Right now, it seems like far too long to wait.
My relationship at home might crumble but at least there’s hope my friendship with Zach and Caylon is coming right. Like everything in my life is on a gigantic scale and the balance is tipping.
CHAPTERFIVE
ROSA
Harry—mysecond and final client of the day—wilts on top of me. His hair is still wet from the shower I made him take, and he smells of my co-worker’s mango body wash.
It’s Friday and although it’s been a month or more since the party, I’ve got into the strange habit of painting Trent’s face overtop all my clients. It’s weird—it even feels weird to me and I’m the one doing it—but for some reason it’s made my sessions easier.
Not that they’re hard exactly but you can tire of fucking and being fucked as easily as you can tire of any other job. Some days I long to swap places with the checkout operator at the supermarket just to switch up the routine.
A little thrill that doesn’t hurt anyone is exactly what the doctor ordered.
I wriggle to the side a little so I can grab a full breath. Harry isn’t fat, but he’s solid, through and through. Built like a pound of butter that someone thoughtfully sculpted muscles on.
Now, he rolls off me, pulling me with him, resting his face in the crook of my neck. Snuggling is part of our contract; one of the few clients who likes to be touched after.
“How’s your son doing?” I ask, picking up the threads from our last conversation. “Did he adjust to the new school okay?”
“He’s talking more again,” he says, playing with my hair. “I thought we were going to lose all the progress we’d made, but he’s adjusting. The teacher invited us to sit in class with him, but he didn’t like that one bit.”
“That’s a good sign, isn’t it? A kid wanting their space?”
“He probably just hated the change in routine.” Harry lets out a long sigh, tinged with worry. “Hopefully, now he’s a bit settled, we can keep his placement even though we’re out of the district. I can’t imagine how stressful it’ll be for him if we need to move schools again.”
He continues talking and I answer as needed while my mind wanders. I think about the future, getting my degree, finding work. Having a kid of my own someday to worry if they’re comfortable at school, making friends or not. If they’ll be the quiet girl or boy in the corner or the squirmy kid who can never sit still.
“You remind me of her, a little.”
I’m startled, quickly replaying the recent conversation to see what I’ve missed. “Of Alex?” His ex-wife.
“Yeah. She had the same gentle way about her. Loved to be touched, didn’t much like talking.”
The comparison concerns me a little. Not because I know the woman, but because it means what he’s doing here is slipping out into his real life.
I know Harry’s lonely, know he doesn’t feel comfortable dating while his son struggles with a learning disorder and the large adjustment to his parents being divorced.
Our arrangement is for simplicity. To get him what he needs while he can’t get it through traditional means. His son is currently going through the diagnostic process, but Harry thinks he’s on the spectrum, which might mean a longer period than usual before he’s stable enough to consider introducing another woman into his life.
But he’s paying me to be a substitute girlfriend not a real one. Affection is fine, friends is fine, anything more and I’ll need to cut him loose with a recommendation.
“You didn’t like that, huh?”
His eyes are glued to my face, reading my expression with an ease that I’d love to find in a genuine prospect. “It’s not that I didn’t like it, but it worries me.”
“Don’t. I’m thinking about trying again with Alex, that’s all. I miss her.”
“Does she want you to try again?”
His eyes twinkle with laughter. “Well, that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? We’re getting on so much better now the divorce is over, but I’ve probably taken it the wrong way. It’s what she accused me of while we were together.”
When his allotted time is up, he stirs and I take off and dispose of his condom, getting dressed in a kimono and pants while he uses the bathroom for a quick tidy, striding through to the shared kitchen to put the kettle on for tea or coffee.
“Not for me,” Harry says from the doorway. “Gotta scoot off early for a meeting. We’re good for next week?”
“Yeah, we’re good.” I walk him to the door, waving as his car pulls out from the curb.
