Page 20

Vivian

I woke to the feel of soft sheets and the faint scent of his sandalwood cologne on the pillow beside mine. For a second, I didn’t move, just lay there blinking at the ceiling while trying to figure out why I wasn’t in the guest room.

Because last night, he’d told me to stay.

He’d taken what he wanted, still rough and controlling, but then he’d pulled me against his chest afterward and whispered, Go to sleep, baby.

Not whore.

Baby.

That shouldn’t have meant anything; it was just a word; two syllables.

But it felt like it spoke volumes.

And that’s what scared me.

Because while I liked being his whore, probably more than I cared to admit, I’d started liking the man who called me that too.

His kindness would only complicate things.

Because no matter how soft his grip felt wrapped around my waist, I couldn’t forget what this was: a contract. A countdown.

Two more weekends. Then it was over.

He was a doctor, and I was a stripper who’d sold myself to him, and this wasn’t Pretty Woman .

I’d be best served to remember that.

~~~~

Steam filled the bathroom as I rinsed the conditioner from my hair. I hadn’t heard the door open, and I jumped when I opened my eyes and saw him standing just outside the glass- block shower wall of the guest bath, dressed in a pair of jeans and a grey San Diego State hoodie.

“Oh my gosh, you scared me!”

“Sorry, I thought you heard me come in. You need to get ready when you’re done in here. Put on something warm and wear comfortable shoes.”

“I don’t have anything warm. I only brought dresses; that’s all I’m allowed—remember?”

“Fine, we’ll stop by your apartment so you can change.”

My stomach dipped and I thought about how Tom had described my apartment building as a dump. I didn’t want Jeff to see how I lived.

He must have noticed my hesitation because he asked, “What? I’m not going to stalk you if that’s what you’re worried about.”

I turned the water off and wrung out my hair.

“I’m not worried about that.” He handed me a towel, and I rubbed it over my legs. “Where are we going?”

“A festival.”

That was it. No smile or explanation.

“Like a fall festival? With apple cider and pumpkins?”

“I guess. I thought you’d appreciate having something to do other than choke on my dick.”

“How chivalrous of you.”

“I know, right? So, get ready, and we’ll swing by your apartment so you can put on a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt.”

He turned to leave, then stopped.

“But, Vivian?”

Vivian! He called me by my name!

I tried to sound nonchalant when I said, “Yeah?”

“Still no panties.”

I fought not to roll my eyes when I quipped, “Wouldn’t dream of it, Sir.”

“See, that’s the problem. You have, and you did.”

“And then you taught me a lesson.”

He chuckled darkly. “That I did.” He glanced at his watch and announced, “You’ve got eighteen minutes.”

“You know,” I called after him, “it’s a good thing we have a contract, because if you were really my boyfriend, I’d tell you to kick rocks with your timer bullshit.”

His smile was menacing when he poked his head back around the corner and replied, “But we do have a contract. And if you want to get paid like the whore that you are, you’ll be ready in”—he looked at his watch again—“seventeen minutes.”

There it was. Whore . Not baby , not Vivian . I was back to being whore .

That was probably for the best. It made things less confusing that way.

“I’ll be ready, Master .”

****

Jeff

We turned off the main drag and the neighborhood got sketchier the farther we drove—cracked sidewalks, boarded-up businesses, bars on the windows, and graffiti everywhere you looked. Vivian shifted in her seat and pointed left.

“Turn here.”

We wound through a cluster of rundown apartment complexes that needed more than just new stucco and fresh paint. The whole block should’ve been bulldozed and rebuilt from the foundation up.

She nodded at a rundown building in the middle of equally rundown ones.

“This is me,” she said quietly.

I pulled in, my jaw tightening as I parked. My Porsche didn’t belong here. She didn’t belong here.

“I’ll be quick,” she said, already reaching for the handle. “You can park in the lot over there”—she gestured to a lot full of weeds and potholes, surrounded by a chain-link fence that sagged in places—“or just wait here.”

“I’ll just wait here.” Partly because I didn’t want to leave my car unattended, and partly because if I followed her up those stairs, I might ask what the fuck she was doing living in a place like this.

She disappeared inside the building, and I locked the doors.

My fingers tapped restlessly against the steering wheel as I scanned the lot.

A pair of tennis shoes tied together hung from a telephone wire, and graffiti covered a boarded-up unit two doors down while a guy slept on a bench beside a shopping cart on the other side of the chain-link fence.

Jesus.

She came back five minutes later in black leggings, an oversized pink sweatshirt, and a pair of white tennis shoes.

“All set,” she said flashing a smile that was too bright to be real as she climbed in and buckled her seatbelt.

I knew she was embarrassed. Hell, I was embarrassed for her.

“You planning to use the money from this arrangement to move?”

She hesitated. “I wish it were that simple.”

I glanced over. “Meaning?”

Vivian blew out a breath. “My dad died a few months ago. He drank himself to death and left my mom with a lot of debt. Like, a lot of debt. The loan-shark kind. I did the auction to pay Lorenzo so he wouldn’t cut my mom’s fingers off.”

What the fuck?

I knew there had to be something up with her dad.

“And your cut from the club is going to cover it?”

“It’s a start. I’m hoping it buys us some time, anyway.”

I didn’t say anything. Just drove.

But I couldn’t get the image of her in that apartment building out of my head. She didn’t belong there, of that I was certain.

An image of her in my bed when I woke up this morning popped into my head, like that was where she belonged.

I gave myself an internal shake.

No, she doesn’t belong there either.

But I wasn’t as convinced about that.

