“You got a job doing what?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, watch it! Quiet down!” Lindsay ripped the Bluetooth device from her ear and switched her smartphone to speaker mode. “Chillax, okay? I don't want your parents or brother to hear you and have any suspicions about me and what I'm doing here.” If word ever got out … RIP my life.

“Okay, okay, okay.” On the other end of the line, Evelyn Bancroft needed a moment to harness her thoughts. “This was … unexpected.” Another long pause ensued before Lindsay's lifelong best friend back in Citronelle spouted off in a low tone, “You got a job at a whorehouse? You're a prostitute? What the fuck, girl?” Evie hesitated again. “Don't worry, I'm in my bedroom. No one can hear me.”

“I like it.” Lindsay wished Evie had a calmer, more open-minded reaction to this stunning news, but expected this. The pair of eighteen-year-olds grew up two blocks apart in the shadow of Joshua Tree National Park in the southeastern California desert and had been BFFs since kindergarten. They were exact replicas of each other in certain ways and Lindsay believed she could trust Evie with anything. And this working at the brothel thing? It was eating Lindsay alive, and she had the burning need to tell at least one person back home about it.

Just not her mom or dad.

Or her three sisters.

Any of them would kill me if they found out.

And especially not Zack.

God, no.

“It's not as bad as you think. I did almost a year's worth of research before …”

“Why would you get a job at a whorehouse?” Evie cut Lindsay off in mid-sentence, her voice an impassioned whisper. She glanced all around to make sure the coast was still clear. “What did you call it? A brothel? Jesus Christ, Lindsay! Aren’t those places swimming in drugs and disease? How did you get mixed up in this?”

“It's not as bad as you think,” she repeated. “It sure beats the hell out of living and rotting away in Citrosmell. I've done that long enough.” Lindsay’s snippy retort was accompanied by the classic teenage rolling of the eyes. “People and society in general have unfair misconceptions about whorehouses and the sex industry. Evie, you know me, and know I’d never get mixed up with drugs and …”

“What do your mom and dad think?”

“They don't know, and you can't tell them! You can never tell them!” Lindsay rolled onto her frontside upon the bed, her eyes wide, her tone as serious as it had ever been. “God, Evie. They'd freak out! You can't tell Gina, Jennifer, or Alison either.” She fidgeted with the edge of her pillow. “You're my best friend and I'm trusting you with the single biggest secret I'll ever have in my whole, entire life! Don't. Let. Me. Down!”

“I won't, I won't.”

“You have to swear. Swear to me you won't tell anyone.”

“Yeah, yeah, I swear.”

“Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear.”

Lindsay exhaled sharply. “Thank you.” Evie was the one person Lindsay confided in about everything. She’d never stab me in the back. But admitting this to her still seemed like a massive risk. An unnecessary one too. Don’t worry, you can trust her.

“Come to think of it, yeah, I guess your mom and dad don't know yet. But I can tell you this: I ran into your mom at Citronelle Market the other day and she was grilling me about you. She kept saying you ran off to Las Vegas and was sure you'd gotten into some sort of trouble and was acting like I knew all the details. She demanded to know what you're up to and I'm like, Leslie, I don't know. I swear to you, Lindsay didn't tell me anything either.”

“Did Mom believe you?” Mrs. Anastacio called and texted Lindsay daily and wouldn’t stop pressuring her about why she’d decided to leave home and move to Nevada. I’ve never seen her act this hardcore. Lindsay had been able to fend her off so far but didn’t know how much longer she could continue to do so.

Evie laughed. “No. Your mother called me a liar.”

Lindsay groaned and covered her aching forehead.

“She’s gonna find out one way or another. There's no way around it. She's also pestered Katie and Shannon and it wouldn't surprise me if she hops into her station wagon any minute now and drives off to Las Vegas and rips the city apart looking for you.”

“I'm not in Las Vegas. I'm in this little town way north called Flagstone.” Lindsay massaged her temple again and winced. “It’s gonna be such a disaster when the shit finally hits the fan. I’m not looking forward to that moment at all.” She drew her shoulders back and flexed. “I originally told Mom and Dad I got a cleaning job at the Citadel Resort on The Strip but figured it would be too easy for them to catch me in a lie. So, I told them I quit – it wasn't the right fit – and have been working for this cleaning agency as an outcall maid. Told them I have a friend named Pamela and share a little apartment with her in Henderson.”

