“He did what?” says Sasha, who’s just gotten home from studying in the library.

She drops her big bags of books in the entrance way and rushes over to me where I’m on the couch.

I couldn’t resist telling her first thing when she got home.

“He offered me a million dollars to marry him,” I say. “For a fake marriage.”

“A fake marriage?”

“You know, not a real marriage. No sex or anything. Just a marriage on paper. Apparently he needs to change his image to a respectable businessman, and I’m just the woman to make it happen.”

“That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I know,” I say. “… and a million dollars.”

“Wait,” says Sasha. “You’re not actually considering this, are you?”

“What? Of course not. That’s ridiculous.”

“I saw the way your eyes lit up when you said ‘a million dollars.’”

“It’s just that it’s a lot of money. It would solve all my financial problems.”

“Yeah, but you just can’t.”

“I know, I know. Don’t worry. That’s the last thing I’m going to do.”

“How did he do it? Right there in the office?”

I tell her the whole story, sparing no details, except of course for how hot I found him, how I couldn’t take my eyes off him during the whole meeting. And of course I don’t tell her how he makes me feel, and how I fantasized about him this morning.

“What a prick,” says Sasha, putting her arm around me. “I’m sorry you had to go through all that.”

I shrug. “I guess I should be flattered,” I say. “I mean, in a weird way it is kind of… flattering.”

“Don’t start thinking like that,” says Sasha. “Or else you’re one step closer to actually accepting his offer.”

“Are you crazy? You know me, I’d never do that, not in a million years. I haven’t even had…”

“I know,” says Sasha, patting me on the shoulder in a weird sort of way. “But we’ll find you someone decent. Don’t worry.”

Sasha’s phone beeps at her, and she giggles as she reads a text message.

“Who is it?”

“This guy from school. I just met him today at the library.” She blushes.

“What is it?”

“He asked me out.”

“Nice,” I say, trying to find the enthusiasm that I need to muster, but I worry my voice sounds too flat.

“Are you OK if I head out? I could stay if you want…”

“No,” I say. “I’m fine. The whole thing is over. You go out and have fun.”

“You sure?”

“Of course.”

“Great!” she says, practically jumping off of the couch with excitement. She runs into her room to get changed, and then into the bathroom.

“See you later,” she calls out, practically rushing out the door, so fast that I don’t even really have time to say goodbye.

I’m left with my own thoughts stewing around.

The anger from my encounter has dissipated somewhat. I’m left somewhat puzzled, embarrassed, and even flattered. I mean, he did pick me, saying that I would be a believable wife. I’ve never thought I was attractive, and certainly not attractive enough for David Masters.

The money is, honestly, tempting.

But there’s no way I would ever do that. It’d be as bad as if I sold myself on the street. Only for a lot more money says a little voice inside my head.

My thoughts end up whirling around a little crazily for a little while, before landing back, inevitably, on David Masters. In particular, I start thinking about his body, and how it makes me feel.

Why the hell am I still a virgin?

Sure, I’ve lamented this fact before, countless times.

But for some strange reason, what happened today makes me really lament it.

If I was just normal, I could perhaps go have a fling with David Masters. It’s not like I would marry him, of course. But maybe I could enjoy him, by having casual sex the way so many adults to. There’s no doubt in my mind, for instant, that Sasha’ going to have sex tonight, and she’s going to tell me all about it tomorrow.

She’s out there having the time of her life right now, and I’m stuck here moping around.

The door buzzes.

Who the hell rings the doorbell these days? Or, more accurately, the buzzer. It’s not like I’ve ever spoken to the neighbors here, and as far as I know neither Sasha or I are expecting any packaged. The delivery guys tend to just leave them in the entranceway anyway, without ringing the buzzer.

I press the intercom button before remembering that the apartment is old and the intercom probably hasn’t worked in decades.

Sighing, I unlock the deadbolt and head into the hallway where the unpleasant fluorescent lights and dirty carpet greet me.

“There’s my girl!”

It’s my dad, standing in the lobby.

“How did you get in?” After all, you need a key or a code to get inside the front door.

“Is that how you greet your father after so long?”

“Hi Dad,” I say, not bothering to hide my enthusiasm much at all.

My dad is somewhat short, about 5’5”, balding on top, with a big paunch for a stomach. He’s always had a belly, but it’s gotten bigger in recent years. Today, it looks like he’s swallowed a couple bowling balls. He’s got one tattered fake leather duffel bag on the floor beside him.

“Come here!” he says, opening up his arms.

I walk towards him slowly and unenthusiastically.

He embraces me, hugging me tightly. I do my best to put my arms around his back, patting him the way guys who when they hug each other.

“What are you doing here?” I say.

“Dong here? Come on, can’t I visit you unannounced? Plus, I’m moving here, remember?”

“I thought that wasn’t for a couple weeks or something.”

“My plans changed a little, but that’s the way it goes right?”

That’s the way it always goes with him. Something is always changing, and he never does what he tells me he’ll do.

Just look at my dad’s smiling face makes me angry. The anger’s boiling in my stomach, making me seethe internally. But on the outside, I wear this bland face that hides my true feelings.

I want to scream at him, telling him that he’s practically ruined my life, or at leas my financial one, by stealing so much money from me.

But, in reality, I’ve already done that. I got mad at him on the phone, and he just laughed it off like it was no big deal. If there’s one thing he’s good at doing, it’s laughing things off.

I can’t tell him how I really feel. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to.

That doesn’t mean I can’t be annoyed with him, even visibly annoyed. In fact, I’m not sure, but I think I’m coming across as cold, although you’d never guess it from the way he’s acting, like he’s completely thrilled to see me, no matter how I act towards him.

“Where are you staying?” I say.

“Hey, why don’t we get some dinner?”

