Page 10 of The Cost of Love

“Is that okay with you?” Grabbing two red lipsticks, she compares the shades against the dress.

“I don’t know. I have never been with someone like him before either, and I really need to get laid.” I pout my full lips as she applies lip liner and the shade she thinks matches best. I wait for her to be done, resisting the urge to glance and see how it looks.

“No, what you really need is to get pregnant by this guy. I bet he has ‘have a baby by me baby, be a millionaire’ type energy.” Teeth show with how wide she is smiling as she wipes the corners of my mouth.

“Yeah, cause I need another mouth to feed.” Let alone a lifetime attachment to another human being. One I barely know.

“You are missing the point. Everything will be taken care of, and you won’t have to lift a finger.” She spins me so I can finally see my reflection.

More than satisfied with the result, I reach for my phone to take a picture. The first in months where I am not in a uniform or making a funny face with the kids. I need to commemorate the fact that I can still be hot.

“I will not have sex with this man and trap him into taking care of me. That’s messed up.” Standing, I move to the mirror to snap a shot of my full body. Then, turning the angle, I get one of just my face.

“No, it is not. What’s messed up is having three jobs and barely getting by, while some people don’t have to work at all and can live off investments or inheritance. This life is a game, and we started off losing. It’s our right to use what we do have to get ahead, and you have a killer ass and good head game. Prostitution is frowned upon, but having sex with a person rich enough to take care of you isn’t.” Jessie ends her rant with her hands on her waist.

She looks ready to continue the argument, but I throw my hands up, relenting. “I get what you’re saying, but I just want to have sex. And when I’m finished raising these kids in ten years, I don’t want to have any more to take care of.”

Thinking about them makes my stomach drop. I fight the urge to take off the dress and just go home as I calculate the time I’ve already spent away from them. Crossing my arms, I frown at the floor.

“Don’t you dare do it,” Jessie says, cupping my cheek.

“I rarely get a night off, and I’m choosing to spend it with a stranger instead of them. Isn’t that messed up?” Sinking onto her bed, my hands fall between my legs.

“No it’s not, love. You deserve to have things for yourself, and taking one night to eat fancy food and have hopefully good sex is not a crime.”

She grabs my face again before I can shake my head, forcing me to look at her.

“Just give yourself this. It’s just one night.”

As much as I want to, I can’t help but feel guilty.

“Look, you are already dressed up, and they are already prepared to spend the evening without you. So get your arse up and go have fun.” My cheek stings from the pinch she gives it.

“Alright, alright,” I say, standing.

“What I would give to be you right now,” she says, looking at her watch. “You gotta go if you want to make it to the restaurant. It’s in Chelsea.”

She pushes me through her bedroom door and to the front of her place. I grab the heels I brought from the supermarket bag and throw in my trainers.

“I’ll be back tomorrow to grab all my stuff.”

“No rush, just have fun tonight. You deserve it.” She hugs me tight, like she can impress upon me her best wishes.

I take them and fold them into the smile that stays on my face all the way to the restaurant. When I walk in, it falters a little as I take in the luxury that is the low-lit, high-class space.

Chandeliers hang from the ceiling over white-clothed tables with candles in the center. The walls, a natural wood with beautifully carved crown molding, hold large pieces of artwork, abstract and muted enough to match the space. The kitchen is visible from the dining room, letting you see the food being prepared. It looks like a place that charges for the water.

“Hello, how can I help you?” The hostess looks at me, face brimming with all the fake joy her job requires. I sympathize with her, knowing I was just in her position last night.

“Um, reservation for Whitmore.” I square my shoulders like a perfect posture will make me belong here, all while trying to stay steady in these six-inch heels.

“Perfect. Right this way.” She grabs the menus and starts for the back of the room.

I follow behind, trying my best not to stare at the people whose tables I pass. When she stops at a two-seater, I see it is empty and that I beat him here.

“Your server will be over shortly to get you started with a drink.”

Sliding into a chair, I grab the menu and open it up to see what this place has to offer. As my eyes roam down the paper, I feel my heart pick up its beat.