Chapter One
Jacob
I’m all curled up on the couch with my fresh batch of microwaved nachos in myTortured Poets Departmentcardigan and sweats, when the all-too familiar sound of Foxy’s ringtone pulls me from my thoughts.
I groan, if only because I just fuckingstartedthe Taylor Swift Eras documentary, which I’ve been waiting forever to watch because my schedule’s been absolute insanity lately.
I shouldn’t complain, because being one of Foxy’s top rated dates means job security, but sometimes I wish I could have a moment to myself to just… I don’t know, chill the fuck out.
Pausing Disney+, I grab my phone from the coffee table. It’s rare I get a Saturday night to myself, but my date cancelled at the last minute this evening because she said she was sick with the flu that’s going around. Is it wrong that I was kinda relieved? I mean, I don’t want anyone to suffer, but immediately I knew exactly how I wanted to spend my free night.
One glance shows I’ve been booked for next Saturday by a returning client, who I happen to know well. Bella. I know it’s a little weird in the scheme of things to actually havereturnclients, but I can’t complain, because Bella is actually super sweet and she’s a great tipper. Other than her name and the date, there’s no information telling me what sort of situation I’m being booked for, but most likely it’s a work thing, since Bella usually books me for her work stuff. Fundraisers, banquets, conferences, that sort of thing.
I toss the phone back on the coffee table, figuring she probably hasn’t sent in her contract yet. Once she does, we can set up a meeting to go over all the details. Which means I’m not needed right now.
Taylor Swift, here I come.
The sounds of screaming fans accentuates the familiar opening melody, and I lean back into my couch, diving for a warm, cheesy covered nacho.
As much as I love going out—and I do love it, otherwise I couldn’t do it for a living—there’s something purely magical about canceling plans and staying home like a complete hermit once in a while.
The only thing that would make a night like this better is if I had someone to do itwith.
Foxy’s keeps me busy, but it’s myjob.It’s not like I actually date the people who hire me beyond what’s required in my contract.
The women are a dime a dozen, but they aren’t my type. I’ve had a few guys hire me over the years, but they are far less likely to rent-a-date, and I am even far less likely to find arealdate.
I sigh, because I’m not supposed to be lamenting my perpetual bachelorhood. The single life is great, right? At least, that’s what everyone tells me. I don’t have any obligations, I can come and go as I please, do whatever the hell I want, and I make hand over fist at Foxy’s, so why would I want to give all of that up for a white picket fence and a country club membership?
Not like the two are mutually exclusive, but they go together like peanut butter and jelly most of the time, in my opinion.
And because he’s always got the most impeccable fucking timing, that’s the moment my brother calls me.
“Ugh!” I say, slamming down my bowl of nachos on the coffee table as I reach for my phone. “Yes, asshole?” I answer, clearly irritated.
“What crawled up your ass and died this evening?” Noah drawls.
“I’m trying to watch the Eras tour, if you must know.”My brother chuckles sarcastically. Like he wouldn’t ream my ass if I interrupted him in the middle of one of his video games.
“Hasn’t that documentary been out for, like, over a year?” he taunts.
“Yeah. And I haven’t seen it because I’ve been balls deep in dates for the last year, working my ass off.”
Noah laughs, the sound both familiar and grating to my ears.
“Better check up on some of those dates to make sure you don’t have any little Swiftie cut and pastes toddling around,” he says.
“Haha. Very funny,” I deadpan. My brother knows better than most that I don’t fuck my dates. For starters, I’m not into pussy like he is. Second, it’s one of my rules that helps separate me from my job. Noah on the other hand…
Honestly, I’m surprised there haven’t been any slip ups on his part. I swear he gets more ass than a damn toilet seat. Professionally and personally.
“Is there a reason you called, or did you just want to bust my balls?” I ask as I lean back in my cushions, blowing a stray lock of hair out of my eyes.
Noah’s tone shifts.
“Traci broke up with me.” He sighs.
I sit up a little straighter. “Shit, I’m sorry, bro, I—”
