Scout: It was all you, man.
Me: How are things? Do you need anything?
Scout: They’re going. But I’m good.
Me: I’m here if you do.
I’ve let him know I’m here for him. If he needs anything, he knows I have his back, just like he did mine.
Drink. I need a drink to celebrate. Opening the refrigerator, I take out the last bottle of beer I have. I’ve been holding off on drinking, wanting to savor it for a time I really need it. Now, thanks to Foxy’s Rent-A-Date, I’ll be able to buy more. I’m going to save my house.
Details. It hits me fast. I need to read the email again. Make sure I do everything I need to on my end so that I can start right away.
I need a bio, picture and sexual preference for dating. I can’t help but smile, remembering Scout telling me how I’d be ahot commodity being bisexual. Even though I prefer men, I’m committed to making money. I reply back, letting them know my hours for the month, which are wide open. I’m free twenty-four seven. The first thing I need to do is pay the back taxes and then work on the past due payments on the mortgage.
But my spirits are higher now. I have an actual way to do it. My future is finally looking brighter.
Chapter 7
Bradley
Three days later
Icompletedallthepaperwork,gave my information, my sexual preference for dates and my picture. Hell, I even gave my own little intro.
Hi, my name is Bradley. Every minute with me will be filled with fun and great conversation. I’d love to go on a date with you. From black tie to lounging in pajamas, I promise, the night will be unforgettable. I’m the kind of date you brag about. Gender doesn’t mean anything to me, and I’m just waiting for you.
I thought it was clever, and I worked hard on it. Foxy just shook her head at me when I handed the paper to her that I’d written it on. But time was of the essence and the clock was already ticking. I needed someone to log on to the site or call in and request me. Money is the only thing on my mind atthe moment, especially with the bills breathing down my throat right now.
The clock on the wall keeps ticking away with that same cruel rhythm—slow, mocking. Time has never moved as slow as it has since my profile went live on the site. Yet, there’s not been one hit. Not one person has submitted a request for my services. My mind’s been racing. Did I use the right picture? Was my little blog too much? Did it turn people away that I was bisexual?
The rejection wouldn’t have hit me so hard if I would've gotten a call about the other jobs I’ve applied to. The more legal, less buy my body ones. Not one of the ten businesses I dropped resumes to around town have contacted me. I’ve even gotten desperate enough to apply as a pizza delivery guy. Not that it’s not honest work. I just know it’s not going to make me what I need to live and save the house.
I just need someone—anyone—to require the services of a handsome young man, namely me, on their arm for one damn night. A wedding, a gala, a fundraiser, a petty revenge dinner with an ex—I don’t care. One date would lead to more. Money would be made, and I’d be able to save Nana’s house. No. My house. It’s mine, and I don’t plan to lose it. I’d rather die.
I hit refresh on my inbox again. The same result appearing.
Nothing.
The little spinning icon taunts me with the fact that I’m not wanted. I’ve been checking so many times my damn thumb is starting to cramp. Twenty percent battery life is the only thing requiring my undivided attention at the moment. Moving over to the table by the door, I plug my phone in to the charger and head outside to check the mail. Anything to get my mind off of my current predicament.
"Maybe I screwed it up," I mutter to myself, making my way down the driveway to the mailbox. I really thought I set my profile up well. Even trying to mimic the style of Scout'sprofile. He was clearly doing good and booking clients. He even managed to find two men he couldn’t stop thinking about. I uploaded my new headshot, even made sure to use the one that showed the faintest hint of my dimples. I was positive I gave off a warm, approachable and hot-but-safe vibe.
Apparently, none of that screamed ‘take me to your cousin’s black-tie affair.’
Reaching into the mailbox, I pulled out the contents and began looking through them. Maybe luck was on my side, and I was getting a Publisher’s Clearing House check like Nana used to always talk about.
One by one, I went through the stack. Bill. Bill. Bill. The weight I’m carrying on my shoulders seems to get heavier to the point I think I’m eventually going to suffocate.
“Hello Bradley, how are you doing?” Mrs. Peabody shouts from her porch across the street.
“Good,” I yell back and quickly turn, making my way back up the driveway. The woman is sweet as can be and without her I’d probably starve, but she doesn’t stop talking once she starts. And it doesn’t matter how many times I say no, she keeps trying to set me up with her granddaughter. Not that she’s not an attractive girl. Just not interested. While I’ve been with women, I much prefer dick over pussy.
Stepping inside the house, I place the mail in the box on the table and head into the living room. Dropping down onto the couch, I let out a heavy sigh as I fling an arm over my face, covering my eyes. My mind races in an endless circle, each one more unhinged than the last. Maybe the site glitched. Maybe I’ve been shadowbanned. Or, just possibly, I gave Foxy’s the wrong contact information and they don’t know how to reach me.
Maybe—
BZZZZT. BZZZZT.