“Henderson? Where's that?”

“Just south of Vegas.” Pamela told me she and Colt got married there ten years ago.

“And Pamela? Who the hell is Pamela?”

“She’s an actual friend of mine. A coworker.” My future wife! “Mom demands I text her back every morning and every night, too, to let her know I’m still alive. That someone didn’t murder me or something.” Lindsay levelled a glare against the far wall. “I’m old enough to take care of myself, you know? I don’t know why Mom has gotta be throwing shade all over me the way she does. I don’t need her help or her protection anymore.”

“She’s worried about you. That’s why.” Lindsay sensed Evie was worried too and wanted to be certain she was okay. “I know you’re adventurous and have a wild streak a mile long, but good God, becoming a prostitute? This is so unlike you.”

“I know.” Lindsay closed her eyes to absorb the reality but instead focused on all the money she’d made thus far and how her new career was already jumpstarting her life. Giving it the kick, the boost, it so badly needed. “I had to ditch Citronelle and this was my best option.” No, it was my only option. I was a failure in school and I’m not smart enough – not good enough – to go to college.

… I refuse to sling corn dogs for the rest of my life.

“Lindsay. Wow. I’m not passing judgment. Please don’t think I am. It just hurts like a bitch that you’re four hundred miles away and not part of my daily routine anymore.” Evie touched her chest and fought against the threat of tears. “I miss you.”

Lindsay nodded dryly. “I miss you too. I miss you more than anything or anyone back home. No matter what, Evie, can we just continue being us? I’d like that, I need that. No matter how far apart we are, you’ll always be my best friend.”

“Of course. I’d do anything for you.”

A few moments later, their conversation had shifted.

“Remember when you ate that apple pecan salad in Talia’s car and you forgot to ask for no bleu cheese? You decided to take out the bleu cheese and when you left, to like, leave and go home, you left your garbage in the car and the whole car smelled like bleu cheese.”

“Oh my God. I still can’t believe I did that.” Lindsay couldn’t suppress a grin as she enjoyed a Diet Mountain Dew. She’d since wandered off to the kitchen and was surveying the snack possibilities. “Talia was so pissed.”

“It’s too bad you skipped town, you know. Talia is hosting a post-graduation party Friday night at her house.”

“Oh yeah? Who all is coming?”

“Hmm, I think it’s gonna be Clancy, Anna, Katie, Shannon, Peter, and Celeste. It’s not gonna be a true party, I guess, more like a small gathering. Talia’s mom is cooking dinner for everyone.”

“Celeste?” Lindsay’s nostrils flared as she snatched a sleeve of plain crackers from the cupboard. “Talia invited that inbred skank?”

“Zack is coming too.”

“Fuck Zack!” Lindsay let her guard down with her best friend, not concerned with putting up a false façade or trying to sound ladylike. “That snot-nosed prick can go to Hell for all I care!” She had the urge to fan herself. “He’s another reason why I wanted out of Citronelle.”

Evie struggled to hold back her laughter. “Zack has been asking about you too. He said he talked to you the other day on the phone and you were very rude to him. Also says he's going to find you in Vegas and win you back.”

“Good fuckin' luck!”

Lindsay dated Zack off-and-on throughout high school and to say they had a unique relationship would be an understatement. Zack wasn't the best or most thoughtful boyfriend. He was the quintessential, arrogant class jock and put himself and his needs way ahead of Lindsay's. He was the top dog at Citronelle High and Lindsay was his armpiece – his little sex puppet.

No matter how many times Zack frustrated and angered her, and she swore she'd never date him again, Lindsay would invariably wind up getting fucked by him later that afternoon or evening in the back seat of his car. Or in the auditorium after the school day ended. Or sometimes in the desert flatbed behind his house.

Or some other, random place.

Having sex and receiving its pleasures was in Lindsay's nature and, the sad truth was, she had no one else to choose from in that little hole-in-the-wall town. I'm a nympho; these nine days at the brothel has proven it. Her first boyfriend, Dustin Gadberry, caught her making out with Zack after school one day and instantly cut all ties, ending their relationship.

