“I’m not going to be anyone’s sex slave, now or ever,” I say, giving her a pointed look. “And I’m pretty sure any contract that requires someone to have sex with someone else would be illegal, considering prostitution is still against the law in Georgia. Which reminds me…” I smile a little too widely at Barb. “Do you think Mr. Horowitz could draw up a contract for me?”
“You want Burt Horowitz to write a sex-slave contract?” Mirna asks, sounding thoroughly scandalized.
Groaning, I say in frustration, “It’s not a sex-slave contract. I’ll simply be his…” I bit back the words fake girlfriend and end up saying, “Companion.”
“Another word for escort,” Mirna snaps. “AKA prostitute. AKA sex slave.”
“We don’t say prostitutes anymore, Mirna,” I say. “They’re sex workers, and as long as they aren’t trafficked, they’re not slaves. Many of them have the control in those situations.”
“And how many sex workers do you actually know to know this as a fact?” Mirna asks, her eyes blazing.
It’s not worth telling her I wrote a paper on sex workers for one of my sociology classes, because no matter what I say, Mirna will believe what she wants.
“Then why do you need a contract?” Barb asks, looking genuinely curious. “That man in the Shades of Steele novel said he wouldn’t have sex until she signed a contract.” A grin lights up her eyes. “That book is a romance, by the way.”
“You can cite your romance novels all you want,” I say with a short laugh, “but this is a business deal.”
“What do you get out of it?” Mirna demands. “He apparently gets to sleep in his childhood bed—with you in it, I might add.” Her mouth pinches with disgust.
I hadn’t thought about the bed situation, but Mirna has a point. I need to make it very clear we won’t be sleeping in the same bed. Then again, I can’t imagine two boys growing up and sharing a bed. Surely, they had twin beds. Or bunk beds. But there’s no way I’m sleeping on the top bunk.
That’s going in the contract.
“What I get,” I say, feeling sentimental, “is to experience Christmas, just like my mom and I dreamed about. With snow and ice skating and all the magic that Hollybrook has. Mom didn’t get to experience it, but I will.”
My friends are silent for a moment, then Mirna’s face softens. “But you’ll experience it with his family, Finley. Not yours.”
Her words hang heavy in the air.
She and Barb fully understand my loneliness. It’s one of the reasons they so readily took me under their wing after I moved in four years ago. They’d barely known me when they declared themselves my grandmas. They, more than anyone, understand, because they’re alone too. Except for when their families make them go stay with them for the holidays, mostly so they don’t look bad.
But still. It’s family.
Tears fill Mirna’s eyes. “You’ll be an outsider looking in, Finley. You have such a tender heart. I’m worried you’ll get hurt.”
“I know,” I say as I swipe at a tear that’s escaped. “But at least I’ll get to experience it, even if it’s not mine.”
“Like a voyeur,” Barb says with a knowing nod. “Just like in All Eyes on Me.”
I can’t help bursting out in laughter. Leave it to Barb to turn a serious moment on its head. She’d like us to believe she’s oblivious, but Mirna and I know better. “Barb,” I say, wiping more tears through my laughter. “I think all eyes on me would be the opposite of a voyeur. I think that’s an exhibitionist.”
“Eh.” She shrugs. “Same thing.”
It’s not, but I keep it to myself.
We fall silent and my smile fades. “Mirna, I know his family Christmas isn’t mine, but I want to have this. Just once.”
Mirna and Barb exchange looks and I know what they’re thinking. Ordinarily, I’d hate their pity, but right now, I just want them to understand.
Mirna pinches her lips then pushes out an aggrieved groan. “Barb, call Burt.”
I gasp in shock. I never expected Mirna to cave this quickly. “What?”
Her eyes turn shrewd. “In the four years I’ve known you, you’ve never once wanted anything impractical. You’re the most sensible person I know. Barb’s right. You need to live a little, and if this is what you want, then we’ll get it for you. But”—she points a finger at me—“we’re gonna be smart about it.” She turns to Barb. “What are you waiting for? Why haven’t you called Burt?”
Barb cringes. “Burt and I aren’t exactly speakin’ right now.”
Mirna puts both hands on her hips. “Why not?”
