Goldie and the Three Wisconsin Bears

And that’s why I’m here now. In a cabin in the middle of nowhere, offering to prostitute myself to hang on to the beater car I bought for three-hundred bucks off one of the daytime shift Magic Peaches bouncers. He hadn’t been surprised at all when I showed up, asking if he still had that…ahem…acquired car business on the side because I need one fast.

“You ain’t the first Peach who den found out that Prince Charming fantasy ain’t nothing but a trap,” he told me an hour later when he handed me the keys to the only car from his unregistered lot that I could afford.

That car is the only possession I have. The only thing that will get me to Canada. A place where Tommy doesn’t have any jurisdiction.

That Jeb guy hates me, and the blond one doesn’t trust me much either. But maybe the nice one? All I need is for one of them to want me bad enough to pay for the repairs.

That’s all I need.

I wait in the cold room, silently begging for that wish to come true. And trying not to think about how far I’d fallen since my mother’s death.

I can hear them out there talking. Too low for me to discern what they’re saying, but loud enough to know it’s some kind of argument.

Suddenly a voice yells, “Fuck it, do what you want. I’m out!”

Then comes the stomp of boots, followed by the slam of a door.

I’m pretty sure that’s Jeb who stormed away. And though that cuts my odds down to two, I can’t say I’m mad about not having to service him. After three years with Tommy, I don’t know if I could handle being constantly insulted and judged by someone else.

There’s no more low conversation after that. The door opens, and the dark-haired man comes back inside the room. Alone.

“Sorry for the wait.” He dips his head down to talk to me, in the way tall guys sometimes do with shorter girls. At least the nice ones. “I should introduce the three of us. I’m Nico. The blond guy was Mitch. And Jeb was the one with the gun.”

“Hi,” I answer, not sure how else to respond to those introductions. “Does this mean you’re the one who’s taking me up on my offer?”

He looks down and rubs the back of his neck. “Not exactly, mija. Hold on, Mitch is getting some paperwork for us out of the truck. He’ll be right back.”

Paperwork? Is that some kind of euphemism for condoms?

Mitch comes through the door before I can ask that question out loud. And whoa! He’s actually got a file folder in his hands.

“Sorry, to keep you waiting,” he says, going over to a bureau made of a slighter darker wood than the cabin. “I’ve got a few things we’re going to need you to sign. Oh, by the way, I’m…”

“Mitch, I know,” I fill in. “Nico told me. So you’re the one who I’ll be…”

He gives me a quizzical look, then raises an eyebrow at Nico. “You told her our names, but you didn’t tell her the whole deal?”

Again, Nico looks embarrassed. “You know I’m not great at explaining that stuff.”

Mitch shakes his head at Nico, then turns fully to me. God, he’s pretty.

Everything from his hair to the precise lines of his nose and face could be described as immaculate. It’s like whoever created him was trying to meet “an All-American god” challenge.

His eyes are the same color as the sea off the Georgia coast. Maybe blue. Maybe grey. I get the feeling I could stare into them all dang day and still not be for sure certain. But those mesmerizing eyes are also sharp and cynical. I sense he doesn’t trust much of anything or anybody. Especially not me.

And even though he’s just as tall as Nico, he doesn’t dip his head to address me like his nice teammate did.

“You said you were willing to sleep with one of us to get the money to fix your car,” he says. “How about all three of us?”

He asks the question in such a brusque business tone, it takes me a few moments to fully process it.

And when I do, I feel fixed to faint.

But maybe I’m not understanding right.

“Wait…you want me to sleep with all three of you?” I ask, trying to get further clarification. “Even the one who doesn’t like me, like at all?”

Nico smirks. “Who, Jeb? Oh, Jeb likes you just fine. Not sure why he’s so pissed off that we’re doing this. But don’t worry about him. He’ll come around.”

How could I not worry about him? And perhaps more importantly, “How would this work? Would you guys take turns? Would I be expected to um…”

My cheeks heat. The truth is, as sexy and businesslike as I’m trying to act, I have to admit I’m way out of my league here. There wasn’t a lot of talking at Magic Peaches. Most exchanges I’d seen went something like.