Dwain lowers his eyes to mine. They have the same effervescent edge they always have, just with a more cunning, bloodthirsty glow. “What do you say, Rae-Rae? Fifty-fifty?”
“Seventy-thirty.” My words are barely heard over my heart thumping in my throat. I should not be negotiating. My gut has been in knots all day, warning me to remain cautious, but I’ve got a tuition check due at the end of the month. I can’t miss this payment, or four years of study will go down the drain.
When Dwain glares at me, I give him the same pathetic mantra I repeat every time I enter the parking lot of Substanz: “Only those who fight for what they want truly achieve it.”
“Uh-huh. That’s why I’m fighting. I’ve got future baby momma nest eggs to save up for.” I know he’s joking. He’s been as dateless as me the past three years.
When Dwain’s stance remains strong, I bring out the charm. I want to say I thrust my chest high and graze my teeth over my lower lip, but unfortunately, Dwain isn’t a sucker for big breasts and raunchy smirks. He desires what all handsome man crave: he’s a booty lover.
“Sixty-forty and you buy me dinner,” Dwain grumbles when my dip to gather a loose feather from the floor propels my scarcely covered backside into his peripheral vision.
My back snaps straight in an instant. "With how much you eat, I'm getting short-changed," I snarl under my breath, though it’s just to cover up my notice of the stranger’s discomfort.
He’s doing a good job pretending to glance at the flyers disgruntled wives pin to the noticeboard every Sunday after church, but I heard his sharp breath when I dipped low. Just like I saw the briefest shuffle of his feet to ensure his view wasn’t blocked by Dwain’s impressive girth. He’s eager alright. I just can’t fathom if it is for what Dwain assumes or something entirely different. If I were to trust my gut, I’d say it is the latter, but after a few years of bad decisions, I don’t trust my intuition as much as I used to.
Dwain’s deep sigh rustles my shoulder-length blonde hair. “Come on, Rae. Look at him. He’s more than eager,” he murmurs, spotting the same signals as me. “If I don’t approach him soon, he’ll bust a nut just looking at you, then we both leave tonight with only our measly hundred dollar paycheck in our hands.”
I wish he were lying, but he is as honest as his tone. With my refusal to do my routine topless added to my constant decline of Jayce's many invitations to join Celeste's private services, my paycheck went from two to three hundred a night to not even a hundred. Men are stingier with their money when they're not shoving it between a set of breasts.
My heart drums against my ribs as I contemplate Dwain’s suggestion. I’ve been busting my ass the past term to earn the tuition money needed for me to graduate, but can I do this, can I pretend to sell my body to make coin? Even though it is a hoax, and at no time will services be rendered for payment, my worry remains high. The last time I agreed to a ruse like this, I lost more than a few hundred dollars.
“Sixty-forty,” Dwain negotiates, believing my delay stems from wanting a bigger slice of the pie. It isn’t. It is horrid memories. “But you have to send the extra ten percent to Ms. Sweet Thing. She’s starting out in a big city. She needs a boost.”
“I think she’d prefer your eyes off her ass the next time she visits,” I snap, my mood as thinly-guided as my morals.
Dwain holds his hands in front of his body while remaining as quiet as a church mouse. His demure stance serves him well. I am less likely to lash out when my target is subdued. Furthermore, if I were truly concerned at his appreciative ogle of my sister's backside, I would have shut down his interests months ago. Dwain is a good guy, but even if he wasn't, Raquel can handle herself. Our momma taught us well. We are as smart as we are beautiful.
I shouldn’t baby Raquel, but it’s hard. She’s my little sister—only by a year, but still younger than me. My involvement wouldn’t be so dramatic if she wasn’t as eccentric and over the top as me. For two country girls, we grew up glam. We bedazzled everything: our jeans, shirts, and boots. Even Daddy’s belt buckle was covered with so much rainbow glitter, the ranch workers nicknamed him Sparkie.
I miss home. I could go back at any time, and my parents would welcome me with open arms, but I don’t want to be a lady in waiting. I want to rule the world. It is the reason Luca and I packed up and left town the week following graduation. We wanted an adventure. We couldn’t achieve that in Milam County, Texas.
