For Love or Money (4 page)

“What
is this Eurotrash?” Leo asks as he mixes some brightly-colored shots in the
tall glasses.

My
jaw drops, as does his friend’s. “Dude. Harsh. Never speak of my girls that
way. They’re awesome.”

His
friend shakes his head. “Seriously. This girl may be a little crazy, but she
speaks the truth. Icona Pop is the best.”

He
ignores us as his vision trails over to Nance who’s gathering the electronic
devices. We don’t allow cameras or phones at our parties. When Henry gets here
he’ll make them all sign the nondisclosure forms. He’s a mood wrecker.

Leo
holds a drink out for me.

I
saunter over, dancing to my song—I Love It. Leo’s friend holds his hand
out. “I’m Jake.”

I
scowl, taking it and shaking. “That’s not a very good gay name. You need a
different one. Todd, Lance, or I just broke up with a Chad—it’s sort of
gay. Jake is too brutish.”

He
smiles, flashing perfect white teeth. “Maybe I’m secretly a brute.”

I
wink at Leo. “Good luck later.” God to be a fly on that wall.

Leo
backs away slowly with his hands up like I have a gun or am going to force him
to look up my skirt. “I can’t even—you are too much.”

“I
know.” I turn to see the door opening again, letting in a bunch more people. A
girl, Samantha, who I don’t particularly enjoy, walks up to me grinning like she
has the scoop on something wicked. She leans in. “So how was the spa, Lana?”

I
tilt my head to the side. “I am enjoying my high, Sam. Fuck off.”

“I
heard what happened. I just had to laugh. I mean every girl in Harvard is
terrified of that rapist, and when he sneaks in your room he goes for the
safest spot on you. At least you must feel better knowing he won’t touch you.”

My
jaw drops and my fist balls but Nance is there, steering her away from me. “Why
do you have to provoke her?” Nance looks back apologetically.

I
can’t even . . . What a whore.

My
high flails and ends up skidding to a brutal halt.

I
turn and walk out onto the cold deck.

My
night might not be nearly as fun as I had hoped it would be.

All
you need is love

James

I
slip from the limo, grateful the crinkled piece of paper got me here. When I
saw the freshmen getting the cards, I knew we were in for some trouble. Lana
means business when it comes to parties. Nick and Weaver both eye me up. Weaver
gives me a nudge. “She invited your ass to this? You never party.”

I
nod. “We have the last game against Yale next week. Y’all need to keep it in
your pants tonight. Don’t let her give you any drugs. Coach will flip out.”

Nick
rolls his eyes. “Stay in the limo, Nancy. That guy that brought us here looked
pretty tame—maybe y’all could play chess.” He mocks my accent.

I
grit my teeth, counting backward so I don’t break one of HIS teeth off on my
fist. The punk-ass rich kids on our team always forget some of us need to win.
Some of us don’t have dads who have already secured our futures.

We
walk up to an apartment building on the West End of Boston that looks like it’s
been completely overhauled. This is happening more and more in the cities.

A
doorman opens the door for us. For them it seems completely normal, but for me
it’s insane a man is paid to open a door for people. My phone vibrates in my
pocket, making me cringe inwardly. Shit! I forgot about my date tonight. When
Jackson saw me get the card, he asked me to come to this with these morons to
make certain there are no incidents. I will have to see if I can hit my date up
later or tomorrow.

I
can’t wait until I don’t have to date anymore. I’m so tired of women, it’s
ridiculous. No twenty-one-year-old should feel as old as I do.

The
elevator smells new. It’s shiny and modern in a way that mocks the old
building, sort of like the old-money trust-fund brats I’m always surrounded by.
When we arrive at the penthouse, I realize I am in over my head.

The
party is filled with modern couples and modern music, and even a couple girls
making out while dancing on top of coffee tables. A guy snorts a line from a
mound in the dining room. He rubs his nose and nods at us.

It’s
like Scarface—the spring-break edition.

Faces
turn, all but the one who invited us.

Where
the hell is she?

I
want nothing like I do to chew her ass for this. I am done with this bullshit
act of hers.

