Page 123 of Trailer Trash

“Cross my heart. Trust me. There is nothing you could ask that would make me madder than I’ve already been at you.”

He nods, but winces as he speaks.

“What if I paid your tuition for... sex?”

I blink.

He panics. “Don’t take it wrong! I would pay most women for sex.” He smiles nervously. “It’s a guy thing. I don’t mean you’re like...”

He stops himself, his face flushed.

“No, finish what you were saying,” I demand.

“It’s not like I see you as a slut or anything. You’re hot. You need money. Why not?”

“Are you insane?” I balk and stand up. “You’re the second guy tonight to treat me like I’m just a money-hungry whore.”

He crosses his arms, defensive, then scans the room.

I wait, expecting an apology.

“Harlow, you live in a trailer. You have a shit job. I think humbling yourself isn’t such a bad idea.”

I gasp. “Humbling myself?”

“Maybe hanging out with rich people has made you think you’re better than where you came from.”

Those words hit hard.

Okay. Yeah. I have been immersed in a mansion, twelve hours a day, with a class of people I would normally never see. Maybe it’s possible they’ve had an effect on me.

“I don’t think I’ve forgotten my roots,” I say.

“Then you know people do things to survive. Sometimes they steal because they can’t afford groceries. Sometimes they leave their kids alone because they can’t hire a babysitter. And sometimes they suck a dick because they can’t pay tuition.”

I hold my breath as a chill runs through me.

He’s manipulating me. It’s nothing new. He’s just sober now.

And what he said was awful, especially the last part. But I forgot about those people. My people. I look at sex workers as trash instead of women trying to get by. I am in a trailer. I don’t have a trust fund. I need cash.

I need to survive.

Killian is wrong. I haven’t been his dad’s whore. I’ve been his whore. That’s the only reason he’s kept me around.

“You would pay me four thousand dollars for a blowjob?”

“I think it’s generous,” Evan says.

My hands cup my elbows as I hold myself. Inside, I scream at myself: sell the fucking car.

That car might be the only nice thing I’ll own in my life. Hell, I may fail nursing school. Clark may fire me if he finds out I slept with his son. A thousand things could go wrong. I would still have the car. Then I could sell it in an emergency.

I can’t say it. The words won’t pass my lips. I simply nod.

In slow motion, Evan leans back into the sofa and undoes his pants. His form blurs as his cock is exposed.

I close my eyes.