Shaking my backside is how I make ends meet now, but once I’ve cruised through law school, passed the bar with flying colors, and established myself as the number one business lawyer in the state, cow dung, 3 AM milkings, and world domination will once again be on the agenda. But instead of milking the cows and shoveling their poo, I’ll protect the Ma and Pa co-op’s like my family’s estate from being sold to foreign investors.
“Fifty-fifty, and you take Raquel and me out for dinner next time she’s in town.” For the first time tonight, my voice reveals my determination.
I didn't leave Luca trapped in his mangled Jeep for no reason. I did it so I could give back a smidge of the love my parents have bestowed upon me the past twenty-two years. If I’d been found in the wreckage with Luca, I would have been forced to lie under oath. If my lies were exposed, my childhood dream of becoming a lawyer would have been destroyed, and I would have reneged on the promise I made with Luca on his sixteenth birthday. We were young, neither of us truly knowing what we were promising, but nothing will stop me upholding my end of our agreement. I lost my life three years ago. I refuse to give up my soul as well.
Dwain agrees to my suggestion without words by heading for the blond man. His giant steps slow when I say, "Not a food truck meal. I want real food—at anactualrestaurant.”
Since I can’t see his eyes, he answers with a throaty murmur. It is one of those southern drawls that makes me think of bow-legged men with sexy stubble and mouthwateringly wide shoulders. It is as far away from Dwain’s Dominican ethnicity as you can get.
As Dwain approaches the unnamed lurker, I roll my shoulders. My breasts no longer feel perky since they aren’t stuffed under my chin, and my mood is teetering, but fingers crossed my mile-long legs will make up for their lagging counterparts. I don't see this being an easy hustle. This unknown man is attractive, but I doubt he has a trust fund. His suit doesn't scream wealth and superiority. It fits him as if it was tailored for his slim waist, banging guns, and rigid stomach, but it is the latter three qualities responsible for my light-headed response—not his Hugo Boss knock off.
His aura, on the other hand. . . you couldn’t put a dollar amount on it. He’s confident, self-assured, and would have absolutely no issues bending me over his knee to spank the sass right out of me.It’s a pity our plan is a ruse. He could have been a lot of fun.
I shimmy my shoulders, snapping myself out of my uncharacteristic thoughts. I don’t date. I haven’t in years. I merely gobble up attractive men, storing them in my memory bank like calorie-laden sweets before dispersing the energy in a non-ladylike fashion.
What does my mother call my toys? “Gimmicks designed to make men feel less inferior.”
I call them gyrating saviors. If it weren’t for my vibrating bunny and his wickedly naughty friends, I’d still be splayed on the back seat of Jamie’s truck, waiting for him to locate my G-spot. Instead, I pointed it out for him, taught him what to do and precisely how to do it. He left feeling fabulous, believing he was the first to bring me to climax. He was the first man, but it wasn’t my first orgasm. Country girls who wake before the sun have a lot of time on their hands for experimenting.
I’m pulled from my thoughts when a pair of intense, penetrating eyes peer at me. Even with his gaze hidden by the brim of his cap, I can feel the blond’s anger radiating off him. The flare of his nostrils indicates he isn’t impressed with Dwain’s suggestion, much less the tight clench of his jaw. I’m so confident he won’t fall for our trick, I physically balk when he reaches for his wallet instead of sprinting to the quickest exit.
The veins in my neck thrum when he snags five one hundred dollar bills from his leather pouch. My heart rate isn’t speeding up because of the impressive amount Dwain negotiated; it is from the stranger’s pulse-quickening glare pinning me in place. He has a knife-like stare, slicing through my perception as readily as his handsome face dampens my panties. It is a warning glare, one I’ve witnessed only once before in my life. It was delivered by Luca a mere hour before his death.
My lips pucker as if I am going to be sick when Dwain pockets the man’s money in his bomber jacket. I should be pleased our scam worked, but haunted memories keep my excitement at bay.
I take deep breaths to settle my flipping stomach when Dwain seizes the man’s shoulder in a firm grip to drag him toward the concealed exit. I almost feel sorry for the handsome stranger, but the fact he assumed I’d accept payment for services stops me. He may be handsome, but that doesn’t excuse poor morals. Maybe next time he’ll think twice before treating a classically trained dancer as if she is a hooker.
