Dirty Boy (5 page)

“Will you require a madam’s fee?”

“Save the sarcasm. You’ve asked me to help. I am in the only way I know how.”

“Might I remind you that besides the credit card you gave to me after I busted you, you’d already jacked up my earnings, gotten two additional credit cards and a personal loan using my credentials?”

Babs had left Story living in blissful ignorance until eight months ago when Story had attempted to take out a small loan for a used car. She’d been so proud of herself with the money she’d saved for a down payment and had even wrangled a one-year warranty on her chosen vehicle.

Then, disaster. The finance manager’s decision devastated her. Declined due to bad credit.
No credit
would’ve been more understandable.

That night, when Story obtained her credit report, she’d cried for the first time in a long time. She’d been a victim of ID Theft. At the time, she hadn’t known who was responsible. Only to discover it was Babs.

Story’s emotions still ran the gamut of anger, disbelief, and disappointment, especially now when Babs suggested another outrageous scheme.

“If things work out with this guy, you don’t have to worry about finals. You can withdraw from school. Arrange a deal where you have enough to save dollars each month to tide you over in between arrangements.”

“No, no, no, Mom! I’d do this to finish my degree. He’d have to be willing to pay my tuition.”

“That’s unacceptable. He’s looking for a trophy, not a genius. How many months behind on rent, are you? Trying to stay in school
and
repair your credit?”

“As well as eat and stay clean. Don’t forget that.”

“As well as that.” Babs hadn’t taken it in the spirit of resentment that Story had said it. Instead, she’d added it to her arsenal of all the reasons why Story should run with her idea. “You’re wasting your time chasing a lost cause.”

Story had missed the memo that stated aspiring to become a teacher was a lost cause.  “Girls get Sugar Daddies to pay their expenses, including tuition,” she pointed out.

“Not you.”

“After everything you’ve been through, I’d like to think you’d want me to be independent.”

“Yes, giving birth to you at sixteen. Losing your father in an accident months later. I wanted an education too, but it didn’t happen. Life happened. I wanted more for you. I
want
more for you. Why do you think I talked you out of your silly fashion designer dreams?”

Babs’ dreams had been destroyed, so she went out of her way to trample Story’s. She was so tired of fighting her mom. Tired of
fighting
. A Sugar Daddy couldn’t be any worse than porn.

“Suppose I don’t like him?”

“Who said anything about liking him? Satisfy him in bed, look beautiful, and smile.”

“I want some emotion in a real relationship.”

“Just meet Jimmy. Give it a try?”

“Fine, Mom. What do I have to lose?” Except her pride and her dreams. She’d been holding onto them by a thread anyway, so, perhaps, it was time to let them go.

By the time Story finished her shift at the Burger Den, she was tired and grimy. Meeting another man that she’d compare to Max while having her mother encourage her to make a monetary arrangement with him wasn’t what she wanted to do.

However, going out into the warm night and seeing her mother’s pink Mercedes lifted Story’s spirits. At least she wouldn’t have to walk.

“Hey, Mom,” Story said as she slid into the passenger seat.

Beaming at her, Babs wore a full face, decked out ears and fingers, and expensive perfume. It was after midnight but she seemed bright-eyed and bushytailed.

“You smell like greasy onions.”

“I’ve spent an evening around greasy onions, so I suppose I would smell like them,” Story said with irritation.

The car lurched forward and the tires squealed. Story grabbed the dashboard, remembering her seatbelt.

“I’ll bring you to my place so you can take a quick shower and change into the outfit I purchased for you, then we’ll head out.”

“Head out? I thought we were staying at your condo.”

“Jimmy wanted to meet at a club.”

“A club?” Story echoed again.

“Yes.”

“You do know I have a final in the morning? I have to be in class for eight.”

“Drop out. You’re failing anyway.”

Story glared at her mom’s profile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Unconcerned by Story’s sarcasm, Babs shrugged. “I’m a realist where it counts.”

“You’re a pessimist,” Story corrected.

“You say tomato, I say tomahto, so let’s call the whole thing off.”

