I cringe inwardly at the note of skepticism in his voice. But I understand. Considering how they found me, I wouldn’t believe that I could pay either.
“No, I don’t have much money,” I admit with a sigh and a heavy heart. “But…”
A new answer to my problem comes through bright and clear. I got into Emory, the elite “Harvard of the South,” yes. But, technically, I’ve only been successful at one thing. Being a beautiful object that men like to look at. And if working at Magic Peaches taught me anything, it was that men were always willing to spend money to have a beautiful woman treat them like a king.
I didn’t do floor or lap dances while I was there. I’d been a headliner. The former Princess Georgia beauty queen, now willing to show you everything. But I’d seen and heard about what went on with the dancers who had to work a lot harder for their money.
From what they’d told me, half the job was cajoling more cash out of customers, thirty percent was actually dancing, and a good percent was turning down offers from men who wanted to take it further. Most often, the other dancers answered with a no. But it was so heavily disguised, many of their clients didn’t know that their potential bed partner had declined their offer until she snuck out the back door and never came back. But occasionally, if the price was right, or if the dancer needed more money fast.
Could one of these guys make the price right?
I swallow. Then swallow again, until I’m able to say, “I…um…used to be a stripper. If one of you wanted me to dance or do something more, I could do that for you. And in exchange, maybe you could give me enough money to pay for my car.”
I keep my voice brave and tough. But inside my head, Tommy’s screaming.
“See, that’s why I hit you. You’re nothing but a slut. I never should have gotten mixed up with you. I knew what you were from the start, what you’re always going to be.”
That’s what Tommy said to me the last time I tried to initiate sex. He loved that I made all his friends jealous. At the same time, he hated that men looked at me the way most men look at beautiful women with stripper curves. He wanted me to dress like a dirty girl but then freaked out if I so much as glanced at one of his friends.
And as for sex—apparently, good, and faithful girlfriends didn’t ever ask for that. I’d learned the hard way to wait until Tommy initiated sex with me. Never the other way around.
I drop my eyes and brace myself, not sure how the three men standing in front of me will respond to my offer. Possibly with disgust.
“When you say something more, what do you mean exactly?” a voice asks. “And for how long?”
Those questions bring my head up. It was the blond who asked. He’s standing with his hands on his hips in a way that reminds me of a businessman. Or a king.
“If one of you wanted company in bed for…” Swallowing the tiny bit of pride I had left, I do a quick calculation of what some of the Magic Peaches girls considered the right amount of money for something more than a lap job in VIP, then lower the price even further. “Say a week, then I’d be willing to do that.”
All three men have gone completely quiet, but they’re exchanging looks. Like they’re having some kind of conversation that doesn’t require words.
“Are you serious?” Jeb suddenly growls out loud.
I’m not sure if he’s talking to the other men or me until he says, “You really think this smokeshow accidentally ended up in a cabin owned by three pro football players? For all we know, she’s some batshit crazy fan, who marked us from the beginning. We take her up on this offer, and nine months from now, she’s going to be hitting one of us up for child support for the next eighteen years. And I tell ya, that’s going to cost a helluva lot more than a busted engine.”
I know I don’t have any right to feel offended, considering what I just offered them. “I had no idea you guys were professional football players. And as for getting pregnant, that’s not going to happen, because I already am. I’m about a month along, and if you don’t believe me, I’ll take a pregnancy test.”
This time all three of them go quiet and still.
Then the blond one says, “Conference. Outside.”
Chapter Four
On that command, all three men leave, closing the door behind them.
And I’m left there in the nice one’s big red coat, shivering even though it’s warm.
What if they don’t take my offer?