It had to be Zack, unfortunately. Dustin refused to have anything to do with me after he caught me cheating. Really, what harm was there in sucking a little dick at the pool party that night? I mean, seriously? Come on, Dustin. It’s not like we were married. Who else was she going to curb her sex addiction with? Donald Stanlick? Ewwwww, gross … the indignities. Lindsay could never look past Donald’s pocket protectors and the way he slobbered all over the place during lunch hour when they were in grade school. Disgusting!

Lindsay's submissive tendencies were fostered and developed during the three years she spent dating Zack. Hate to admit it, but he used to make me lose my mind every time we had sex. Zack wanted to control her and make her his own, but unlike Sammy, do it in a bad way. Zack could’ve cared less about me unless I was sucking his cock or taking it doggy style in the back of his Mustang.

With the guys she sees now, they’re a lot older and more mature – a lot sexier, too – and with Sammy, specifically, Lindsay believed he cared about her and would never harm her. Darius and Tony would provide and take care of me, too, if given the opportunity. It feels awesome to finally be around adults who are just as mature as I am. Lindsay wanted Sammy to make her his submissive pet, but unlike Zack, she trusted he would have her best interests in mind. Sammy was dominant and demanding with me last Tuesday night but was a cuddlebug afterward and gave me the best massage I've ever received.

Would Zack ever do that? Oh, hell no. Zack wanted constant massages and foot rubs, but never returned the favor with something sweet of his own. Fuck him!

“I’d like to branch out and escape from Citronelle too,” Evie said later in the telephone discussion. “I had a job interview yesterday at a movie theater in Palm Springs.”

“Yeah? How’d that go?” Back in her bedroom, Lindsay was enjoying the afternoon snack.

“I think it went well. No idea if I got the job yet, but they promised to call back in a few days and let me know. It will be a long commute each day, but worth it, I think. It was my first real interview too. I was so nervous.”

“I can understand that.” Lindsay exhaled again and blew strands of blonde hair across her forehead skyward. “I had to go through an interview before getting hired here as well. It was gruesome. Scariest thirty minutes of my life.”

“Clancy and I went to the arcade yesterday in Palm Springs, too, and won Paul and Norman, these two super cute stuffed squishmallows. Clancy said I hit the jackpot. I reached the five-hundred-point mark on the whac-a-mole thing and he suggested instead of getting a job at the movie theater, I should become a professional whacker.”

Lindsay burst into hysterics. “Trust me, it pays well!”

“We ended our trip to Palm Springs by getting ice cream at this joint called Scoops ‘o Joy.”

“I’ve heard of that place.”

“It was so good because it has a bunch of different ice cream flavors, and then you can add any kind of cereal mixed in with the ice cream, and they like, really like blend it up together so it wasn’t just like big chunks of cereal. It’s blended into the ice cream, and it was so good. So many toppings and everything; it was so good. Best ice cream I’ve ever had, not cappin’.”

“Sounds tempting,” Lindsay said. “I’ll have to try it next time I’m in town.”

“So, you meet up with guys and have sex with them?” Evie sounded incredulous. This was a profession she had zero knowledge about. “C’mon, tell me more about what you do. Spill the tea.”

“Yeah. That's what generally happens in whorehouses, you know.” I prefer the word brothel but think it's best I be brutally honest and to the point. Why sugarcoat it? This is the only way I'll get Evie to understand. “Clients pay money and the in-house prostitutes – we, us – fuck them.”

Another long stretch of silence prevailed – Evie is probably trying to wrap her head around all of this – so she added, “I've had sex with eight guys over the past eight days.”

“Eight guys? Wowwwww.” To her credit, Evie managed to keep her voice under control so family members wouldn't be privy. “You've only had sex with Zack and Dustin before this.”

“Yeah, eight guys.” And three women, too – Pamela, Kenzie, and Becky. Lindsay wanted to admit that as well but wasn’t brave enough yet. I’ve had a crush on Evie for as long as I can remember and she’s one of the big reasons why I’m so attracted to girls to begin with. Perhaps one day, Lindsay would finally reveal her feelings to Evie. I’m in love with her and always have been. “I was with three guys this past Saturday alone.”

