Page 21 of The Plus One Pact

It's strange, to have a man in my space, a man so close. No one has been here except for Meredith and my parents.

I want him. Badly. I want to do away with his designer suit and feel his strong biceps. I want to see if he has tattoos or birthmarks or scars.

The depth of my want scares me. It's been a long time since I've felt this. Too long.

Better to ease into that.

"You're agreeable with drinks," I say. "But what if you don't find someone attractive?"

His eyes pass over me slowly. "I find you attractive."

"Would you say that, even if you didn't?"

"No. I'd say something else."

I'm not sure I believe that, but I do believe he wants me. Or maybe I just want to believe it. Why am I arguing with him anyway? I’m paying him to pretend to like me. I should let myself fall into the lie. I just… can’t.

"I have a thing for smart women," he says. "Always have."

"You're winding me up."

"No. You'd see through it," he says. "That's your job, isn't it? Sniffing out bullshit?"

That's one way to put it. "I typically say, helping people find sexual satisfaction."

"I guess we have that in common."

I guess we do. What a strange way to look at it. "Your way is probably more fun."

He lets out a low, deep laugh. It fills the space. It warms my stomach. It crinkles his eyes.

He's handsome and charming and good at his job.

And I really want to touch him. Maybe we don't need to keep talking so much. Maybe we can… get to that part.

He takes another sip. He gives me a moment to fill the space.

"What are you thinking, Ivy?"

"It's been a long time since I've been drawn to someone," I say. “How lucky that I'm drawn to you. Considering. How awkward would it be if someone hired you and then said, no, no, you don't smell good to me."

"It's happened," he says.

"Did you take it personally?" I swallow another sip.

He shakes his head. "If they still want to talk, we talk. Otherwise, I take my money and go."

"No refunds?" I ask.

"Only for poor performance on my part."

I suppose sex workers experience performance anxiety too. "You'd really admit to that?"

He shrugs coyly. Maybe. Maybe not. "I'm my own worst critic."

"Me too."

He takes a long sip and finishes his drink.