With pleasure. Story didn’t know why she bothered anyway. Her mom saw things as she wanted them, with the type of “realism” that Story ran from. Digging in her purse, she got her MP3 player and buds, stuffing them in her ears to forestall any more conversation. She’d made one upgrade to her player since the day Max had listened to her music, and that out of necessity. She’d kept the other device, though, along with the earbuds he’d touched, remembering his fingers as they gripped the thin wires.

After her 16
th
birthday, she hadn’t seen Max very often. Eventually, she realized she might never see him again.

The thought still saddened her, so she turned her music player up and decided to enjoy her music for the duration of the ride.

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at Babs’ upscale condo. The fine appointments were so out of her mother’s monetary league and was such a stark contrast to Story’s apartment that she shook her head.

“I’ll pour us a glass of wine,” Babs said, frowning when Story plopped onto the plum-colored sofa and laid her head back. “Get up. You’ll leave an oniony smell on the material.”

Groaning, Story complied. “Can I shower and crash here? We can reschedule the date. I’m exhausted.”

“No. A cold shower will wake you up. We have to snare him while we can.”

“He’s not a piece of meat, Mom.”

“You’re right. He’s just big bank.”

Exactly what Story said she’d never do—attach herself to a wealthy man. But she was desperate. Anytime she was considering porn, she could meet this guy.

Shoving her depression aside, she got to her feet and headed to the shower. After rushing through, she wrapped a towel around herself and one around her hair, then headed to her mother’s room, jumping when she saw Babs standing next to the vanity table.

“Come. Let me do your makeup and hair. There’s no time to blow dry it. You have too much.”

The moment she sat on the bench, Babs tackled her hair. Her mom’s quick proficiency reminded Story of all the times Babs had combed her hair when she’d been a child. She styled it into a high-braided ponytail, scraped tightly back. The makeup application included a smoky cat eye with hints of silver, pink lipstick, and a dull pink cheek that gave her the appearance of a faint blush.

The entire process took twenty-five minutes. Her mom had a real flair for fashion. Babs didn’t just wear clothes. She expressed herself. She knew which colors worked with her coloring, what fabrics looked best on her. Her mother’s style had inspired Story’s dreams. If she’d ever moved from drawings to fittings of her clothes line, she’d intended to ask Babs to be the model.

Babs handed her a shoebox. “Here.”

Opening the box, Story found a pair of six-inch, platform, gladiator sandals.

“Put those on while I cut the tags from your dress.”

“I need underwear,” Story protested.

“Tonight you’re going commando.”

“Absolutely not,” she said as Babs walked to the bed and picked up a bag.

When Story opened it, she took out a pink leopard mini dress with leather accents. She held it up, turning it from front to back. Suddenly, she understood why her mom said commando. The back had leather bandage cutouts that would barely cover her ass.

“Time’s wasting. Get dressed. You have nothing else to wear.”

Sighing, Story dropped her towel and wiggled into the stretchy material. Once she put on her heels, Babs handed her a pair of gold stud earrings. Seeing them reminded her of her 16
th
birthday, the only time Babs had ever allowed Story to use her stuff.

“Do you still have the jewelry you lent to me?”

“Of course. I have all my jewelry.”

Her mom would hold onto everything. If Story had had them in her possession, she might’ve sold them to make ends meet.

Babs turned her to the mirror over her door. “What do you think?”

One word came to mind.
Hot
.

The skirt wasn’t as flowy as the one she’d worn the last time she studied herself in the mirror, so it didn’t swing with her. Still, she giggled, then hugged Babs. “Thanks, Mom.”

“You’re so gorgeous. If Jimmy doesn’t work out, I have another idea.”

By the sly look in Babs’ eyes, Story was sure she didn’t want to know.

An hour later, Story followed Babs into an upscale strip club, where girls in various stages of nudity roamed.

A freaking strip club
. Her mom had definitely lost it.

People crowded the huge place, that had three separate stages and a bar on each side of the room. Story glanced in every direction, not knowing where to look first. Men were getting lap dances. Money was flying. The music was loud and grooving. The lights shone on the stages but were dim in the room.