“Wow. Eight guys over eight days? And three on the same day? I can't believe you, girl. That's freakin' insane.”

“I like it. I've met some interesting people too.” I fucked a black guy. Lindsay also debated whether she should disclose that. Probably not yet. And Sammy? Hmm, I’d love to share you with Sammy in a threesome, sweet thing. Talk about huge dicks and how you’ve always wanted one!

“So, these guys … your customers …  aren’t there all the time, right? What do you do in your downtime?”

“Normal stuff, really. First thing I did this morning was turn on some Gossip Girl and clean my room. It’s kind of like, raining outside, it’s cloudy, so I’ve taken it easy for the most part today, I’ve relaxed. No clients for me yet.”

“But one could show up at any time, right? Out of the blue?”

“Yep.”

“That’s crazy. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Oh, dude. You have no idea. It’s taken some getting used to, that’s for sure.” Lindsay laughed gently and imagined Evie lounging in her bedroom. She’s so sexy when she’s barefoot and chill. “Hey, you enjoy sex as much as I do, right? Look at how many times you’ve done the nasty with Clancy over the years.” I wish I could’ve joined in so he and I could tag-team you. “I think you’d enjoy working here too.”

“No! No way! Lindsay, don't say that!”

“All right, all right, I won't. I'm sorry.” Lindsay was giggling. “Didn't mean to tease you like that.”

“This is super crazy. And don't worry about me telling your family or anyone else who knows you here either. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Again, thanks. And thank you for being my sounding board.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve been my sounding board a million times in the past.”

“I've netted four thousand bucks here over the past eight days.” Lindsay puffed her chest out. “Nine days, really. That’s money I keep, take-home pay. Before taxes and fees, at least. And I still got two weeks to go before my first week-long break. My goal is to have a gross of twelve thousand on my first paycheck.”

“Wait! What? Hold up a second! Slow down.” Evie's jaw was dangling open, and her tone had dropped several octaves. “Did you say twelve thousand? As in dollars?” She choked on her own words. “Holy shit!”

“I’m buying a car with my first paycheck!”

<> <> <> <> <>

Topic: I'm so sorry

Private Message to: Pamela_HER

From: ChazWazzle

I'm so sorry

Sent: July 25, 2018, 9:12 pm EST

Dearest Pamela,

First off, thank you for responding.

>>> It's been difficult to keep up with your endless barrage of messages, Charlie, and it's never a good idea to call Colt (AKA my boss) and vent your frustrations about me to him. There was no need for you to involve him. Please don't do that ever again.

I sincerely apologize for making that phone call. Perhaps I overreacted to your silence after you e-mailed me three days ago? I'm a big fuck up, Pamela. I’ve been one my entire life and will never change. Maybe now you understand why I'm alone.

I promise not to bombard you with messages anymore. Nor will I contact Colt again. At the time, I thought it was the only way to break through to you.

>>> Life is a process. There are several things I’m doing to make life better for me and my family.

That’s great! I’ve been worried about you and hope things work out for the best. I really, really do.

>>> I receive countless e-mails from both potential and recurring clients every single day and always do my best to respond to everyone. But sometimes, it may take a day or two. Or three. Or more. The brothel keeps me busy and I have plenty of outside interests too.

Remember when I told you I got angry at my niece because she didn't call and thank me for the flowers I sent to her? Same thing applies here. I didn't get angry at you, per se, but overreacted when I didn't hear from you. I sent you that long, straight-from-the-heart apology for the offer I made but haven't heard from you since. Not until today, at least.

I felt guilty after sending you the original message where I asked you to come to Detroit and visit me. I felt like an idiot. I knew there was no way you'd agree to it and I'm fine with that. I shouldn't have even considered it a possibility in the first place.

>>> I like you a lot, Charlie. You're a nice guy with a massive heart. But I'm cool if you decide to move on and see someone else at the house or even another house. It is your decision and I won't be upset or take offense.

Pamela, I don't want to see anyone but you. You could throw five of the most stunning courtesans in the world at me, tell me I could be with them for however long I wanted for free, and I'd still want to be with you and pay whatever price. I felt such a genuine connection with you and know I'll never have that with another working lady.

