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I feel so shit for him.
“She was seeing someone else, right?”
“One of her clients, yes. She’s in Spain now, I believe. She upped and left with little more than a sorry. And it may hurt, and it may have torn me to pieces, but you know what? I’m glad she did it. Because like you, I’ve been learning the same thing. If she didn’t love me enough to value our relationship over a yacht, and a billion pounds in the bank, and hot bondage games with a guy who paid to have sex with her, then she isn’t the person I thought she was, or the person I want to be with. Like I said, I want a partnership, not an ego parade, and I think that’s what life became for her. The Amy Magpie show. I was just a character on the sidelines by the end.”
“A relationship with me definitely won’t be the Ella Holly show, I promise you that. I’m still learning that I have a show of my own. It would just be nice to be with someone who genuinely wants to share it with me.”
He smiles at me. “It will be nice to be with someone who genuinely wants to share it with you.”
I smile back at him. “Yeah, it will.”
“I’m all in, you know that?” he says. “I won’t be running off with someone who might give me a record deal.”
“Yeah. And I won’t be running off with a client who pays me for filthy sex. No matter if they have a yacht. A yacht can fuck off, it would never be worth a guy like you.”
“Are you sure about that? You are still a newbie. I know that proposals can be intense early on. I know fantasies can be hard to leave behind when the timer reaches the end of a session.”
I don’t break the stare.
“I’m very sure. And even if I did fancy a guy with a yacht, or got caught up in the fantasies of proposals, or whatever shit could come from the sidelines, I wouldn’t ever disrespect someone by doing what Connor did to me. Not a chance in hell.”
“Good. Same goes.” He takes my hand. It feels easy. Natural. Safe. “So… one more question.”
I tip my head. “About Connor?”
“Yeah. Everyone has a type, don’t they? Of some description.”
Oh no. I get another stomach lurch, because there’s no denying it. I definitely have a type.
“Tell me,” Josh says. “Would I resemble Connor if you put our pictures side by side?”
“Umm…” I begin, and he laughs.
“That’s a yes, then.”
“If Connor was more of a chiselled Adonis, with purple in his hair, then yes. You’d resemble him a bit.” I’m sure I’m burning up. “Tit for tat. Would I look like Amy?”
“Yes,” he says, just like that. “But she didn’t have your stunning eyes, or tits nearly as impressive as yours. And she didn’t have nearly as many boxes on the naughty list ticked as you do.”
“Wow. I’m flattered. Eyes, tits and filth.”
“Chiselled Adonis with purple hair. I’d say we’re both winners.”
“Sure are.”
I love how we laugh together.
The ex talk hasn’t been a full-on wail fest like I was scared it would be. The way Josh and I look at each other says it all. We are both in, both committed, and both wanting the same thing.
It’s easy to say it in words though. It’s another thing altogether to live through the challenges – both betrayed and hurt and lied to by ex-partners. Oh, and being sex workers on top. Fucking other people on a regular basis.
Navigating the winding roads of jealousy and insecurity might need more credit than we’re giving it, all loved up on night one. We’ll have to follow those roads for real when we come to them, I guess.
We both make the move for another kiss when his phone buzzes in his pocket.
“Sorry. That’ll be Tiff,” he says. “We always send each other a D&S message when we’re finished on a proposal. Done and safe.”
What a lovely thing to hear. He types out a reply and gets another ping straight back. He replies again and gets another.
