Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96007 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96007 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
All I wanted was a dorm room but couldn’t afford the added cost above my tuition. So, I was stuck in an apartment off campus. It was no penthouse, that was for sure. It was barely an apartment. More like a shoebox. I had a semi-decent car to get me from point A to B, and a bus stop close by in case it went from semi-decent to broken down. I’d made it work. Maybe I could look into selling the car for some extra cash.
“So, what are you going to do?”
“That’s the million-dollar question. I’ll start by looking for a job, even though most are taken by all the holiday workers.”
“But you already do student work at the Biology Department. When will you have time to work another job and still be able to study?”
“Sleep is overrated.” I succeeded in making her snort since we both loved sleep dearly. “I can always sell my plasma . . . maybe my eggs.”
“I will kidnap you before you sell your precious possible babies.”
“Aw, thanks Liv. You’re a true friend.”
She blew me a kiss and put on a movie for distraction. At least an attempt at a distraction. But even as we laughed and ate popcorn, my mind was swirling with possible places to apply for work. I’d start looking for any job possible as soon as I leave the dorm. I joked about losing sleep, but I’d sacrifice a lot more than that to stay in college.
A week later and I still hadn’t found another job. Every possible position that may have been open was snatched up by the seasonal workers. It was three weeks before Christmas, and if one more person told me I should have applied before Thanksgiving, I’d scream.
“I have an appointment at the Bursar’s Office tomorrow to beg for some kind of help to come up with a solution,” I explained to Olivia over lunch. “In the morning, I’m going to run by the bank and see if I can take out another loan.”
“You know, I could talk to my da—” Olivia started, but I cut her off.
“No. I will not take money from you.”
“It’s a loan. And you wouldn’t have to pay interest.”
I was already shaking my head before she finished. We’d had this conversation before, and I was adamant about not entering into a financial relationship with her. I’d seen my parents borrow money from a friend, and it tore their relationship apart. They lorded the loan over them, and took advantage just because my parents had owed them money. When they finally paid it all back, the friendship had been too damaged to repair. Nothing good ever benefitted a relationship when the exchange of money occurred.
I couldn’t have that happen between me and Olivia. She was too important to lose. “It’s bad enough I let you buy me lunch today.”
We sat at the corner table at the school’s largest dining hall. I was content to eat another pack of ramen, but she’d dragged me here and bought my entry before I could say otherwise.
“Just eat your damn food. You know it’s good,” she grumbled.
I took a bite and stared at her, but she was looking down, her long blonde hair hanging like a curtain around her, hiding from me. When she finally looked up, she looked nervous. Her lips were pinched and her eyes wide.
Alarm bells went off in my head. “What?”
She set her silverware down and sat up straighter, as if she were preparing for battle. “Listen,” she started. “I have an idea. It’s really good money, but you have to have a waaaay open mind about it.”
“Okaaay?” I dragged the word out, trying to prepare myself. “You know I’m desperate and will do just about anything.”
Her tongue slicked across her pink glossed lips and she swallowed. What the hell was it?
“My uncle—kind of the rogue agent of the family—owns a club.”
I dropped my fork and sat up straight, trying to think of a club that wasn’t a strip club. “What kind of club?”
She cocked her head and looked around as though searching for the right words. “It’s not really a sex clu—.”
“I am not standing on a street corner to make money. I’m desperate, but not ready for prostitution.”
“No. No, no, no.” Her hands rose up, halting that line of thought. “Think of it more like . . . performing.” She paused. “Sometimes naked.”
I blinked, several times, waiting for her to tell me she was kidding. Something. Anything to explain what the hell she was talking about. I sat there, mute, unable to form words, unable to ask questions. Unable to anything, really.
“It’s called Voyeur.” Caving under the silence, she picked up her fork and moved food around her plate before spitting the rest out on one breath. “People come to watch other people do things. It can range from showering to . . . performing with someone else.”