When I come home from class, Lacey hops off the bed, face lit with excitement.

“Should I be scared?” I ask hesitantly, letting my bag drop to the ground.

“No,” says Lacey. “I mean, not unless you’re afraid of meeting the sexiest man on the planet.”

“What did you do?” I ask in a dangerous tone, advancing on her.

“Easy, easy,” she says, backing away and holding her phone up high so I can’t get it. “I just did something for you because I care so much about you. I know you think you don’t need to see this guy in person, but you do. You need to have a heart to heart with him. You need to get him out of your system and move on with your life as a writer. You know?”

“No,” I say, jumping to snatch the phone from her. “Actually, I don’t. I already emailed him and spoke my mind. I’m much more comfortable speaking about it electronically…” I say, trailing off as I see what’s on her phone. “You messaged him on that creepy BDSM site? Virgin Princess? What the hell?”

“Bri, come on. You are obviously still a virgin. Don’t take it hard. I hear these BDSM doms really like virgins anyway, so I figured we should broadcast it. But look!” says Lacey. “He messaged back today. He agreed to meet you.”

“Me?” I ask. “No, no, no. You dug this grave. I’m not jumping in it.”

Lacey groans, plopping on the bed. “Bri, I need you to do this for me. I’m in a relationship. I can’t just go letting some mysterious billionaire sweep me off my feet. But I sure as hell can send my sexually deprived best friend.”

“Sexually deprived?” I ask. “I’m not--”

Lacey gives me a dry look. “I’ve played along for years, but it’s time to put a stop to it. You need to get laid so bad my pussy hurts.”

I hold up a hand, closing my eyes and wincing. “Can you please not talk about your… pussy. Ugh.”

She throws up her hands. “This is exactly what I mean! You’re supposed to be a romance writer and you have the same phobia of the male and female anatomy as an elementary schooler. It’s no wonder you never write that sex scene. You’re probably worried Mrs. P. is going to show up and drag you by the ear to the principal’s office.”

“That’s just ridiculous,” I say.

“Okay. Then say fuck. Out loud.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t need to prove anything to you.”

“Say it!” demands Lacey, jabbing me in the boob with her finger.

“Ow! What is your--”

“Say it!” she says, raising her finger and threatening to poke me again.

“Fuck,” I say quietly and deliberately. “Okay? See? I can say it.”

She laughs. “Oh, Bri. Where have I gone wrong raising you.”

“Seriously though, I’m not meeting this guy. Do you even realize how weird this all is? You cyberstalked a billionaire and set me up on some BDSM date with him so I can yell at him in person?”

Lacey shrugs, looking as though she really doesn’t see how crazy this is. “Well, if you don’t want to yell at him, you could just show up and give him what he wants. A willing virgin. God knows you could use the money,” she says, plucking at my ratty clothes.

“What money?” I ask.

“Oh, you know. Just the crazy amounts these rich BDSM pervs bid to own you.”

A tingle runs down my spine at her word choice. I laugh nervously, rubbing the back of my neck. “Remind me how this is any different than prostitution…”

“Uh, you get the money and you don’t get slapped around by a pimp?”

I grin. “So that’s the only thing that has kept you off the streets, Lacey? You just wanted to be your own boss?”

She glares at me. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

“Can you blame me? Listen to yourself. I mean, come on. What kind of self-respecting woman would agree to this?”

“Maybe the kind of woman who doesn’t care what people think? Just look at the guy. You want to jump his bones?” she cups a hand over her mouth and says ‘yes’ in a high pitched voice for me. “Then what’s wrong with getting some tuition money for it? Besides, imagine what it could do for your writing. If he really went for it and wanted to use you. You’d have enough material to write ten books!”

I frown at her, holding up a finger. I hate that I only start seriously considering this when she mentions how much this could help my writing. It feels dirty even thinking it. I couldn’t really use someone like that. Could I? “If I go meet this guy, will you stop pestering me about it?”

“Probably,” she says.

“Okay. Maybe I’ll go meet Jackson, but it’s not to have sex. It’s just because my creative writing professors are always telling us if we want to write about the world, we need to experience it. That’s all this is, an experience.” I clear my throat. “That’s all.”

“A toe-curling, moan-inducing, life-changing experience,” says Lacey, grinning devilishly.

“No!” I snap. “I’m just going to go, talk to him, and explain how this whole thing was just a giant misunderstanding.”

“Right,” says Lacey. “Talk. Well, I’ve got some clothes you can borrow and I’ll help you with your makeup and hair. Because you can’t show up looking like this.”