~~~~

The church lot was already full by the time we pulled in, so I parked in a gravel overflow near the back fence.

We walked toward the entrance in silence, but I absentmindedly reached over and took her hand as we passed hay bales, orange lights, and pumpkins.

The faint sound of a fiddle from a small stage near the food trucks filled the air, along with the smell of cinnamon and the crunch of fall leaves beneath our feet.

A kid ran past us with his face painted like a jack-o’-lantern, dragging a balloon by a string. Another tripped over a cornstalk and started wailing.

Vivian slowed when we passed a table stacked with little jars of honey and homemade jam.

“You ever come to one of these growing up?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No. We didn’t do stuff like this.”

I didn’t press, although from what she’d told me, I wasn’t surprised.

As if trying to defend herself, she continued, “I mean, San Diego doesn’t exactly have a fall, you know?”

“That’s true.”

I motioned toward the tables lined with crafts. “If you see anything you want, let me know.”

Her smile was almost childlike when she replied, “I will.”

We walked around like a regular couple in the crowd. I should have been alarmed at how normal it felt to hold her hand and smile back at her whenever she got excited over a new find on one of the card tables filled with what she called treasures.

I thought it was all crap, but I kept that to myself. I was an asshole, but I wasn’t going to rain on her parade. Especially since I was the one who’d brought us here in the first place.

****

Vivian

“This is so fun,” I said as I leaned my head against his shoulder while we waited in line for warm apple cider. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He winked at me. “You can thank me on the way home.”

I gave his jeans pocket a subtle squeeze as I murmured, “I’d be happy to.”

He leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Be careful, baby, or you might just find yourself bent over a hay bale in a corner somewhere with my cock in your ass.” Then he added, “But you’d probably like that.”

He wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t feel like a compliment. More like a reminder of what I really was. His whore.

I appreciated that because in the moment it had been easy to pretend I was something more, like his girlfriend.

I simply smiled and agreed. “You’re probably right, Sir.”

Just then a group of boys in face paint, probably around ten years old, sprinted past us and tried to climb the hay bales.

One got his feet tangled and tumbled backward, landing in a weird position so the bottom part of his leg looked like it was bent in the wrong direction.

It made me wince, and the kid screamed bloody murder.

Jeff told me, “I’ll be right back,” and headed to where the kid’s parents were now kneeling next to the hurt boy.

I saw Jeff talk to the couple, then he crouched down and said something to the little boy, who was still crying in pain, but the cries became quieter when Jeff placed his hand over the boy’s much smaller one.

Jeff then went about directing people from the crowd that had gathered. He hadn’t lied when he’d told me he liked to be in control, even at work.

He needed scissors. Someone from one of the booths produced a pair, and while continuing to speak quietly to the boy, he carefully cut the leg of the child’s jeans away in order for him to get a better look.

I could tell it wasn’t good by the grimace on his face.

Fortunately, someone must have called 911, because a young guy and girl dressed in EMT uniforms appeared with a gurney.

Jeff directed them on what pain meds to administer and how to transfer the kid onto the board.

Jeff hadn’t released the boy’s hand until he was safely strapped to the gurney.

Then he touched the kid’s shoulder and told him he was going to be okay, and that he was one brave kid.

The little boy nodded, a shaky smile on his tear-stained face while he tried to be as brave as Jeff was making him out to be.

That was the moment I knew I was in trouble because I might have fallen in love with Dr. Jeff Connolly right then.

Jeff handed the boy’s father what looked like his card, and I heard him tell the man, “I mostly work at the VA, so I couldn’t take him as a patient, but if you run into any trouble at the hospital, or need a second opinion, give me a call. I’ll be happy to help.”

The parents were so grateful and shook his hand vigorously before escorting their son to the waiting ambulance.

I just stared at Jeff when he returned to my side.

“What?” he asked with a grin.

“Can we go now? I really need you to fuck me.”