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That’s not bad for what I’m getting—discretion, exclusivity, stress-free fun, zero expectation of a relationship—all from a perfect ten. Vera’s an investment I’m willing to make.
A Match
Vera
“No, no, no, no, no—not that one,” Monica whined as I held up a Chanel quilted duffle bag that was destined for the shelves of Quick Pawn.
I’d managed to secure a last-minute payment plan with the school’s Payment Services Department before the start of the semester and paid my first installment after pawning off three designer handbags and a few pieces of jewelry. It was early October, and my next installment was due in a few days. It sucked that I had to pawn my shit, but failure to pay wasn’t an option. Taking a year off because my dad chose tits over my education was nasty work.
“This is goodbye for now—not forever,” I said poetically to the bag before pressing my lips to it and dropping it into the box.
“This sucks. Have you heard from your dad yet?”
“Nope, and I’m not holding my breath.”
Dad usually called me weekly, but his lack of communication was very telling—he didn’t want to be held accountable and didn’t have a solution to my tuition problem. It was clear that I was on my own.
Monica snorted before flopping onto my bed dramatically, haphazardly tossing an arm over her face. “That’s because he’s off the grid hiding from loan sharks.”
“Wouldn’t doubt it.”
“I bet your dad is missing a kneecap and a half as we speak.” I genuinely chuckled and continued rifling through my closet. “What about Snoh?”
“I’m not asking that boy for anything. He’s more unreliable than our dad.”
“That’s a damn shame,” Monica muttered.
“Tell me about it, and don’t even mention Danielle,” I warned.
“You don’t have to worry about that. That girl is mean as fuck. Say her name three times in a mirror, and she’ll appear out of thin air, mean-mugging with her arms crossed over her chest.”
I laughed at the perfect description of my little sister. “Not too much on her now.”
“I’m just saying, if the Grinch wants to settle down, then Danielle might be his woman.” I rolled my eyes and continued packing. “What about Sugar Rush? Any hits?”
“Nope,” I confessed, pulling out a pair of leather Bottega Veneta pumps that went perfectly with my lavender Easter dress from last year.
“Can I be real with you, Vera?”
“Always.”
“You probably don’t have any hits because your bio makes you sound mean as fuck.”
My head fell back with a heavy sigh. “I wasn’t being mean. I was being straightforward.”
“And I get that, but some of the stuff you put in there was unnecessary.”
“Like what?” I challenged, popping my head out of the closet with a precursory scowl on my face.
“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe the part where you said that you don’t care about yourself if you haven’t had a wellness check in two years.”
“It’s the truth—at least for wealthy men who have access to the best healthcare in America.”
“What if they’re too busy?” Monica questioned.
“If you’re too busy to attend a thirty-minute doctor’s appointment, then you’re too busy to be entertaining a sugar baby.”
“Okay… facts. But still, men don’t want to hear that. They especially don’t want to hear you tell them to seek therapy for their self-esteem and inadequacy issues.”