“Excuse me,” Babs said, halting a woman in a lacy half dress, where one ass cheek hung out. “I’m looking for Jimmy Moore.”

“He’s in his private room.”

What
? He frequented this place so much that he had a private room?

“I thought he was a rancher’s son,” Story whispered.

“He is,” Babs returned in low tones, following behind the woman. “He just happens to own gentlemen’s clubs.”

“Mom!” The noise swallowed Story’s outrage.

Babs forged ahead without stopping.

A guy stood and blocked Story’s path. “Hey, baby, how much for a lap dance?”

The question annoyed her. Why, she wasn’t sure. She
had
thought about stripping to earn money, but being here for the small amount of time that she had made her realize that women were little more than toys to amuse men, up close and personal.

“I don’t work here,” Story snapped, scooting around the man and rushing in the direction Babs had gone.

A minute later, they almost collided. Her mom grabbed her hand and yanked her forward toward a door. When they entered the room, a handsome man with dark hair lounged on a plush red sofa with his head back and his eyes closed.

A girl was on her knees, her head bobbing as she sucked him off.

Story’s first thought was he reminded her of Max. She didn’t know if she was embarrassed or curious at the scene before her.

Babs cleared her throat.

Jimmy lifted his head and offered them a lazy look. “Hey, Babs,” he grunted, placing his hand on the back of the girl’s head to stop her.

Pulling back, the girl got to her feet and wiped her mouth, grinning at Babs and Story. “I’m due onstage soon, anyway,” she announced, leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

After tucking his cock away, Jimmy stood and looked Story up and down. He nodded, appreciation lighting his eyes.

“Story meet Jimmy,” Babs introduced, smiling from ear-to-ear.

He nodded. “Can we sit and talk?” He sounded so calm, not at all like a man who’d just been having his dick sucked.

“She’d love to,” Babs answered for her. “I’ll run and get drinks.”

Her mom left her standing in the middle of the room.

Jimmy indicated the chair across from him. “Have a seat.”

Glancing toward the door and wishing for her mother, Story released a breath. “Um, okay.”

“Ever thought about dancing?” he asked after she sat.

“I don’t dance in public.” She abhorred the very thought.

“You should. You’d make a killing.”

“Am I interviewing to work here?” Story was a little confused. It felt like a job interview, not a get-to-know-your-Sugar-Daddy meeting. “I thought I was here—”

His grin revealed deep dimples. “To be my possible arm decoration?”

Yeah, that
. She realized seeing him being sucked off hadn’t bothered her as it should, and wasn’t sure if it was because she wouldn’t see this as a
real
relationship. Only a means to an end.

“You’re here for me,” he said. “And you’re right. It’s one or the other. My girl can’t shake her ass and suck cock for a living.”

Double standard much?
“You’d get your cock sucked by the dancers?”

He shrugged. “I’d be paying them and providing you with everything you needed.”

The idea of not having to worry about what she’d eat or where she’d sleep if she got evicted appealed to Story. For the moment, this wasn’t even about her tuition. It was about plain survival. “What would you want me to do?”

“As my Sugar Baby, whatever I asked of you. As a dancer, you’d be expected to dance and to entertain in private.” He grabbed a pen and notepad from his shirt pocket. “What are your current expenses?”

“I have an apartment in South Dallas and I work at the Burger Den. I’m a student at UT, majoring in child learning and development. I also have bills I need to pay off.” The ones Babs had made.

The pen paused and hovered over the notepad. “How much?”

“Thousands.”

“Specifics?” he barked.

“About twenty-five thousand dollars, not including my tuition.”

His eyes narrowed and Story squirmed. Babs had warned her not to bring up school.

“I’m not interested in your school fees. You’ll be at my beck and call with no time for classes. I’m a very busy man with an active social schedule.” He looked at his notes. “I need a budget for clothes and makeup. Start looking for another apartment that I’ll lease for you.”

“Will the place be in my name?”

“No.”