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“You’re not listening to us.”
“You all are talking crazy again. You make it seem like I’m God’s gift to—”
“Felicity.” Cleo sat up, looking at me seriously. “God put you on this earth to make the rest of the female race feel inferior.”
Mark laughed as he sat up. “She is the standard all photographers and magazines use when they Photoshop.”
“She would have been on Top Model, but the producers thought it wouldn’t be fair to the other contestants.”
“Oh! I’ve got one. She is—”
“Oh my God, stop!” I yelled with a smile on my face. It was hard not to smile when your friends thought so highly of you, but seriously, they were exaggerating. “Thank you both, but like I said, I don’t want to get involved with your dirty, secret lives.”
“Dirty, secret lives?” Mark’s eyebrow rose. “Babe, this is Los Angeles. This isn’t any secret. The SB community is a proud one. Hell, other than Las Vegas and maybe New York, I’m not sure there is any place in the world that’s as approving.”
“Felicity, I sent in your picture—”
“You did what?” I looked at her.
She reached for the laptop I hadn’t noticed that she’d put on the floor beside my bed.
“There is a standard level of beauty you have to be have in order to get into these parties, so they ask for a photo. Usually it takes a day to be approved by someone, but I swear to God with my hand on the Bible, I sent yours in, and not even two minutes later, you were approved.”
I stared at the photo of me waving at the camera, wearing jean shorts and a button-down white shirt. Mark had taken it only a few days ago when we’d gone to the beach.
“This is why you were taking my picture?”
He took the laptop. “It’s already live for tonight’s party?”
“Where’s the return-to-sender button?” I muttered, snatching the laptop from him. All they had put down for me was my name: Felicity, age: 24, height: 5’9”, interests: books, music, and the outdoors. There were no matches yet, but it showed I was one of sixty other women who would be part of that night’s event. There were no questions about where I went school or if I had any aspirations. Then again, they weren’t trying to get to know me. All they wanted to do was bend me over and screw me twelve ways to Sunday, and then maybe give me a purse or a car for my trouble.
“Don’t you miss sex?” Cleo asked me.
“Miss it? You make it seem like I haven’t screwed anyone in years.” I frowned. It had only been eleven months, give or take a few days. Before my dry spell, I’d put a few boyfriends and one-night stands under my belt. I just liked to do it on my own terms. “I’m saying no because it just feels like….”
Damn it, I couldn’t explain it.
“It only feels wrong because other people have labeled it that way,” Mark mused, getting up off my bed and going into my closet. “And if I gave a flying fuck about what they thought, I would explain that these people have more money than they know what to do with. They live in a world where they don’t know if people actually like them or their net worth. So they have us, attractive people who are upfront about what they expect. No one is stealing from them, and they aren’t taking advantage of us. It’s like any other relationship; I give to you and you give to me, and at the end of the day, we’re both happy. But since I don’t give a fuck, I say screw it, and while you’re at it, screw me, but only if you can pay my electric bill.”
I rolled my eyes. “I pay the electric bill.”
“Yeah, but you don’t have to. That’s what we’re saying.” Cleo grinned as she went to her old profile and clicked on her former list of matches. The first person that came up was maybe in his mid-to-late forties. “First myth of being a sugar baby: all the people you hook up with are old, rich, and white. This, my friend, is a lie we tell to keep the community small. If everyone knew there were studs looking for women and men to pamper and screw, we’d be in the hunger games.”
“Fighting for cock? Man, I read the wrong book!” Mark laughed, throwing the tight, short-sleeved white V-neck dress I was saving for a rainy day onto the bed. “You’re coming tonight.”
“Hopefully in more ways than one.” Cleo giggled.
“Nice!” They high-fived each other.
This was a bad idea.
I should not join this madness.
I took care of myself. I paid my own bills and bought myself nice things when I wanted or felt like it. I didn’t need anyone else for that.
But the sex. They always talked about it, and I was curious.
Oh, screw it. I sat up and reached for the dress. “I’m going to regret this.”