I
don’t know a single person here. I can tell by the straight backs of the guys
I’m with, they don’t either.

Son
of a bitch.

I
could lose my bursaries for next year just by being here.

Even
worse, I could get kicked out of school for being here.

But
most likely I’ll just hate myself later for even coming.

Hovering
in the door, I contemplate leaving them here with whatever poor choices they
intend on making, but the girl who invited us catches my eye. I see her back
through the French doors in the living room and fury starts to build in me.

I
push past the guys, walking by everything and everyone else, heading for the
deck where she is looking out at the city as the sun sets and leaves us for
another night.

When
I open the door she doesn’t even turn. She doesn’t register me there at all,
even when I close the door roughly.

“If
you’re here to scold me and lecture, I’m not in the mood. Just go. I’ll text
when I want a ride.”

I
scowl. “What? I’m not giving you a ride. Jeeze. You’re rich enough to pay for
your own cab. Shoot, you probably have a limo downstairs waiting on your every
beck and call.”

She
turns, smiling from ear to ear. “Shoot and jeeze in one sentence? Did you have
to work at that or does hillbilly naturally roll off your tongue?”

My
face flushes. “Do you have to work at being a bitch or does it just naturally
roll off your tongue?”

She
shrugs. “I used to work at it, but I think I have it now.”

She
is infuriating. I can feel my blood coming quite close to boiling just being
near her. She thinks she’s so smart. She doesn't know that I’m not fooled by
the act. I give her my best smug grin and challenge, “Your dad is one of the most
successful music moguls in the world. He’s a classy man. I saw him once in
Nashville, and I was impressed by the generosity and drive that he has in him.
It’s a sin you didn’t inherit one single trait from him.”

She
gives me a cold dead stare and holds up her dark-blonde locks. “Hair
color—it’s his.”

I
fold my arms across my chest and stare down at her as unimpressed as I can.
“Just stay away from the soccer guys from now on. Not all of us have daddies
with amazing careers all lined up for us, even if we are just barely passing
college.”

Her
eyes water. “You know what?”

“What!”

“Fuck
you!”

I
point through the window at a guy. “Not even with that guy’s dick.” I might
feel bad, but it doesn’t stop me from shooting my mouth off—she makes me
so mad. She has, all three years I’ve been here, from a distance. Her
recklessness is legendary, and I know she used to be more than a coke slut
shell of a human being.

Her
lip trembles and she slumps to her knees. I can see her small shoulders are
shaking with sobs. I don’t even know what to do, I didn't expect this reaction
at all. I drop to my knees too. I don’t want to touch her, mostly because of
the whole coked-out slut thing. But regardless, she is losing it, and for an
unknown reason I feel like the biggest asshole ever—even if she did have
it coming.

She
shivers, and when she wipes her face I see her thin arms are covered in goose
bumps. I pull my coat off and wrap it around her. “I didn’t mean it.” As God is
my witness, I meant it, and yet I hate myself for saying it. But in the state
she’s in, I wouldn't touch her with a sword, let alone my dick.

“You
know even that rapist didn’t want to rape me. Even he didn’t want me.”

I
didn’t take it too seriously when the guys mentioned about her getting
attacked. Now I see someone has messed with her.

“At
least he never hurt you. That’s not a bad thing, Lana.” I try to sound
soothing, but I don’t have a single thing I can think to say to take away from
the statement she has left out there. My mom would burn me in hell before she
would allow me to speak to a victim like that, so I take the road I rarely take
and shut my mouth.

She
cries into my coat, wiping her eyes with my sleeves. It makes me wince seeing
all that makeup on my coat, and when she lifts her face to see mine, she cries
harder. She shoves past me, bursting inside.

I
don’t move—just sit, staring out as the lights of the city start to glow
brighter than the sunset, and contemplate the fact I might be a giant asshole.
Clearly I have picked the wrong moment to try to call her out on her bullshit.

I
should run after her, but she’s probably still high. God knows what kind of
shit she could get herself and me into, and I don’t have high-priced lawyers to
clean up after me.

