James: A College Girl Romance (6 page)

“What do you say? Do we have a deal?”

I shook my head, still dizzy from his touch.

“I can’t sleep with you for money.”

“You’re thinking about it the wrong way. Think of it as two different arrangements, completely separate.” He reached up and ran his thumb along my bottom lip. “Besides, I won’t fuck you until you beg me.”

I stared at him for several seconds before swallowing.

“And what if I don’t … beg?”

“I’m not worried about that.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, really?”

“Really.”

Feeling considerably awkward discussing this bizarre business arrangement while sitting in his lap, I climbed off him and rearranged myself on the couch.

“I don’t see what you get out of this,” I mused. “I mean, any woman would jump into bed with you like that”—I snapped my fingers—“so why bother with me?”

With an amused expression on his face, he reached for his whisky.

“Any woman but you?”

I frowned.

“I don’t count. I’m—”

“A challenge?” he smiled.

“No, I was going to say
weird
.”

“Cassia Flynn, weirdo. I’m intrigued.”

I froze.

“How the hell do you know my full name?”

“You think I would make this kind of offer without doing some research?”

I flinched.

“Are you fucking crazy?”

“No. I’m thorough. Speaking of which, in the event that you beg me in the near future, you wouldn’t happen to have your latest STD panel handy, would you?”

I suddenly felt like I had entered a parallel universe. Some insane cross between
Fifty Shades of Grey
,
Twilight
, and
Pretty Woman
, complete with a bat-shit crazy rich guy who looked like a vampire and was offering to pay money for a female
companion
. If I hadn’t just been attacked in the parking lot of the club, I would almost think this was a lame hidden camera show.

“Do
you
have
your
STD panel handy?” I shot back.

He took a sip of whisky and pointed to some papers lying on an antique desk across the room.

“Are you serious?” I asked in disbelief. “Let me see.”

He got up and walked over to the desk. When he came back and handed me a sheet of paper, I stared down at his name, followed by line after line of
Negative
printed next to every STD known to humankind, plus a few I didn’t recognize.

“Necessary in this day and age,” he said nonchalantly.

I looked up at him.

“Not for everyone. And sorry. Can’t help you. I’ve never had an STD test.”

He set his drink on the table and remained speechless, something I assumed didn’t happen often with him.

“You’ll need to have one done, and that’s another part of our agreement—no sex with anyone else during the time we would be together.”

“Does that go for you, too?”

“Of course,” he said calmly. “When was the last time you had unprotected sex?”

“I haven’t
had
unprotected sex.”

He paused again, and it was almost comical, because it was like I could see him running the odds in his head.

“But you have had sex before … Haven’t you?” he asked.

I looked down and stared at my lap.

“Contrary to popular belief, not
everyone
spends their entire college career fucking everything in sight.”

“But it does make the college experience more fun.”

When I looked up at him, he smiled disarmingly.

“Yeah?” I asked rhetorically. “Well, I wouldn’t know.”

“Are you—”

I laughed at his expression.

“Am I crazy? Religious? Crazy religious? Waiting for marriage? No, no, definitely not, and no. But I get it. You thought because I was working in a strip club, I would be up for anything. Makes sense, so I’m sorry to disappoint you. Now, if your
offer
is off the table, so to speak, I get it. Virgins are a definite no-no for thirty-year-old lotharios.”

“Hmm. Lothario? I think my buddy Bennett called me that once.”

I smiled as I rose from the couch.

“If the name fits …”

It was actually kind of a relief to know that my lack of sexual experience was a total turnoff for this guy. It took the edge off. It hadn’t made sense anyway—why
this
guy would have any interest in me. I saw him going one of two ways: exotic dancer who was up for anything or sophisticated socialite who would look good on his arm during business functions. And I was as far from either of those two as you could get.

“Can I borrow your phone?” I asked plainly.

He frowned at me.

“May I ask why?”

“I’m going to call a cab, go pick up my car, drive to my apartment, sleep all day, and then go to work in the hopes that I still have a job.”

“Then, no.”

“What?”

He reached over and picked up his whisky. I watched as he took a leisurely sip.

“Our deal comes with certain terms, and you working at that place isn’t one of them.”

“What deal? And which part of I’m a virgin at twenty-three and
I don’t sleep with guys for money
don’t you understand?
No
deal.”

I shook my head in disbelief and started pacing, worried all over again about this guy’s mental health.

“And I told
you
. I won’t fuck you until you beg me.”

I stopped, blushed, and tried to ignore the throbbing between my legs. Why was I so turned on?

“Very romantic,” I mumbled.

“I never said anything about romance.”

I gritted my teeth. He was an arrogant dick, which
should
have negated his hotness. Unfortunately, he was one of those guys who was so hot and so charming that he made it tempting to forget the fact that he was
such
a dick. Even worse, he made me want something that the rational side of my brain knew would end badly.

“This is getting very cliché. Do you have a contract for me to sign? Some deal where I stay here Thursday to Saturday as your sex slave?”

He clucked his tongue at me.

“My, my. What
have
you been reading? No, I expect you to live here for the duration of the summer.”

