Vince," he replies, deadpan.

"Right. Mr. Vince, you're a businessman at heart, aren't you? So let's make a deal. I'll make it worth your while, I promise."

"Scout's honor," Payton adds and as I turn to look at her she winks at him, a big dramatic wink complete with a head tilt and a little tsk she makes with her tongue. "The Urban Dictionary kind, big guy."

I don't even want to know what that means, so I shoot her a look meant to make her shut up and turn back to Vince.

He leans back in his chair, running two fingers across his lips while he watches us with newfound interest. "So you work at the Windsor. Both of you?"

I nod, feeling like I might be on the verge of changing his mind.

"Let's talk terms."