Yes, I've pulled back my feelings, but you have no idea how special you are to me. Those two days with you were the happiest two days of my life, beyond a shadow of a doubt. My sister asked me, why did you spend $17,000 on this girl? I said Pamela makes me happy and she’s priceless. That’s the God's honest truth. For once in my life, I knew what happiness felt like.

And for a couple of days, I thought I'd lost you. Twice. The never-ending influx of messages? I panicked. I'm so sorry. I cannot say that enough.

I'm not blaming you for your silence. I'm blaming myself.

I'm not trying to make you feel sorry for me, either, but I was close to crying with Colt on the phone about you yesterday. I'm being honest. I'm big on honesty. You've been better to me than anyone I've ever known, and at first, I thought I'd pushed you away. It wasn't the fact I may never see you again, talk to you again, whatever. The most upsetting thing was the fear I pushed you away and somehow upset you, scared you. It tore me up inside.

Listen to me. The ramblings of a thirty-six-year-old man who lives alone with his two cats. I hope I don't sound pathetic to you.

>>> Girls like Scarlett and I (and the rest of us at Happy Ending Ranch) are here to make you smile and we’re always willing to see you and make your day full of sunshine kisses. It's what we're here for.

Including Scarlett in our party was a mistake and I regret it. Please don't tell her I said that. I don't want to hurt her feelings. But if I could go back in time and change anything about our parties, I would've focused strictly on you. A threesome was a good idea at the time, I guess, but Scarlett turned out to be needless filler. There was zero connection between her and me and I got the sense after leaving and thinking things over she was bored and simply tolerated me.

I never had that sense about you. I now realize this is your job and you make every guy feel like a million dollars, but I don't care about that. I'm not thinking about that. I'm thankful to have met you and, no matter if I paid you or not, you gave me the greatest happiness I've ever experienced. Priceless, Pamela. That happiness is priceless and worth any amount of money.

Can we forget everything that happened after I left the ranch last Wednesday? You told me I was your second favorite client behind Lazerblade from the forums and I left on such a high note. I want us to pick up and go from there. I want you happy while we're together. I know we'll never be together for real now, but I at least want to be your favorite customer. I'll never ask or hope for anything to happen between us outside the house again.

I promise.

I need to respect the fact you’re busy and cannot write me back all the time too. Again, same idea with my niece and the flowers. My sister scolded me for expecting an immediate call back. She said the same thing could apply with you, too, and maybe I blew everything out of proportion.

Pamela, I'm sorry for everything. Please, believe me.

I'll be flying into Vegas for my next vacation on Sunday, September 23, and landing before midnight. I'll drive straight to Flagstone and would like to stop and visit with you for a few minutes before closing time. In the morning, on the 24th, I want to see you at 10:00 and will purchase eight to ten hours of GFE time. I'd like to buy you lunch and do all the things we did last week (and more).

I hope that isn't too early for you. If it is, let me know, and I'll push the time back. Remember, I'm on East Coast time and 10:00 will be 1:00 to me.

Can you be there for me on September 24? Pretty please with icing on top? Depending on finances, I'd like to party with you another day or two as well. I'll have to see where I'm at money-wise.

I know I've changed my plans a couple of times, but I'm certain now with the 24th. I'll let you know about any additional dates should I be able to afford them. I'm not looking for an hour or two. I want all-day experiences. Anything less is unacceptable in my eyes.

I am so happy you wrote me back. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I promise to relax and take it easy from now on. I want everything to be positive and for us to enjoy each other.

Love always, Charlie

*

“Sweetie, are you okay? You look pale.”

Pamela McCarron's sluggish, watery eyes shifted from the laptop and focused on her husband, who was standing outside the doorway to the adjoining washroom. Colt was bare-chested and wearing a pair of black sweatpants that hung precariously low on his slim waistline. In the darkened bedroom, Pamela still noticed the muscles and cuts of his broad chest. She took a moment to admire the image before clearing her throat and calmly answering, “I'm fine. Just got an e-mail from Charlie is all.”

