The only corner where I could find solitude was in my bedroom. Otherwise it was constant voices and TV and clattering dishes and running water. If I wanted that kind of chaos, I’d go to a club.
I can’t wait until I can afford to live alone.
In theory, I shouldn’t have been here right now. I needed money, and I could have gone out and made some money via Lyft or Uber. It wouldn’t be much, but it would be more than I had now. I didn’t have any excuse not to go do it except I just didn’t fucking want to.
So I went into my bedroom. I was drained. I didn’t have anything left tonight. Not to drive around. Not to hang out with my roommates. Instead, I’d probably spend it either pretending I was making headway on schoolwork or staring at my various balances as I came up with plans for paying them off before I was seventy. Or maybe I’d just put on a pair of noise-canceling headphones, watch YouTube, and hope the headphones drowned out my roommate and her boyfriend on the other side of the wall we shared. I was thrilled they were happy together. God knew she deserved him after that punk she’d been with a few months ago. And sometimes it was funny, the sounds of sex coming through the wall while I was trying to study or something.
I wasn’t sure I could handle that tonight, and I didn’t understand why. I was stressed about money. The fact that Ethan and I hadn’t had sex didn’t bother me. Did it?
I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands. It wasn’t that we hadn’t fucked. It was the fact that since we hadn’t fucked, I wasn’t going to get paid, and that made me wish we’d done everything he’d had in mind before I’d arrived. Even spending a night with Scott didn’t sound so bad right now, because at least then I’d have money.
Christ, this sucked. This stupid degree I was pursuing had better be worth the headache, the hassle, and the eye-watering pile of loans on top of my rent and car payment, not to mention those medical bills that I was starting to liken to a case of herpes—no matter what I did, they were never going away.
Admittedly, I was kind of pissed at Ethan. More than I usually would be if a client bailed. It happened, and I understood that, and usually I was more sympathetic than anything, but goddammit, did he have any idea how badly I needed the money? How few bookings I’d had in the months since I’d jacked up my rates?
Of course he didn’t know. What would a professional hockey player know about debating between buying groceries and keeping yet another bill from getting turned over to collections?
Fuck. Fuck!
My phone pinged, and I rolled my eyes. Great. It was probably confirmation that Ethan had closed out the booking without paying me.
But when I checked the screen, the push notification made me do a double take:
Your booking is completed and payment has been processed.
Wait. He was serious about paying me?
I opened the app, and when I reached the page with the finalized transaction, I nearly dropped my phone.
He hadn’t just paid me. He’d tipped me. And the tip was…
No. That couldn’t be right.
I exited the app and called Anita.
“Hey, moneymaker,” she said brightly when she answered. “Sounds like tonight was a good night!”
“Uh, yeah. Are you sure it’s accurate? Because he put the full amount in the line for the tip.”
“Mmhmm.” She didn’t hesitate. “There’s a confirmation screen to make sure he knows which is the tip and which is the regular payment.”
“So he…” I swallowed. “He tipped me a hundred percent? This is legit?”
“It’s legit. Five thousand for the booking and another five thousand for the tip.”
“That’s…” I stared blankly at the wall as I crunched the numbers. Forty percent of the booking went to Emerald City, and the entire tip came to me, so… “That’s eight large after you take your cut.”
“It is. I guess you were right after all—even with fewer clients, you’re still making more!”
I scowled but let that subject go. We both knew it was bullshit. That said, an eight-thousand-dollar payout for a single night—especially one where I didn’t even take off my pants—wasn’t something I could bitch about.
We ended the call, and I lay back on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. Eight. Thousand. Holy shit. If Scott called me up, that would be another three (that asshole never tipped). Just thinking about that, I could feel my anxiety receding again. No, not receding—dropping. Plummeting. Financial security was still a far off dream, but a windfall like this meant the kind of breathing room I’d been dying for.
Closing my eyes, I let that relief wash over me.
And while I was at it—what kind of man paid double for a service he hadn’t even had? Though he’d obviously felt bad. Embarrassed, but also like he’d put me out by not putting out. Maybe this was his way of making up for—in his mind—wasting my time. Maybe it was a salve for his conscience.
Whatever had driven him to pay me in full and tip me five grand, he couldn’t possibly know what a difference that money made for me.
Ethan, I swear to God…
After tonight, I’d fuck you for free.
Okay, I would have anyway. He was seriously hot. Once I’d gotten past my kneejerk “oh shit” over being hired by a hockey player, I’d definitely appreciated what his sport did to his body. He was sexy as hell, and he was cute, too. That smile? Those eyes? That kiss? Oh my Lord. I really would have hooked up with him for free. If we’d matched on Tinder, I’d have ridden him into the mattress and begged him for another round.
But he couldn’t deal with having sex that he was paying for.
I just wished he knew how grateful I was that he’d paid for sex he hadn’t had.
Chapter 5
Ethan
What the fuck is wrong with me?
In the days since I’d briefly met Luca, I’d lost track of how many times I’d asked myself that question. I’d also lost track of how many times I’d been drawn back to the Gentlemen of the Emerald City app. To one profile in particular. One profile with photos that were even hotter than before now that I’d seen the man in the flesh.
I could have had him naked. He could have fucked me.
Groaning, I tossed my phone aside on the couch. I’d been losing my mind before I’d met Luca, and ever since he’d left—ever since I’d stupidly asked him to leave—I’d been pretty sure I’d lost my mind. All that shit that had driven me to the Gentlemen of the Emerald City app? All the reasons I’d booked Luca in the first place? They were back with a vengeance.
The loneliness. The isolation. The craving for human contact. It didn’t even have to be sex, but Lord, I would not have turned down some of that. Especially not from him.
That ship had sailed, though. I’d tried, I’d failed, and I was probably on Luca’s list of utter losers who couldn’t handle him. How did he feel about things like that? Did he take it personally? Did he think it was about him instead of being about my ridiculous brain overthinking things? I had no idea, but I hoped the payment and the tip at least took the sting out. Not that he was probably hurting for money, given how much he charged, but I could hope.