Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Clemson

After I got Grace home and tucked in bed for the night, I hopped in the shower. Salt water and sand had my skin and hair in desperate need of attention, so I spent extra time deep conditioning the mass of blond waves. It would be so much easier to cut it all off with the amount of time I spent in pools, but I always wore it long and couldn’t imagine it any other way.

My mind would not give me a break. It was skipping from one thing to another, ramping up my anxiety worse than it had been in a while. I thought the day of sun and sand had set this shit free, but here I was.

I’d dealt with anxiety most of my life. All my sisters had similar diagnoses, too, and while some tips they’d learned over the years were helpful, I had to figure out my own way of dealing with the symptoms. Normally I had a pretty good lock on the runaway thoughts and emotions, but the events of the past week had me frazzled.

I knew nothing would be accomplished by crawling into bed and hiding under the covers, regardless of how badly I wanted to do just that.

My professors finally emailed me back, and things weren’t looking good. They must have met and discussed my situation, because the three email responses I received looked like carbon copies. There were a few details pertaining to my actual grades in the classes and if the courses were offered in the summer semester, but other than that, they all could’ve signed their names on the bottom of one of the messages, and it would’ve been the same.

And I was screwed no matter how the news came down. I had officially lost my scholarship and had no idea how I was going to pay for the upcoming semester and still afford to live. I needed a job, and fast. One that paid really well, preferably.

A crazy-sounding laugh bubbled up from my gut at the thought. It wasn’t like jobs were just falling from the sky and that my biggest dilemma would be picking the one that best suited me. We were in early summer, and jobs that opened up to students had been snatched up many months ago. I needed to find something off campus, and the whole idea was so daunting, I couldn’t spend more than a minute thinking about it before my mind derailed itself out of preservation.

Asking my parents for help was out of the question. For one thing, I really didn’t think they’d do it even if I got up the nerve to ask. Plus, that meant I’d have to explain how I’d epically failed at the one job I currently had, and I couldn’t bring myself to do that. I wasn’t the kind of girl that went down without a fight, and my dad was adamant about taking responsibility for one’s own actions.

Yeah, they’d never foot the bill for next semester while I earned my way off the academic probation list. No way in hell.

Two of my sisters were involved with very rich men. I had those options as an absolute last resort, but I’d rather work my ass off the rest of the summer and possibly into the fall semester to pay my own way than ask for a handout.

When I finally got out of the shower, my skin was as macerated as when I swam for hours. My fingertips were shriveled prunes, and my ten toes matched. I lathered on an extra-thick layer of moisturizer to give my body some relief from the abuse plus that of the sun I had soaked up that afternoon.

I decided while I smoothed the cream into my toned legs that tomorrow would be the first day of the job hunt. I didn’t care what I had to do. I just needed something that paid well.

Shit . Where do you even begin searching for a job? Online somewhere, I assumed, but any other job I’d ever had sort of fell into my lap. It couldn’t be too hard to figure out, though, right? People did it every day.

Sleep was not kind to me that night. Lots of tossing and turning. Every time I’d flip over in frustration, my brain would take off in another direction without me. Then another thirty minutes would pass before I could settle down long enough to drift off again. I woke up in the morning feeling more like I’d run a marathon than gotten a good night’s sleep.

Sitting in front of my laptop, I drank my morning protein shake at the breakfast bar. The house was still quiet as I searched every version of job openings that I could think of.

I’d never waited tables before, but I’d heard a lot of people talk about the incredible tips you could bring in. Especially at a posher restaurant. But it was doubtful they’d hire someone with no experience. I made a long list of places that were advertising the need for help and hit the town to find a damn job.

After filling out the fifth application at some shithole near the airport, I was thinking of giving up. I lacked experience at…well…everything, and that was usually the first question asked. The jobs I was qualified for—lifeguard, camp counselor, possibly cashier—paid minimum wage and rarely offered more than a part-time schedule. Things weren’t looking too hopeful.

By the time I walked into the fieldhouse on campus for team weight training, I was in a pretty low mood. Like a shark smelling blood in the water, Charlie noticed I was in a weak state and pounced.