“Oh? What does Romeo have to say now?” His head tilted, Colt ran a towel through his freshly washed hair and strolled over to the king-sized bed that Pamela was relegated to. The forty-four-year-old cozied close and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “All good?” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Dark eyes, a jaw chiseled and layered with his trademarked five o'clock shadow, a woodsy, masculine scent – exactly the way Pamela preferred him. Not to mention, of course, Colt’s wet, tousled hair.

Sexy.

“Yeah, all good.” Pamela closed her eyes and nestled her chin into the crook of Colt's collarbone, yet again relying on the peace and security that only his presence provided. Pamela hadn’t led the purist of lives and there were several things she wished she could take back and do over again herself, but one thing was for certain: I know I’m safe and cared for whenever Colt is with me.

“You have a good shower, baby?”

“Lonely shower.”

She bit her lip. “I wanted to join you.”

He traced his fingers down her side. “Then why didn’t you?”

Colt’s amazing, tender touch was a reminder that, at least for the time being, Pamela wasn't at the brothel. “Because I can barely walk.” There were no customers to compete for and, if she was chosen, overexert herself to satisfy. I've had enough of that this past week. No possibility of being jarred awake from a much-needed nap because of the deafening blare of the lineup buzzer. I won't be selling another piece of my decency tonight, thank God. No having to deal with in-house drama and the cattiness of certain other working ladies. I still can't believe Aaliyah got angry at Lindsay and quit.

No, Pamela was 2,500 miles away and in her hometown of Fairfax, Maryland, and wouldn’t return to Nevada for a minimum of two weeks. This is my safe haven and the best place for me right now. She was glad Colt asked her to step away from their professional personas in Flagstone and travel to the East Coast where they’d be close to friends and family alike. There’s no need to be at the ranch with the shape my back is in now anyway. Best of all, it would provide a welcome change of pace, an opportunity for Pamela to be a normal person, to breathe, and contemplate the future and her options. Something that rarely happened anymore.

Fairfax encompassed the western shore of Hawk Cove and was a stone’s throw from Rocky Point Park. A blend of residential, professional, and recreational development, Fairfax had evolved over the decades from a summer beachside destination to a year-round community that offered refuge from the big city lights of Baltimore. With all the benefits of “in town” urban living, the neighborhood maintained its “small town” feel. Downtown woke up with early morning exercise classes and sidewalk cafes stayed busy late into the night.

Pamela and Colt took a nonstop flight from Las Vegas yesterday afternoon and landed at Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport in Arlington, Virginia, just before midnight. They ordered an Uber and arrived some twenty-five miles north in Fairfax after one o’clock.

It was the first time they had been home in nearly two months.

The long cross-country journey posed its share of challenges as Pamela’s back flared up midway through and she was in varying amounts of discomfort the rest of the way. At one point, Colt lifted the armrest between their first-class seats and lovingly cradled her across his lap. She protested at first, feeling silly, but relented. Colt queued up some chillstep on his phone and popped one earbud into her ear and the other in his own.

“Close your eyes and rest, sweetheart.” His voice was a whisper as his hand kneaded Pamela’s lower spine. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.”

Later, her back locked up completely and she couldn’t walk, so Colt pushed her through the airport in a wheelchair. Tears of frustration gave way to anger, and Pamela snapped at him in the terminal for no reason. Knowing moments like this would occur during her recovery, Colt took the outburst in stride, showing no reaction to it, and then held her hand and kissed it during their Uber ride home. “I love you. We’re going to make it through this.”

Pamela grew up and attended school in Fairfax and her parents still lived there today. She and Colt enjoyed dinner at the Prescott household earlier tonight and were joined by her two sisters, Paula and Candice, and several other family members as well, including her grandparents.

Compelled to fib, Pamela told everyone she injured her back during a hiking expedition at Mount Charleston. She came home to Maryland to be evaluated by Dr. Pietz, the physician she trusted most, but hoped to return to Nevada in mid-August with a clean bill of health. Pamela had no plans to tell any family member she was a prostitute and suffered the spinal fracture with a random john.

“Charlie wants an eight- or ten-hour party with me again at the end of September. Perhaps two or three long parties over several days, I don’t know.” She blew out a breath that seemed resigned. “Says he has to look at his money first.”

