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My legs push forward to straighten out as I prepare myself for the potentially earth-shattering orgasm. Almost. There. Just. A. Little. More. Then…
It all stops.
It always stops.
Every single time.
I slink back onto the bed in defeat. I am so wound up that I feel like a ticking time bomb waiting to detonate. It’s as if something as light as a feather could push me over the edge.
Just not now. Without my brain silencing, I will never get there.
The mounting pressure of finishing this semester successfully weighs on my mind. I have to find a topic worth writing about—something that is original and captivating. The longer I wait to nail down a topic, the harder it will be to complete the story before the end of the semester.
I push my right knee upwards and use my foot to kick out the pillow. I throw my book back into the bottom drawer and sigh in frustration.
Getting jealous of fictional characters in a book is my sign that I need to get up and do something productive. I roll over and grab the phone off the stand and read through my numerous texts.
Agency: Date scheduled for September 17 at 20:00. Entice automated message.
My pulse jumps at the alert of another potential date scheduled tonight. Apparently IT activated my account.
I click to the next text message and find that it is from Dominic, time stamped at two in the morning.
Dominic: So sorry Angie. Had to leave town. Hope Graham treated you right.
I snicker at the message. Oh, if only he knew, just how right and wrong Graham treated me.
I grab my laptop from the nightstand and login to my email account. After opening the agency email that explains the information pertaining to the setup of my profile, I am able to add the link to the website and save it under My Favorites. I type in my name, phone number, birthday, and the code from the email, which all allow me to have access to the site and change my password from the default.
The “My Account” hyperlink allows me to peruse my information and pictures that were gathered from Tuesday. Wow. There are twenty pictures total, and all involve either a different hair style or a different outfit. My featured picture is the one with my white short-sleeved dress, straightened hair, and gold-toned makeup. It is the best out of the bunch that were taken that day. The photographer snapped the photo right as I was laughing at the hair stylist, who was behind him goofily juggling cans of hairspray. I look genuinely happy and surprisingly sophisticated, despite Zander’s comment about girls who wear white.
At the top right of the screen, a rating bar, date counter, and review blog is sectioned off. Surprise hits me that my rating bar now shows five hearts, date counter set to 1, and my monthly hours set to 4.5. Graham didn’t waste time with the data entry. I wonder if clients get an email after dates to remind them to be prompt.
At the top left of the window, there is a pull-down menu that allows me to check my finances before the agency gets a cut, money gets put into escrow, and taxes are removed. My eyes bulge at the number that is bolded in the “total earnings box.” One thousand, five hundred dollars.
What the hell?
I was already paid cash for my date with Graham. Now this? This is absolutely ludicrous!
Graham’s over-the-top nature that seems to be custom built into his controlling persona is a bit much for my liking. I scoff at his deliberate rejection of the $200 minimum payment rule. He obviously is trying to prove to me that he has money to blow—especially when he was not even supposed to go on the date with me in the first place! Despite the rush of relief that financial security brings—on rare occasions in my life thus far—I have to squash the idea of Graham dating me. The amount of money he throws around scares me. What is he trying to hide? How far is he planning to take this?
And will I be able to keep up with the flippant mood swings?
Remembering that I have a scheduled date tonight, I search for the button that will transfer me to my booking calendar. My phone buzzes with an incoming text, and I pick it up to read it.
Claire: Want to start the weekend off with a bang?
Angie: Depends
Claire: On what?
Angie: What your version of a “bang” entails.
Claire: Shopping? I’ll pick you up at 1 PM?
I smile at the request for overdue girl time. With her master’s program, Claire has a pretty nice schedule. It is nice that she has Fridays off with the expectation to do research. Her love of all things designer originated from a trip to Los Angeles to do a summer internship at a prestigious health resort—the kind of place where celebrities gather to rejuvenate. Or detox.
I type out a response to her.
