If there was one thing I hated about my life, it was having to lie to Connor Nash. Okay, there was plenty more to hate. I was living half a continent away from my family, taking a double course load at Temperance Falls College to get my degree quickly, and working a job that sucked the soul right out of me most days. Technically, I lied to everyone I ran into. Or at least, stretched the truth.
What do you do? Sales.
Where do you work? From home most days, unless I need to visit a client.
What are you doing Saturday night? Working.
Well, that one was often the truth, and it created a huge barrier between me and any sort of dating possibility. The hazards of being a sex worker.
Of course, not dating simply meant more time for crushing on my neighbor. Connor was the epitome of a woman’s fantasy partner come to life: tall, handsome, sweet, caring, a little overprotective at times but in a good way. He was my best friend on the island…my only friend. He was also the only man I’d ever pictured myself having a relationship with, though there was no way that could happen. Connor was a cop, and I…well, I sold sexual fantasies for a living.
Not a good combo.
I headed for the bridge, not wanting to deal with ferry timetables and schedules tonight. Pulling myself from my usual Connor-and-me-happily-ever-after dream and back into my reality. I had a date with a John. Well, not a date, really. More an appointment.
Ever since I’d moved on from actual sex acts to working only the kink and fantasy squad, I couldn’t think of my working hours as dates. I mean, no one would date the guy who only wanted you to wear yoga pants and wiggle your butt on his face, right? No one would date the man who liked a woman to wear skimpy lingerie and no shoes so he could perform a dental exam on her toes. The men were usually nice and the pay was phenomenal, but the weird factor was pretty high. Not high enough to go back to earning a living spreading my legs and giving blow jobs, mind you, but high. And I had a feeling it was changing my opinions of men in general.
All men except Connor. He was a bright spot no matter how dark my days and nights became. Someone who’d sort of adopted me when I’d moved in to the building after my family had moved back to Ecuador. He’d taken care of me when no one else bothered, and I’d lied to him…again. Like always. He was a cop—he couldn’t know what I did for a living. If he hated me for it, if he turned me in, my life was over. If he didn’t, and it was discovered that he’d looked the other way, his career would be. There was no happy medium for us except for me to keep lying.
“Four months to go,” I whispered as I brought the Saint Christopher medallion hanging from my rearview mirror to my lips. It was a habit, one I’d developed a long time ago whenever I crossed over water. I hated bridges, hated the ferry, too. I hated that I had to leave the safety and security of Temperance Falls to go to the mainland for work.
Rumor, the woman who ran the escort agency, had tried to get me to work for clients on the island since I’d joined her staff, but I’d always refused…until I hadn’t. There’d been one time, one meeting. Less than a week ago, I’d met a client on the island for an introductory get-to-know-you session, and everything had gone wrong. I’d been nervous, too worried about exposing myself to pay attention to him. The John had gotten handsy in public, a huge no-no for me. When I’d tried to end the meeting, he’d acted too possessive. Too…aggressive.
He’d had me pinned to the wall in an alley before I could even yell for help.
Connor showing up to save the day the way he always seemed to do had been both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because I’d been unable to protect myself from the wandering hands and the heavy weight of the man against me. A curse because I’d had to lie to Connor again. A hard lie that time, not an exaggeration. I’d told him I was on a date even though it broke my heart to say those words. But if he ever found out what I did to make money—if he knew the truth about me—our friendship would be over. Something I could not allow to happen.
Four months left. That was all I had of school, and then I could look for a real job. One that would pay me enough to afford my bills. One that didn’t require me to take my clothes off or watch men jack off while I read the Wall Street Journal to them. One that didn’t require me to rely on how young I looked to entice old men to live out some creepy teenage-reversion fantasy. Like I’d be doing tonight.
I drove past the John’s house and parked at the end of the block. My heart raced, and my stomach churned as I prepared myself for what I had to do. For what I hated to do. This was my first client meeting since the potential John had attacked me on the island. The first time I’d been able to agree to handle a job. I’d turned away every request from new clients and occassionals, but I couldn’t turn down this one. He was a regular—a weekly. I had to show up.
“You can do this,” I told myself before pulling down the rearview mirror to apply the sickly sweet lip gloss he liked me to wear. I tucked my keys in the visor—I never liked to have them on me when I was in a client’s house in case things went bad for me—and whispered, “You’ve got this.”
Ten deep breaths, a fluff of my hair, and I was heading for his house. Thank God it was cold enough for me to wear my long winter coat. If Connor had seen the outfit I had on underneath—nope. I had to stop thinking about Connor. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to go through with things. I wouldn’t be able to put on the Lolita personality I used with these men. If I thought about Connor, I’d run back to the island and throw myself into his arms.
Best not to think about anything other than the cash.
The John, who I had always been told to call Davie, swung open the door before I could even ring the bell.
“There you are. I’ve been waiting for you. I’m so glad you could come for our playdate.” His smile was as wide as ever, the costume he always wore childlike as usual. Dave had been a client for almost the entire two years I’d been working as an escort, and his particular fantasy was one of the easiest for me. He was the child, and I was the babysitter. We’d play in his toy room and eat kid-type snacks until it was time for his “nap,” which was when he’d stroke himself while I danced around the room with headphones on. Weird, but not dangerous. Yet, that night, something felt off.
I hated feeling off.
“Hey, Davie,” I said, my voice weaker than it should have been, my heart practically pounding in my throat. “I hope you’re ready to play lots of board games tonight.”
“Yes! I love board games.” He moved back to let me inside and closed the door behind me.