I shook my head.

“I can’t do that! I have an apartment, rent—”

“Which I will pay for.”

“I don’t get it. What do you get out of this?”

“Charity and misdeeds, all in one. I help you—charity. And in the process, I get what I want.”

“What exactly
do
you want, to be clear?”

“Generally whatever I can’t have. At the moment?”

He stood and walked over to me. I swallowed when I realized how much taller he was than me, despite the stupid platform Mary Janes I was still wearing. It hadn’t occurred to me how tall he was, seeing as in the past two days, I had mostly seen him sitting in a booth at the club. He reached up and tilted my chin until I was looking up at him.

“At the moment, Cass Flynn, I want you.”

“Why?” I gasped between choppy breaths.

He bent down, his mouth hovering millimeters from mine. When my eyes closed without my permission, his lips brushed mine so softly that it was like an electrical shock. I had to reach out and steady myself against his chest as a bolt of pleasure speared straight through the center of me. His arm slipped around my waist, pulling me closer as his thumb grazed my nipple. When I yelped in surprise and jerked against his grip, he pulled back.

“That’s why,” he said with amused satisfaction.

My eyes snapped open.

“I told you—no sex—”

He laughed.

“
That
was a far cry from sex. Besides, think of it as reciprocity. You get something you want; I get a taste of what I want. In the end, you might be surprised by what you want.”

I bit my lip and stepped away from him. He was wrong. I wouldn’t be surprised. Part of me—my body, specifically—already wanted him. The smarter part of me—my brain—knew getting involved with him was a bad idea, emotionally. Financially,
if
he was for real, it was a no-brainer. Then I thought about the car, this house … his suit from the night before. None of it was cheap—but it wouldn’t hurt asking for proof.

“How do I know you’re for real?” I asked shakily.

He took out his phone.

“Currently, the annual cost of attendance at this university is an estimated … thirty-five grand with living expenses, but—let’s be realistic and say fifty even.”

He smiled and walked away from me before disappearing into another room. He came back a minute later with three stacks of banded bills. When he threw one to me, I barely caught it. I flipped through the stack. Hundred-dollar bills. I swallowed.

“Where did you—”

He walked over and handed me the other stacks.

“This is half. At the end of the summer, you’ll get the other half, and if I’m feeling particularly generous, I might kick in for this law degree you’re contemplating, though I don’t recommend that particular career pursuit.”

My eyes widened.

“Do you know how much—”

“It costs to attend law school at this university? Right around a quarter of a million dollars. Or ten times what you hold in your hand.”

I shook my head again.

“Why would you do that?”

He shrugged.

“Because I can? Because I, unlike some people, don’t think you can take it with you? Because I’m bored? Take your pick.”

“Wow, I wish I could be so cavalier about money.”

“Now you can be.”

I paused and bit my lip.

“Can I think about this?”

“What is there to think about, lovely? What do you have to lose? It’s win-win for you.”

I cringed. I had, deep down, wished that I would meet a normal guy, fall in love, have him love me back—in other words: have a meaningful relationship instead of hooking up with a guy I met while working at a strip club. James McDevitt felt like a cartoon devil sitting on my shoulder.

Would I tell future boyfriends that I started the last summer before finishing my undergraduate degree working in a strip club and then ended that summer as the plaything for some unscrupulous player with money to burn?

I closed my eyes. Right now, I was holding in my hands nearly enough money to finish my last year of school without loans or Mom and Michael’s help, which I wasn’t getting anyway. There was no rational reason to turn down the offer. Because even if I didn’t sleep with him, I would still end the summer with almost enough to finish. I opened my eyes, looked him in the eye, and nodded.

“Okay.”

“Excellent.” He said it like he had been expecting my response all along. “Are you on birth control?”

As the color drained from my cheeks, I stared up at him.

“Simple question, lovely,” he said humorously.

“Y-yes,” I stammered.

“Just waiting for the right guy?”

His tone was still humorous and mocking. I shook my head.

“No, it’s … for medical reasons.”

The doctor had prescribed it for heavy bleeding, but I wasn’t about to tell this guy about my personal medical issues, even if I was discussing becoming his summertime live-in sex slave.

“Fair enough,” he said. “Do you want me to use condoms?”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Isn’t that a little presumptuous?” I snapped.

“Not in my experience.”

I stared at him, debating. Chances were that I wouldn’t sleep with him—but if I did, at least I had seen a copy of his STD panel. On the other hand, he was still a complete stranger. I nodded.

“Yes. Condoms.”

“Fine. Questions?”

I nodded.

“What about my stuff?”

“You can bring anything you need here. I’ll have logistics—” When his phone buzzed, he looked at it briefly before returning it to his pocket. “Anything else will be taken to a storage facility until you need it.”

I nodded uncertainly.

“Okay. Where will I stay?”

“There’s a guest bedroom; I’ll have it set up for you, but I’d like you to sleep in my room.”

I scrunched up my eyebrows.

“That’s not going to be weird? And how do I know you won’t just—”

He laughed again, but there was an edge to it this time.