Colt’s right eye twitched and his brows furrowed. “Are you going to party with him again?”

Holding a cup of apple cider juice between both hands, she took a swig. “My back permitting, yeah, I am. Heck yeah.” How could Pamela pass up, at the bare minimum, a $4,800 party? Hopefully, this orthopedist Dr. Pietz wants me to see puts me on the road to recovery and I’m healthy enough to party with Charlie in two months. “I cannot stand the thought of anyone feeling lonely.” She emptied the glass and plonked it down onto the nightstand. “Yeah, yeah, I know – Charlie went way overboard with the e-mail he sent last week, but the man is harmless. Totally harmless.”

“I know you won’t commit to seeing Charlie again until you receive the go-ahead from the surgeon,” Colt said, “but perhaps it would be smarter to aim for one- to two-hour parties spread over several days instead of an all-nighter should you be medically cleared.” He grasped her hands and kissed them one at a time. “Overdoing it is what got you in this predicament to begin with.”

Pamela shook her head a little, staring off into the distance before instead saying, “I don't understand Scarlett and her insistence I shut Charlie out and never party with him again. That may wreck his life. I mean, Charlie just spent all that money and lost his virginity. I try to make things extra special for older virgins. It would destroy him if I refused to see him again. That would be such a cruel thing to do. Cruel and short-sided.” Pamela speared a cherry tomato from the nightstand and shoved it into her mouth. “He did nothing wrong except let his emotions bubble over and get the best of him.”

“You know that telephone call from Charlie was surreal before leaving Flagstone yesterday.” Frustration bubbled at Colt’s face. “A grown man, all upset and crying, some two thousand miles away rambling on and on about how he thought he’d hurt you and you never wanted to see him again. Guy was going on about my wife and all I could do was sit there and listen to him.”

“Thank you for not getting angry and ripping into him, telling him off, or saying I’m injured and may never work again.” Pamela stroked two fingers from Colt’s face down to his shoulders and chest. “I’m sorry Charlie contacted you like that. Trust me, it’ll never happen again. I’m going to reiterate that to him in my next message either tonight or tomorrow morning. He can’t involve you again.” Suddenly Pamela was frowning so hard that Colt was forced to reach out and smooth his thumb between her eyebrows. “I know that discussion was incredibly awkward for you.”

“It was a first, that’s for sure.” Colt scrubbed his face with his other hand. “Another man gushing on and crying to me about my wife because, down deep, all he really wants is to have sex with you again. Awkward, yeah. I thought I'd seen it all in this business, but apparently, I haven't.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Colt pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You have nothing be sorry about. Not your fault.”

“You’ve put up with a lot of shit over the years because of me.” Pamela splayed her hands across the muscles of his abdomen. “From customers, I mean. It isn’t fair.”

“Comes with the territory, I’m afraid.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“Relax. Don’t worry about it.” Colt guided her right hand to his chest and held it and began massaging each of her fingers, her palm, her wrist. “It’s part of the job. Some of these guys fall for girls like you when, in reality, you’re all some of the most unavailable people on the planet. But they don’t know that. They’re unaware.”

“You know something?” Pamela’s gaze lifted. “A lot of times, I struggle in the parties I have, both physically and mentally, especially as I’m getting older. But I always think about and focus on the immediate future, which is seeing you once the party ends. You, me, together again. You always give me a big hug when the monger leaves, ask if I’m okay, if I need anything. You’re so attentive. That’s very sweet and it’s appreciated.” She sighed and trailed the back of her hand along his chest. “Just the thought of seeing you again helps get me through every single party.”

“You’re not alone. I can’t wait for each party to end either. I’m always looking at the stopwatch, counting down the minutes until I see you again.” Even in this heartfelt exchange, every fiber in Colt’s being was aching to be closer to Pamela, to hold her hand, embrace her, kiss her, even be inside her. Would those urges ever fade away? Colt couldn’t imagine a reality where they would.

“I love the way you’ve always supported me.” Pamela leaned upward and kissed him flush on the lips. “You’re a unique man, I’d say, to have stood by me all these years and let me do … what it is I do.”

“It’s just business.”

She nodded and exhaled a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “Thank you.”

