Page 8 of Corrupted Pleasure

“To expand their power. Make more money. Form alliances,” Ivy explained. “Who in the hell knows? It’s ridiculous. First they keep us out of all of their business, and then they use us as part of their business transactions.”

“Bastards,” Juliette spat out, pouring herself yet another drink and then gulping it down.

“Yeah, that’s fucked up,” I muttered. “Probably why we should ensure we do well on our finals so we can be independent women.”

A snort slipped out and my head snapped to Ivy. Her wild red hair came down her shoulders and her cheeks were flushed. “Sorry, you’re right. It’s a serious matter.”

“That’s right,” Wynter agreed sensibly. “We went to Yale. We can do anything we set our minds to.” Wynter took Ivy’s hand and gently squeezed. “And if your father or Uncle Liam, or even your sweet grandfather, Davina,” she continued glancing over at me, “try to tell us who to marry, we’ll kick their asses and survive without their money. Because we’ll have each other.”

A round of cheers and agreements followed.

Wynter might have a room full of trophies and gold medals, yet there wasn’t a more down to earth person around. No matter what, she never looked down on anyone. Not a homeless person on the street, nor annoying rich pricks at our university, even though she totally didn’t take anyone’s crap.

“We could open a store together,” I recommended. “A figure skating equipment store since we’ve all learned so much about it over the last four years. I definitely want to start my own business someday. I just don’t know what kind yet.”

We all chuckled. It was a running joke at how much time we spent in the sports equipment stores.

“By now I know the difference between Jackson and Edea ice skates, what polish and E-guards to use, as well as the best blade sharpening tool,” Ivy announced, throwing me a drunken smile. Though I wondered if I wasn’t far behind on the road to inebriation, even though I stopped a while back. “It’s sad really, because the only time I’ve put skates on, I fell flat on my arse.”

“I’ve been around Wynter for twenty years. I know what blades work best on what ice. Try out doing that,” Juliette teased.

Juliette and Ivy could drink me and most of the male population under the table. It had to be the Irish in them. Not that I ever tried to compete with either one of them. I didn’t need a hangover. Not today, not ever. I had a full schedule with my job at the campus coffee shop and studies.

“Okay, so what do you think about a sugar daddy?” Juliette blurted out of nowhere, shocking the three of us. Wynter, Ivy, and I shared a quick glance, before we turned our heads in Juliette’s direction in unison. “It could be a way to get some money flowing.”

“Sugar daddy?” We asked at once. Juliette’s subject changes could give you whiplash.

“Yes. I might want one. Of course, I’ll need an interview process.” Juliette made it sound like it was perfectly normal to take applications for a sugar daddy. Remembering what she put Wynter’s potential ice skating partners through, I couldn’t help but to feel sorry for any potential sugar daddies.

“Can they handle that? Or even you?” I muttered, thinking I needed a bottle of water to get this haziness out of my brain. Conversations like this made me super thirsty and getting trashed wasn’t an option. Someone had to keep an eye on Ivy and Juliette, because I was certain Wynter would ditch us soon. “You might give them a heart attack.”

Wynter shook her head, then stood up. “I don’t even know what to say to that, Juliette. If you want a career, I’d rather you consider something else. I’m all for the figure skating equipment store.”

“I have to agree. I don’t think that’s a career choice,” Ivy commented, one of her rare sane moments. “However, the older men might know what to do in bed. Make you scream.”

And her sane moment was gone. And so was mine as suddenly I imagined some hot looking older man bending me over and giving it to me rough. My ex-boyfriend definitely lacked in that department, among other things.

A giggle escaped through my lips, picturing that scenario in my mind. And possibly proof the alcohol lingering in my blood needed more diluting. I took another swig of water.

Juliette laughed. “Let’s drink to that!”

“Let’s not,” I stopped her from pouring another round of drinks. “Let’s just take it easy. We can just talk and have fun. You don’t have to get totally shit-faced.”

“Tonight I have to forget,” she answered cryptically. Wynter just stared at her puzzled.

“Older men can be super hot, you know,” Juliette continued, unperturbed by her shocking potential career choice. “They’ve experimented in their lives and know what works and what doesn’t. We could use their experience for our own pleasure. I bet they know how to make you come without having to shove their hand into your pants. With that last guy, I had to show him where my clit was. I mean, what’s the point? I might as well do it myself if they don’t even know basic anatomy.” She rolled her eyes and almost fell over again. Maybe it was time to hide the bottle.

The three of us snickered, while Wynter just rolled her eyes right back at her, not dignifying it with an answer.

“I swear, I come harder when I touch myself,” Ivy grumbled. “These fucking Yale boys can’t findthe spotto save their lives.”

“Hold on,” I grumbled. “Aren’t you both still virgins?”

Juliette shrugged. “So? It doesn’t mean we’ve never done anything risqué.”

It was my turn to roll my eyes. “I’m surprised you can say that word with so much liquor in your system. You’re both hammered.”

“Risqué, risqué, risqué.” Ivy even went so far as to spell it. “Totally not hammered, as you Americans say it.”