My
phone vibrates and I realize I have better odds with Marlene than I do here.
Here, I’m going to punch some townie in the face and throw him off the deck. I
get up to leave the party, only stopping to warn the freshmen. “You two will be
off the team if shit happens that shouldn’t.”

Weaver
gives me an ‘eat shit and die’ stare and Nick nods, but I can tell he wants to
say something.

“Y’all
got a problem with that?”

Neither
says a word. They know better.

I
leave and head for Back Bay where the Saint Clare family has a brownstone. It’s
the size of an entire apartment building with a personal elevator, and even has
servants’ quarters—‘cause that’s not creepy. At least they get paid
nowadays. I’m sure when the building was built, slavery was a regular thing.

The
taxi drops me off and my insides start to tighten. It’s been ten months and I
haven’t gotten used to the idea.

Marlene
opens her own front door when she sees me. I can tell she’s already half cut. I
doubt either of us is real comfortable with the arrangement, regardless of how
often it happens.

She
holds her martini up and leans against the door, shimmering in the dark in her
white silk nightgown. “Didn’t think you’d make it.”

I
shake my head. “Me either. I had some babysitting to do.”

She
grins from ear to ear. “Well, let’s hurry before Andrew finds his way home.”
Sometimes he sleeps here on the weekends or when he needs a break from school.

When
I get to the top stair she steps back, making room for me to enter. I suck it
up and lift a hand to cup her breast, dragging my thumb over her nipple. The
silhouette of it stands out amongst the sea of pale silk. She’s erect with
excitement mixing in with the cold night air.

“I
missed you, cowboy.”

I
wink at her, laying it on thick. “What say we go upstairs and you can show me
how much?” I lift her up into my arms, giving her the full fantasy. She sucks
back the rest of the drink and tosses the glass out onto the street. “I have a
few things I want to show you.”

Rich
people are so strange.

Momma’s
naughty boy

Lana

Andy’s
hands on my back, guiding me up the stairs, push a little too hard, making me
stumble into the games room of the Saint Clare mansion. As much as he annoys
me, I’m glad I left Nance’s party to come here. That jackass, James Holland,
made me so mad.

I
turn, returning the glare Andy’s giving me. “You sure you want to do this?”

He
nods, pulling at his belt and dropping it to the floor. “I have missed doing
this.”

I
shake my head. “You have to swear not to tell Chad.”

“Tell
him what? What a heartless bitch you are? He knows. He has a concussion and
you’re here.”

My
gaze narrows even more. “You’re going to be sorry for that comment.”

The
light reflects off his eyes. “I’m counting on that.”

“Turn
around and count to a hundred.”

He
drops his pants and turns in his underwear and dress shirt. I never planned on
running into Andy at Nance’s place, but he crashed the party just as I was
leaving. He had something to lift my spirits and I have something he always
wants—a poor attitude when it comes to monogamy and vanilla sex.

I
haven’t seen him in a while, regardless of him being one of my favorite college
boys. He spent winter abroad and I went home to California. When I got back,
Chad and I started things up and Andy took it as a serious affair. Actually, it
was mostly Chad who took it seriously. He acted like he’d peed on my leg.

As
a result, I’ve had a couple months of mediocrity in the sex department, and
instead, spent my months daydreaming about the culmination of the bad things I
have let Andy do to me.

God
I have missed this—the excitement building in my stomach as I creep
around the house.

Chad.

What
a wanker.

I
could roll my eyes but the poor guy IS in the hospital. It might be wrong to
let my feelings of disdain get too big before he’s released.

I
slip through the dark mansion, taking the backstairs up to the bedrooms. Andy
has a twisted version of hide and seek that most girls don’t like to play.

I
am not most girls.

I
tiptoe along, taking off my underwear and leaving him a breadcrumb. It’s almost
as fun as it once was, but the drugs in my system are starting to wane and the
memory of the creepy foot pervert is creeping around in my head.

I
refuse to let it rule me. I refuse to let it ruin my sex life forever. I pride
myself on sexual prowess and flexibility.

The
simpering victim in my mind is not me, and I can’t let her win or I may be
stuck with vanilla sex for the rest of my life.