The snick of the handle falling into place started me down the road to panic. Every instinct I had for self-preservation exploded at the sound. There was nothing out of the ordinary in his living room, nothing that should have concerned me, but that didn’t stop the fear from pulling at me.
Still, I had a job to do. Four more months of them. I needed the money, and he needed me to be Lolita. Time to get to work.
“My parents will be back at ten,” Dave said, tugging his too-tight shirt down over his expanding belly. “We’ve got hours to play, Lolita.”
I cringed, the name making my skin crawl. “Perfect. Why don’t you pick a game while I hang up my coat?”
The conversation continued as it always did, the scene playing out to his exact specifications. With every line, every word I had to speak in a singsong voice, my dread grew. But it was when Davie told me to follow him to the playroom—the bedroom he’d filled with child-sized furniture and shelves upon shelves of toys—that I broke.
It was a simple thing, really. A bag I noticed sitting on the kitchen table as we headed for the hallway. One with a logo I recognized from a shop on the island. From Connor’s favorite bakery. In a split second, I went from Lolita the escort to Lola the girl in love with a man she couldn’t ever have. How would Connor feel if he knew where I was, especially after he’d jumped in to save me last week? What would he think if he had any idea what I did when I told him I was working? Those soft touches and friendly evenings spent hanging out would disappear, that security blanket of his attention would implode. I would be alone…again. Always.
Fuck, what was I doing?
“Lolita?”
I jumped back, unable to stop thinking about Connor. Finding it impossible to move farther down the hall. “I’m sorry, but I need to go.”
His confusion only made me feel worse. “But you’re my babysitter.”
I backed into the living room, my chest tight. The room seemed to spin, the air disappearing from my lungs as he stalked after me. “I’ll have Rumor issue you a refund and a discount on a new appointment. I…can’t.”
“Excuse me?” Dave’s smile fell, an angry scowl appearing on his round face. “We have an arrangement for tonight. I have everything prepared for us.”
I hit the door without looking back. I couldn’t be in that house a second longer. What was wrong with me? This was my job…the only way I had to make money to keep me on the island. If I couldn’t do my job, what would I do? How would I survive?
How could I stay close to Connor if I couldn’t pay my rent?
But in that moment, none of that mattered. I rushed down the sidewalk, heading for my car. The wind whipped past me, the cold biting into my legs. Tight cotton shorts were not meant for this weather. The thin cropped shirt I wore didn’t help either. My outfit bared far too much of my skin—I must have left my coat in the house. I couldn’t care enough to go back. So long as I could get into my car, so long as I could escape…
“You fucking whore!” Dave’s voice boomed through the night. “I’ve paid you good money for years, Lolita. You owe me.”
I kept moving, refusing to look back. Practically running for my car. Almost there. Almost safe. If I could just get past the couple houses, if I could only hurry past these last few cars. If I could just—
I jumped as someone grabbed my arm, as a man pulled me off the sidewalk and toward an idling car at the curb. As Connor appeared out of nowhere.
Connor? “What—”
“Are you okay? Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?” His frantic voice broke through the panic in my head, though I still couldn’t believe he was there. “Lo, please, tell me you’re okay.” His hands roamed over me, seemed on a mission to find…something. Maybe an injury, maybe a mark. But it was when he brought one hand to my face and gently wiped away the tears I’d apparently shed that I found my voice.
“It’s okay. He didn’t…” I shivered as the wind picked up again, my thoughts scattered, my mind unable to reconcile that Connor was there. Standing two houses down from where my John lived. I curled in on myself, trying to cover my bare stomach, wishing I’d grabbed my coat if only so he wouldn’t see…this.
“C’mon.” Ever the gentleman, Connor shrugged out of his heavy coat and wrapped it around my shoulders before moving me toward his car. He gave me no options; he didn’t even let me speak. He simply opened the passenger door of his Charger and directed me inside. I was too upset to refuse, too cold to pull away. Too terrified of what he’d heard to do anything more than follow his directions.
Within seconds, he had my door closed and was sliding into his own seat. I couldn’t even look at him, too afraid of the anger I’d see there. The disgust. Still, I had to know…
“Why are you here?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the passing houses as he drove out of the neighborhood.
“I’m here because you’re here.”
I hazarded a glance in his direction. His jaw was clenched, his fury obvious even in the darkness of the car. This would be it—I was going to lose him.
Unable to think about my life without him in it, I focused on the logistics of what had just happened. Had I quit my job? Yes, I think I had. I’d also just left my car behind. My coat, too. Shit.
I looked back at the floor and whispered, “What about my car?”
Connor pulled to a hard stop, the car rocking slightly as his hands gripped the steering wheel. “I’m not taking you back there. I can’t. Please don’t ask me to.”
I shook my head because, really, I didn’t want to go back either.
Connor took a deep breath, his voice a little calmer as he said, “I’ll get my friend Nate to come over with me tomorrow, and we’ll pick it up.”
Okay. Connor would make everything okay. He was still my friend…so far. I looked up into his blue eyes. Barely able to breathe. Barely able to stop trembling. If I didn’t have Connor in my life…
“Home or food?” he asked, his voice tight. His jaw ticking in that way it did when he was frustrated.
I licked my lips, the sick rising in my throat at the sticky sweetness there from the gloss. The gloss, the shorts and crop top…Lolita. I’d never wanted Connor to see me like this. But he had, and I needed to deal with the fallout. But not in his car, and definitely not off the island. “Take me home, please.”