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Things he wanted to do again since he’d texted me for another six o’clock get together.
I’d rocked his world with a blow job. No question. It had been strange at first, having something so big in my mouth. It was Theo’s responses, the sounds, tensing of muscles, tugging my hair, that spurred me on. I might have been using my hooker friends’ tips as my only guide on what to do, but I’d felt powerful.
But he’d been called out and I’d gone home, the exchange over.
Maybe I was mixing sexy times with interest or growing feelings, but I liked Theo. Not just found his photo hot on his brother’s computer and made empty statements about marrying him when we’d never even met, but actual liking.
He was… nice. It was clear when he was with his brothers that they had a great bond. He was kind; no one fed a stray cat if he didn’t have a generous and concerned nature. He was devoted. He spent close to fifteen years of his life training to be a doctor to save people. Which he did.
He was also ridiculously introverted. Quiet. Closed off. Focused. Even a little… distant. Even when we were getting each other off, it wasn’t intimate.
I had to be cautious with him. I could fall hard, and he’d shrug and move on to his laundry or write a medical journal article or something. Also, I didn’t want to get too close because he’d see the real me. The one that hid behind her bold words and loud ways. Who knew she wasn’t lovable enough to keep, or to love unconditionally. There were rules attached with loving me. Boundaries. Expectations.
I was good to fuck. I knew that. Theo saw me as a task. A mission to get the almost-virgin some experience and orgasms. He’d be clinical and get me off and get his own pleasure, but nothing more.
That was fine.
Fine!
Why? Because I never stopped thinking about him licking my pussy. Or the way his fingers worked me to orgasm in record time. Or the few kisses we’d shared that had made me feel more than I should.
“Mal?” Arlo asked. “How come you need some shifts?”
I startled, realized I’d spaced out, thinking about Theo.
I couldn’t tell Arlo the truth. We might be close, but no guy wanted to find out his sister was arrested for being a hooker.
There was a line. Had to be.
“If money’s tight, you can move in with me,” he offered, although I knew he wasn’t serious.
I glanced up at the ceiling, as if I could see through it to his small apartment above the bar. “I’m too old to couch surf because that’s all I’d get.”
His place was a small one bedroom. He could probably afford something bigger and not live over his work, but he was a bachelor and worked a lot. He was content.
He put down the clipboard and tucked the pen behind his ear. We looked a lot alike. Same hair, although his was cut in the trendy style with the sides shorn close and the top longer. His blue eyes held more mischief than sass.
“Wait. Your mom’s not bothering you again, is she?”
“Cheryl?”
Arlo and I shared the same dad, but we had different moms. His died when he was young and a few years later, his dad started getting out there and fell for Cheryl. They married because she was a gold digger and thought our dad would be a sugar daddy for her. Except the money he’d had was from his dead wife–Arlo’s mom–and he drank his way through it, but only after my mother got pregnant with me.
Since she didn’t like to work, she stuck around. Except neither of them really wanted to work. Dad lost himself in the bottom of a beer keg and was content with his consistent but dead-end job. Cheryl hadn’t been happy with any of it, and sank into a life of… entitlement, without any money to go with it.
Arlo was eight years older than me, enough where he was really protective, but also hadn’t been around much after I turned ten. The day after graduation, he’d moved out. I didn’t blame him. I did the same thing.
Except Cheryl wasn’t his and he’d never liked her. She knew it, too. There was no love lost there. That was why she never asked him for money like she did me. Or let me forget the burden I was to her.
I didn’t answer his question, only looked away.
He groaned. “What now?”
Instead of telling him, I pulled my phone from my purse, found the text she’d sent during the school day.
The car needed more work. I told the repair shop you’d be in to pay the bill by Friday.
He swore under his breath. “Don’t pay it.”