The
idea of it gives me a shiver.

Nothing
quite like ordinary missionary sex to ruin a night.

When
I saw Andy I wasn't even in the mood for sex. It was so weird. I convinced
myself that his taste for boudoir noir would be the perfect cure to my anxiety.

Now
that I’m in the dark, I’m not sure.

I
pass by Andy’s sister’s room. It smells like vanilla and has a French theme to
it. It reminds me of my room when I was a young teenager. All the way back
before I broke my poor father’s heart by not being the perfect daughter. Since
then I’ve been on a bit of a mission. I decided that if I was going to be the
worst daughter, I would be a pro at it.

I
leave my shirt on the floor outside of the bathroom upstairs and duck into a
nook next to Andy’s room. If I listen I should be able to hear him coming.

If
I catch him from behind, his ass is mine. He will spend the next two hours
screaming my name. That's the good thing about Andy—he’s always up for a
little pain to heighten the pleasure.

However,
if he catches me, he gets to be in charge.

Either
way I come, so what does it matter?

In
the dark silence where I’m hiding, I hear something I’m not entirely
expecting—a woman moaning. Her sounds make a cheesy grin spread across my
face. It is the noise of a woman being serviced well—very well. She is
bleating like a sheep, and I can’t help but giggle when I realize it’s coming
from inside of the house.

It’s
Andy’s mom.

I
wrinkle my nose and head toward the main hall.

A
shadow passes going the other way.

In
the light coming in the living room window, I see Andy going in the direction I
just was.

Thinking
fast, I run, making noise and hopefully drawing him back downstairs. He isn’t
going to want to do it when he hears his parents.

His
heavy footsteps turn and follow me away from the hallway that would have ruined
our night.

I
squeal with delight and hurry down the stairs.

He’s
leaping stairs like he means to catch me so I jump the last couple, nearly
breaking an ankle in my heels and turn to the right.

I
blow past the kitchen and dining room, spinning into the study and hold a
lungful of air. He runs past me but stops.

My
lungs fight to exhale so I release, huffing my breath just as his hand reaches
into the dark room, grabbing me roughly.

I
shriek as he spins me, pressing himself against the back of me and gripping my
throat lightly. He closes the office door and walks us both to the desk,
hitting my hips on it roughly and bending me forward. He kicks my legs apart
and lifts my skirt, running his hands up and down my bare ass cheeks. He slaps
once making me moan.

“I
missed you, Lana. I missed how naughty you like things.” He slaps again and I
close my eyes, pressing my face into the mahogany desk. He spanks close to my
crack and earns himself a full rotation of my ass. He reaches under, running
his hands along my crack to my pussy’s entrance. His finger casually tickles my
whole slit, like he’s deciding where to go first or checking for moisture
levels.

The
head of his cock springs from his underwear, slapping against my ass cheeks.
His hips pin me as the condom wrapper crinkles into the dark. Roughly, he rubs
his wrapped cock between my legs and slides a hand around front to rub my clit
as he shoves himself inside of me.

We
moan simultaneously.

He
rubs to match his slow rhythmic thrusts, circling his hips and fingers. My
hands grip to the desk as my first orgasm starts to build. I move my pelvis to
get the most of him without giving away the fact I’m about to come. Sometimes
he likes to play mean and withhold.

The
pleasure of him mixes in my body with the pain of being shoved against the
desk. It’s a blinding sort of joy and loss of control.

Goddamn,
I love fucking him.

A
subtle moan escapes my lips as I start to climax. When he feels me orgasming on
his cock, he shoves himself inside as I try to push him out with my clenching.
He rubs slower, pressing harder on my clit, making me cry out in ecstasy.

His
hand leaves my pussy, finding its way into my hair at the base of my head. His
balls start slapping as he bucks, fucking me hard and pulling my head back.

Endurance
is his only shortcoming, but with all the build up of the chase I can’t blame
him. He comes hard, like always, gripping to me and yanking my hair. When he’s
done he collapses on top of me, kissing my back gently and whispering.
“Sometimes I think we should just get married and have this for the rest of our
lives.”