“Hey, Clemson, what’s going on? You don’t seem yourself today,” she said with a syrupy kind voice that made me want to gag.

The girl didn’t know me at all. How would she know what my regular mood looked like versus a foul one? And why would she want to engage if she recognized I wasn’t in the best headspace? Nothing about interacting with her made sense.

“Nah, I’m fine. Probably just tired from yesterday. Thanks for inviting me,” I said to change the topic a bit.

Instantly her concerned expression changed to a sly one. “Did you go home with that hottie, Luke?” She waggled her brows, and it was so ridiculous, I almost laughed in her face.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Mmm, too bad. I wouldn’t sleep on that one too long, you know?”

I tilted my head with confusion. “What do you mean?” Why the hell this woman couldn’t just talk like a normal person, I couldn’t figure out.

Impatiently, she glared at me like I was an idiot. “I mean, he’s a total catch if you can land him. Just look at him. And”—she leaned in like she was about to tell me a deep family secret—“Liam says he loaded.” She added that last fact triumphantly as though that was all that should really matter.

“Hmmm,” was all I could say. I really didn’t know how to respond to her. She gave me a really weird vibe, like she was always up to something. It seemed like she spoke in a code I couldn’t decipher, and I had too much going on to even try.

But she kept on giving me advice I didn’t ask for. “With all the stuff Liam buys me and does for me, I can’t imagine what you could get from that one.” Her eyes glittered like a three-year-old staring up at the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree.

When she saw my reaction, she frowned. “Don’t act so pure and chaste, girl. What’s the harm in getting what you want if you’re going to give up the goods anyway?” She shrugged. “At least that’s how I see it.”

And never was I more grateful for not relating to this girl on a closer level. What kind of fucked-up mindset was that? Wasn’t she basically defining prostitution?

“I’m on legs,” I muttered and walked away from where she was half-assing bicep curls. If my coaches noticed I wasn’t following the schedule, I’d play dumb. It was arms for me today too, but I couldn’t stomach an entire workout alongside Charlie.

Nearly three hours later, I trudged through the front door of our little rental to find Grace on the sofa, deeply interested in some reality show. The last time I’d seen her was when I tucked her into her bed the night before.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Great!” she chirped happily without taking her eyes off the show.

That was my hint to leave her alone, and I was fine with that. I grabbed two hard-boiled eggs from the refrigerator and refilled my water bottle from the dispenser in the door.

Before hitting the shower, I decided to check my email to see if any of the jobs I’d applied for today responded. There were a few that required applications to be filled out online as well, and I wanted to submit those.

While I was working on my latest employment history on the second application, a notification scrolled across the top of my screen.

Lucas Allen sent you a message.

And why did that give me a little flip-flop in the pit of my stomach? It never hurt when a guy was interested in you, but I needed to finish the things on my find-a-job list before anything else.

After dealing with the disappointment of not receiving any job offers in my inbox, another email caught my eye.

Are you ready to try Sugar Dating?

Financial independence awaits!

Plain curiosity had led me down the rabbit hole of looking into sugar dating in the past, so I was familiar with the concept of women providing nonsexual companionship to men for money. But I had never considered it. I’d certainly never sleep with anyone for money…so if that was the situation being promoted in this email, that was a complete nonstarter.

But maybe there was an answer to my problems after all.

Finding this new message in my inbox seemed like a sign from fate. Either that, or that bullshit Charlie was spouting today about Luke having money might have been living rent-free in my brain. Luke was absolutely not a candidate. I liked him, and I would never use a man I cared about for a cash grab.

But—and that was a really big but —if a man knew the situation going in and was actively seeking a certain type of exchange… Would it be so wrong?

First, I’d have to set up a profile on Sugar Dating or one of the other popular sites that orchestrated this type of coupling. A quick internet search and a few really active Reddit threads later, I had an entire page of notes on the basics and how to avoid getting scammed.

All right. I could do that.

I visited the Sugar Dating site and clicked on the tab to create a profile. I had read using a fake name was very common, and having a very unique first name could lead to exposure. I decided to use my middle name, Nicole, then did a search for common surnames and picked one.

