Broken Girl(17)

Nimble with his fingers, he pulled them out of the machine tainted with grease; inducing a twitch that lingered down low. I noticed the quarter lady watching him work on the machine along with me. She pulled a couple of dollars out of her pocket and slowly meandered over to the change machine. Any woman who f*cked for a living recognized when a skank was on the prowl for a fill. She churned her hips like she was mixing hot chocolate and spread her legs just enough so she looked like she was inviting a f*ck. Yeah, the bitch was making her move.

Shane cleared his throat loud enough to pull me from watching quarter lady play out her scene. When I looked over at him, his eyes were glued on me, staring at me like I was something that he needed to devour. He hadn’t taken her bait and instantly I was ready to be whatever he wanted me to be.

Damn it, I wasn’t going to do this . . . I wasn’t gonna let myself become interested in anyone. Not now, not anytime soon. It was my time to work my way out.

I decided a year ago to save up as much money as I could and get the hell out of here. Get as far away from disgusting old men who matched the burnt sidewalks I strolled up and down looking for a wealthy f*ck. With the money I had saved I was about a month out from having enough funds to get a little place out in the suburbs. No more filthy back alleys and seedy parks. Unfortunately, my life was played out on the streets of San Francisco while I tried to slay my darkest demons with sex. It was the thrill of the chase, of pushing the limits and making hand over fist money while f*cking arrogant *s and breaking them while they were buried balls deep.

I didn’t want to invest in someone who was just gonna break my heart. I wasn’t ready to make lunch dates with nice guys and my ability to express any emotion beyond my survival mode became the fa?ade donned for self-preservation. I didn’t want to feel any more of that pain. The best way to avoid the heartache . . . don’t go chasing after it. Keep it where it belonged . . . neatly packed in a suitcase, waiting for anyone but me to pick it up.

Shane lowered his caramel eyes to his hands before he rolled the corner of his bottom lip between his pearly whites. He pulled a rag from his back pocket and focused on rubbing the grease from his fingers. His actions were intentional, his sex appeal was through the roof. Even if this moment moved beyond flirting into something more, how in the hell was I going to make something like this work? The minute he finds out I’m a prostitute, it’s over. I might as well save face and move on. Nothing but a f*cked up situation destined to end up like every other relationship where I’ve tried to become invested. He got exactly what he needed and all I was left with was a full suitcase of broken dreams and empty wishes. I realized it was an infatuation that would never work. Shane was just too good and I was whatever people were willing to pay.

I looked away before walking over to a row of chairs that split then curved in an attempt to make waiting in a laundromat pleasing. All seats filled except for one, I lowered myself into the chair and pulled a magazine from the defunct little table next to me. Thumbing through the pages, I saw him, it made my heart trip across my chest. A double take, my eyes raked the pictures and words. It was Mr. C. The man I thought was sent to save me from my life a year ago. He was featured in a two-page spread about his engagement to Ashley Hancock, the only daughter of the family who owns Hancock Vineyards. I dove in, devouring it like a ravenous animal. The Laundromat around me dissolved and I sunk deeper into the memory of him. All it took was an article in a magazine to find out why I wasn’t his choice. Mr. C, Garrett Theodore Chadwick, a self-made millionaire was engaged to a beautiful woman and I was nothing more than a convenient f*ck he wanted to keep on payroll. Finding this article was a sign, a premonition that I was never meant to fall in love with guys as seemingly perfect as Shane.

I pulled my clothes from the washing machines and pushed them into the dryer. It was a mindless action, done a hundred times before, but in this instance, as my thoughts solidified on the memory of Mr. C. I couldn’t stop the need to replay the very first time I met him. Reading about him totally f*cked with my head, and as usual when it came to him, my heart played along as he consumed my mind, completely. Mr. C had something over me; it was a dark force that kept me clinging to the belief that I was someone important to him.

I was nineteen when I fell in love for the first time. He found me on the corner of, I need to eat and who wants to pay my water bill. It was slow going, my total pull for the night before was only about three hundred bucks. Rents even in the shittiest parts of the city were way the f*ck out of hand and I needed to earn another grand over the next four days so I could pay my rent and stay in the shit-hole for another month.

He drove past me in the most beautiful midnight black Maserati. Low to the ground, big chrome-rimmed wheels that oozed sex as they rolled to a stop and then backed up next to me. I’ll never forget, it was sexy as all hell when the dark passenger’s side window rolled down and he leaned across to talk to me. His slate blue eyes met mine and I knew at that moment, he wasn’t going to ask me for directions.





PAST


“EXCUSE ME, I’M new in town, and I seem to be lost,” he says as his eyes leave mine and track down my legs and back up. His smile broadens, before he chews the corner of his bottom lip.

“Well, hello, New-In-Town, sorry to hear you’re lost. Maybe I can help you, what are you looking for?” I say, leaning down resting my forearms across the window jamb of his Maserati. His eyes draw to my heaving tits, his smile grows broad before he runs his hands around his steering wheel. His Rolex tumbles across his wrist and the smell of his sexy cologne takes a stroll through my body.