I
laugh against the desk—his father’s. “No. You know how I feel about
marriage.”

He
nods and kisses. “My mom is fucking some dude she pays for sex, upstairs right
now. I know how you feel about marriage—I feel the same way.”

And
now I feel sick. He knew his mom was having sex and still wanted it. He’s so
screwed up.

Wait
. . . “That’s not your dad?”

“He’s
in London and then Dubai this week.”

I
look back over my shoulder to where he’s planting soft kisses. “How do you know
she pays him?”

He
shrugs. “I heard her talking on the phone with her friend, recommending him.”

“Do
you know him?”

He
chuckles. “No. It’s some gigolo. She and Dad both keep their affairs
professional. They have too much money to risk anything else.”

I
sigh. “I am never getting married. I wish my dad kept it professional, instead
of marrying every bimbo he meets. I don’t think he realizes he can just date.”

He
laughs harder. “I know. They’re so crazy.” He bites softly. “Want to go have a
shower and play some more?”

I
shake my head. “No. I have to go.”

I
have to take more antipsychotics so my anxiety doesn’t make me insane.

He
shakes his head. “Stay. Send someone to get whatever you need.” He pulls out of
me and steps back. The cool air between us makes me remember why it is I need
to go home. Being with him makes me feel dirty, but it’s a dirty I crave, like
drugs and booze and fast cars. It’s recklessness that stops me from ever
feeling anything beyond what I have in that moment. There are things deeply
wrong with me that I like to reflect on when I have just finished committing a
terrible act of indecency. Like a fat girl who justifies her burger and ice
cream until she gets it, and then vows to start a diet the minute it’s over and
she’s swallowed her feelings. I’m only sober from my pent-up sex rage when it’s
over and I realize what a whore I’ve made of myself again.

In
a desperate act of removing the venomous things floating about in my brain, I
spin and press my lips against his. It’s an act that’s not like me. It makes
him freeze up for a moment before he wraps his arms around me and pulls me into
him. He kisses me tenderly, making me smile into it and question aloud, “You
don’t think it’s weird we get like this after we have sex?”

He
gives me a mischievous smile. “No. But if you want to play psychiatrist and
naughty schoolgirl, we can? I have a pipe and some tweed upstairs. I can be
clean, changed, and ready to go again in about fifteen.”

I
am about to say no but I don’t. I don't want to go home and think about what a
bad girl I have been and regret my entire week. In some ways, the foot pervert
is still in my dorm. In some ways, he’s there reminding me how much I deserved
what I got. I paste a smile on my lips. “I’ll use the guest bathroom and
collect my underwear before your mom finds it.”

He
nods. “I’ll see if I can find you some knee socks to go with that skirt.” He
winks and walks out, adjusting his underwear.

We
are bad people—naughty people.

I
slip up the stairs, picking up my underwear and my blouse–my own trail
back to the bathroom. Andy’s mom is done screaming and bleating for the night.
I can only assume the young man has left the building with a wad of cash and a
soul as tainted as my own.

I
open the door to the bathroom, pulling off my bra, and flicking on the lights
before getting into the huge stone shower that is a wall of rock instead of a
door. It makes me nervous to use it—no glass door means I can’t see who
is coming in. I don’t like not being able to see anymore.

I
almost wish I’d taken Andy up on the shower and am about to go find him, when I
hear him come in as he closes the door. It makes me relieved enough that I can
fully step under the water and close my eyes.

He
climbs in, pressing against me and using a cowboy accent. “When you’re done
sucking me off, I have to get going.”

I
scowl. “I thought we were going to play psychiatrist—” I spin and open my
mouth to say something else but his hand covers mine. He growls. “What the shit
are you doing in here?” The crabby guy who was mean to me at Nance’s is in my
shower. James Holland. His eyes are wide and panicked.

I
shake my head, trying not to give into the anxiety attack I feel coming on as
my brain chants, Oh God, he’s the foot pervert. Oh God. Oh God.

My
knees buckle and the room spins, going dark. I hear him swear again, but it’s
the last thing I hear.