Page 119 of The Plus One Pact

"No," I say.

"Any identifying details?"

"Only the exact spots of your birthmarks." I bite my tongue. I shouldn't be sarcastic. I should be honest. Say no. "I haven’t. I won't."

"Then go for it. As long as I can see the results."

"You mean when I write that book about you," I say.

He smiles. "How Doctor Vaughn Got Her Groove Back? Yes. Of course. As long as I come across as a skilled lover."

I stand and shake. It's a joke, I think, but it feels real. Honest. Better. I settle into my seat with a lightness in my shoulders. I'm not a total liar. Only a partial one. "Is there something you want to tell me?" It sounds like a cliche 'trap' sort of question. One a parent offers a child they know misbehaved. But I don't mean it that way. I don't have anything in mind, really.

He looks me in the eyes and says the last thing I expect. "I like you."

My cheeks flush. My chest too. "You like me?"

"I do." He nods. "I can't remember the last time I liked a woman, that I even considered it. I don't expect it to go anywhere. I don't expect anything from you. But I want you to know. Because I do. And, well, I want you to know." He smiles in this way that's impossibly shy and confident at once. "I like that look. Like it means you like me too."

Am I really smiling that wide? Somehow, I don’t feel about it. "I do. And I don't expect anything, either." But that does bring me to another question. Two actually. "Would you ever expect anything, in the future?"

"In general, or with you?"

"In general," I say.

"I don't know. I haven't considered it in a long time. Most women aren't okay with my line of work. I don't blame them. I wouldn't be okay with it easier. But it's still my job."

"Would you quit?" I ask.

"For the right woman, you mean?" he asks.

For me. One day. I want to ask, but that's crazy, isn't it? We're here pretending we're in a relationship. Not building something real. "Is it something you think about?"

"Who doesn't?" He laughs. "I love my job, most of the time, but some of my clients… but then I think about the look on a woman's face after I bring her to orgasm for the first time in years and I don't know. How could I give that up?"

"Become a sex therapist."

"Work the brain instead. No. I don't have the patience."

"So, your business with your brother… that's not your next full-time job?" I ask.

"It might be," he says. "One day. But not for a while."

“And if you inherit that money from your mom, like she talked about?”

“I’d use it to pay off my mortgage,” he says.

I nod of course as if it doesn't mean anything to me. Like I’m not asking so, are you going to keep sleeping with people for work. Like he isn’t answering yes, of course, it’s my job.

I stop and really consider what he's saying. Or not saying.

He's planning to stay employed as an escort for a long time.

He's not asking if I could live with that, because this is a fake relationship, but he does like me, and I do like him, so it's a fair question to ask.

Some people wouldn't be okay with my job. Some people wouldn't want their partner talking to people about sex all day.

Everyone draws the line somewhere.