Although he wanted to lift the nightshirt from Pamela’s body and toss it elsewhere, slip his arms around her waist and up her back, and enjoy the warmth of her flesh against his, Colt resisted. “You should lay down and rest.” Mind you, he didn’t want to resist. Colt wanted to bathe and luxuriate in Pamela’s feminine charms. God, he wanted that. It had been too long since he had the opportunity. But, as usual, those damn alarm bells in his head won out. “Dr. Pietz wants you to take it easy the rest of the week.”

Pamela’s smile dimmed. “I did overdo it a bit earlier at Mom and Dad’s, I think.” She lay back on the mattress and settled her head into the pillow, again relegating herself to the so-called prison she’d have to endure over the next four or five days. “I wonder what’s going on at the brothel right now.” Pamela paused and held back a laugh. “Remember when I was younger, when we’d have our time away from the house, our week off each month, I’d always insist you’re crazy to worry about the house the way you did. You’d always be on the phone with Jim talking shop, but here I am, being older now, and I’m equally worried about the house and how it’s doing without us being there.” Pamela’s lips pursed. “I feel your pain.”

“That house is our livelihood. It’s why I worry so much. It took some time, yes, but you finally realized that.”

Pamela grinned. “Maturity, right? But I still have no idea how you keep everything on the up-and-up.”

“I have great helpers. Jim, Mindy, Jenn … you.” Colt nudged alongside Pamela and played with the back of her hair, their faces a whisper apart. “I got a text from Jim while we were with your folks earlier. Hmm, your eyes are so pretty. Looks like Aaliyah is going to apply at Chastity’s Ranch and they’re interested in hiring her.”

Pamela made a face. “Aaliyah? Good for her.”

Like most owners of middle-of-nowhere, rural brothels, Colt and Pamela despised everything about Chastity’s Ranch, particularly its management. Throughout LPIN, it was thought of as The Evil Empire, the largest and most successful brothel in the state, generating close to half a million dollars in sales per week thanks to its proximity to Las Vegas and all the free-spending tourists who came through.

Chastity’s wasn’t a house, per se. Rather, it was a large, sprawling resort with a full-service bar and restaurant, slot and poker machines, an 18-hole golf course, and separate lodging. It featured fifteen to twenty working ladies available round the clock and the going rate for a GFE generally started at $3,000 an hour. Themed areas for specialty parties included a locker room, a classroom, a doctor’s office, the man cave, an S&M dungeon with implements and cages, the sissy’s room, and various others. The grounds were immaculate, clean and sparkling, and everything was kept in tiptop condition.

But what small-time brothel owners hated most about Chasity’s was its cutthroat business practices. Management had no pity, often poaching top earners from the rural houses with promises of more income and better living conditions. They told lies and spread false rumors and strived to put the little guy out of business. If it were up to them, Chastity’s would forge an effective monopoly, a stranglehold over LPIN, and be the only option available.

Then they would jack their prices up even higher.

“Aaliyah had no right to curse and mouth off to Lindsay the way she did the other day,” Pamela added. “That poor girl has been through so much over the past week and didn’t deserve to be spoken to in such a hateful manner. I’m glad Aaliyah and her bad attitude is gone.”

Colt offered a single-shouldered shrug. “Everyone deserves to be treated with respect and dignity, Kayleigh included. Can’t argue with you there.”

Even in a weakened state, Pamela was gorgeous, only wearing Colt’s favorite dress shirt and a pair of panties. Her hair was frazzled from an earlier nap and she sported little makeup. Colt attached his lips to hers and reveled in her sweet kiss, his gaze sneaking down and admiring the outline of her nipples through the thin fabric.

“I’m going to miss Lindsay while we’re here in Maryland. I should call her and touch base tonight.”

Colt pulled back and his eyes changed, almost like a different person had taken over inside of him. The ensuing confusion on Pamela’s face only pissed him off more.

“What’s wrong?” she said as Colt shoved away from the bed and paced. “What did I say?” Her back may have been sore, but dammit, Pamela could still screech with the best of them. “Why are you so against Lindsay, Colt?” Her ire rose. “What did she do to make you hate her so much?”

(This chapter to be continued in the next submission)