“I’ve already eaten. But you’re avoiding the question.”

“I’m doing no such thing. Hey, did you say you take the trolley to work? I can’t believe that thing still operates. They were using trolleys the last time I was here in the ‘70s.”

That’s typical of him—denying that he’s even denying anything. According to my dad, he’s never avoided a question or never done anything to harm me. He’ll never admit that he screwed me over by stealing my identity.

I had to change all my online banking passwords. I have to change all my credit and debit cards. I canceled everything and even changed my phone number because the creditors were waking me up at night.

“So,” says my dad. “Aren’t you going to show me where I’m going to sleep?”

“Wait,” I say. “You think you’re staying here?”

“You’re going to turn your own father away?”

I don’t say anything. The anger is seething up inside me, but I just can’t let it out.

“Oh,” says my dad. “There’s one little thing I should mention… I had to borrow your debit card number to pay for the bus ticket here.”

“You stole more money for me?”

“Stole? No, of course not. I’d never steal money from anyone, let alone my own daughter. It was just that they were asking me for a card number, and I didn’t happen to have one available, so I…”

“I know you know how banking works,” I say. “For someone who gambles all his money away, you’d think you’d have a better understanding of finances…”

“Come on,” says my dad. “Why don’t we talk about this over dinner before we get carried away here.”

“Out,” I say, simply, pointing to the door to the street.

The door opens, and someone comes in. It’s a man in his early thirties, and he seems to sense that something is going on between me and my dad, so he avoids looking at us by looking down at the ground and walking past us without saying anything.

“Are you serious?” says my dad, chuckling to himself.

That’s how he gets through life being such a sketch ball, just laughing everything off, refusing to take anything seriously whatsoever.

The more he fucks up, the more he laughs.

“Out,” I say. “You’re not staying here.”

I should scream at him. That’s what I desperately want to do, but I just can’t find it within myself. Well, I can find it, but I can’t get it out. There’s something blocking it.

“All right,” says my dad, grinning at me. “I can see you’re having a bad day. So I’ll let you settle down. What about dinner tomorrow?”

I don’t say anything. Instead, I just turn around and walk back towards my apartment, through the dirty hallway that stinks of natural gas.

The only thing I want to do right now is curl up in my bed and cry, but the tears don’t come. I’ve been through so much with my dad and his gambling, and his constant scheming that I simply find it hard to have a reaction to anything he’s done. I feel numb inside.

There’s a hollow space inside me, I can feel the emptiness palpably. Nothing’s go the way I want it. Nothing at all.

If only Sasha were here, instead of having fun on her date. She’s probably trying some crazy new sex position that I’ll have to hear about tomorrow, all the while wondering why I don’t go on dates. Well, the answer is obvious. I’m ashamed of my virginity. What would I do, anyway, if I went on a date and the guy asked me back to his place? Would I have to explain ahead of time that I don’t even know how to have sex, even though I’m ostensibly an adult?

I might as well do something practical, I think to myself, as I open up my computer and log on to my online banking. I might as well see how screwed I am financially. There’s no telling how much my dad actually charged to my debit card. How did he get my number anyway? After all, it is a new card.

Sure enough, the computer tells me that my dad charged not only an expensive bus ticket, but a number of other things. It looks like he went to the grocery store with my card, and also bought himself a few items on Amazon.com.

Great, just great.

And now that he’s here in the city, there’s no end to the number of ways he can screw me over.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he finds out where I work and shows up someday, trying to scam my coworkers out of money somehow. That’s just the kind of person he is. I can’t change him.

If my mother were still alive, things might be different, but he changed after her death, for the worse.

It’s sobering seeing my bank account. My dad withdrew all the cash, and I’m left with a whopping total of two dollars and seventy nine cents. My paycheck from work wont’ from for another two weeks at least, and they told me that sometimes the first paycheck can come a couple weeks later than usual.

I should be able to borrow money from Sasha so it’s not like I’m going to starve, but my account total just further hits hoe the reality of my financial situation.

Realistically, I’m going to be in debt for the rest of my life. I’ll be in a nursing home, still owing money.

I’ll be a slave to the financial institutions, working only for them. I’m selling myself, essentially.

If I’m going to sell myself, I might as well do it so that I won’t have to worry about money for the rest of my life.

If I took up David Masters on his insane offer, I’d still have a cool $800,000 left after I paid off all my loans.

And it’s not like I’d be really selling myself, right? After all, it’s just a job, really. It’s not like I’m selling my body. He made it clear that there wouldn’t be any sex. Actually, he said not to expect any sex from him—what an arrogant jerk. But a hot arrogant jerk. Honestly, my mind starts wondering again what it would be like to have sex with him, to have his hot muscular body pressed against mine, to feel his thick cock deep inside me, penetrating me.

But it’d be completely crazy to marry him, wouldn’t it?

Then again, how long could it possibly take, right? Probably just a couple of months. What would I have to do, live there and show up in court a couple times? It couldn’t really involve all that much, right? And if I divide one million dollars by the total number of hours that I actually have to “work” at the job, the hourly rate is going to be insanely good.

Because I’m a huge nerd, I bust out the calculator on my laptop op an do some calculations, coming up with an hourly rate of $20,000, provided I have to do about 50 hours of work, which is completely insane. There’s no way I’m ever going to have another job offer this good, not for the rest of my natural life. Honestly, I can’t even see how I’d have to put in a total of 50 hours. Unless he expects me to clean and cook for him, but I’m sure he has a maid to do that. Actually, this might be a pretty cushy gig. I can just imagine living at the house of the richest man in Philadelphia—there will be maids and cooks. It’s going to be a huge step up from the crappy apartment Sasha and I share.

But what would Sasha say?

Well, I’ll just have to worry about that when the time come.

Or maybe I can avoid telling her.