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“Max.”
I seriously need to stop talking. “I should say that anything is off the table unless you want differently.”
She never denied that she was interested…
The click of the curtain rings is so quiet that I almost miss it. But when I look up, there’s a two-inch space between the curtains.
And between the two-inch gap is Cady.
I lose my breath in an audible whoosh.
Because I was right about the bra.
“Thanks for letting me know,” she says.
17
Cady
Ilet him buy me the dress.
It was only fair since I paid for his clothes, but it was tough. It’s been a long time since a man bought me a present and usually it came with expectations.
I love the dress, even though I don’t tell him how much. It’s pale green with leaves and pink flowers, and made of a gauzy fabric that skims my curves and ties at the neck leaving my shoulders bare while dipping down between my breasts.
“That one,” Max says as soon as I stepped out of the cubicle.
I like the way he looks at me when I’m wearing it.
I like the way he looks at me, period.
Which is why I gave him a peek.
It took me years to drop the skin-tight cleavage-showing outfits and stop dressing like I get paid for an hour of pleasure.
Sixteen months. I was an escort for all of sixteen months, and that is still how I define myself.
Max has done a great job of ensuring I know there are no expectations about this weekend. I don’t have to have sex with him in return for him covering for me with the police.
Instead, I’m doing him a favour. A friendly one. We’re going to the wedding as friends.
New friends, but just friends.
Unless, of course, I may be interested in being more than a friend, and Max has done a very good job of making sure I know he’d be very interested.
Basically, he’s making it my choice. He’s giving me a choice, and that means more to me than he can imagine.
After three years of stripping and giving lap dances and hand jobs in the back room, I was making close to a thousand dollars a night.
Paolo, the owner of the Spider’s Den, took forty percent of anything I made at the club, and he encouraged such behaviour. He wanted us to make the customers happy.
I saved everything I could, but it was never enough. My stepfather was out of work and drinking heavily. Noelle and Christian, my half-siblings, were in grade one and needed new clothes, backpacks, shoes, and someone to pick them up and watch them after school. Even running on a few hours of sleep, I managed the morning shift—getting them dressed and fed and dropped off at school. But my shifts started at three and Bruce couldn’t be trusted to pull himself from a bottle to see that his own children got home from school.
I paid for Winnie, a grandmother who lived a few streets away, to pick up the twins from school every day. She watched them on the weekends when Bruce was too drunk to keep them from hurting themselves.
So when one of my regulars asked me how much to meet him for an hour, I refused because I wasn’t giving Paolo money for that.
But then I went back to him and gave him a price, and told him no one at the club could know or the price would double. Selling myself was my decision, but I never felt like I had a real choice.