And so I became Nicole Green.

It took me the rest of the evening to craft a profile I was happy with. I posted a few pictures of myself without any sort of editing, because apparently that was a big turn-off. I also was careful to not cross post any shots that I had previously posted on any of my social media profiles so a perspective date couldn’t do an image search and find out my real identity. Thank God for that Reddit thread, because I wouldn’t have thought of a lot of this stuff.

The last thing I needed was a scam. I was in this to make money, not lose it.

When it came to expectations, I was honest and clear that I was not looking for intimate physical relations. Companionship, event dates, and social engagements were selected as my top three priorities. Earning money was a given. Otherwise, that would’ve been at the top of the list.

Apparently, Sugar Dating had to approve my profile before it went active, so when I was content with what I’d included, I submitted my application. They advised it could take a few days to go through the review process, so I would also continue the traditional job search in the meantime.

Two more online applications for traditional jobs were completed and sent before I couldn’t keep my eyes open. It had been a stressful day, and I crashed into a deep sleep within minutes of hitting the pillow. One last thought before I drifted off, though… I completely forgot to read the message from Luke.

Shit .

Well, I figured I could send him a quick reply in the morning, and that would have to be okay. There was no way I was getting up to do it now. Plus, my brain was in a pretty peaceful state. If I started a back-and-forth with him now, I’d likely be up for hours.

The first thing I did after grabbing my morning protein boost was look at the message Luke sent yesterday. If he got pissy about me not answering him back right away, it would be a total red flag. I didn’t like needy guys. It was a complete turn-off.

But I didn’t get that impression from him in person, so I felt pretty certain I wouldn’t encounter that via text either.

I hope your day is going well. I had a great time at the beach, and I’m still waiting for you to tell me when we can go out.

Was it strange that I liked his formal style of texting? He wrote complete sentences and used proper grammar and punctuation. For some reason that made a huge grin stretch across my lips. He was a little old-fashioned maybe, but it was refreshing to talk to someone who didn’t use numbers in place of vowels and letters instead of words like a lot of the idiots my own age.

Hey! Day wasn’t bad. Trying to find a job, and no joke, it’s a jungle out there. Hoping something comes through quick.

I hit Send on the message and closed the app. I was anxious to check my email and decided I needed to finally set up that capability on my phone so I wouldn’t have to wait until I got home each day to check my inbox on the computer. My dad always nagged me about this very thing, and remembering that made me strangely homesick. That wasn’t a feeling I got very often, but when it hit, it was like a gut punch.

A phone call could fix that melancholy feeling, but I thought better of that immediately. Getting stuck on the phone with either him or my mom would just end in my being frustrated or even angry. Not to mention, the last thing I wanted to talk about was school or swimming, and inevitably, that was where the conversation would end up.

They would die of embarrassment if they found out my scholarship had been suspended, and if I could just get through this next semester without them finding out, all would be fine.

My swimming success had always been a source of great pride for them. Especially my dad. Maybe because he had five girls and no boys, I became the stand-in son. I was the only one out of all of us that ever took an interest in sports, and he was always in the stands to cheer me on. Whether it was a swim meet, volleyball game, or the few years I tried martial arts, my dad was always the one that carted me to practices and encouraged me from the bleachers.

This recent turn of events at school would crush him. I swore to myself that I would take my classes more seriously from this point forward and never be in this position again. I didn’t confide in my family members very often, but knowing I was hiding such a big predicament felt really bad.

My anxiety could ramp up in minutes if I spent any amount of head time on the subject, so I shot up from my desk and hustled back out to the kitchen with the excuse of putting my shake container in the dishwasher. I just needed to get my mind focused on something else for a few minutes so I could bury the shitty feelings about deceiving my folks.

Grace was in the kitchen, and I gave her a little squeeze when I finished in the dishwasher.

“You know, I’m glad it’s just us here for the summer. Don’t get me wrong. I love Avery, but some of the guys she was hanging around with before the semester ended really gave me the icks. You know?”

“Giiiirrlll,” she dragged out. “I hear you. That one dude… I think his name was Carlo? He had the balls to hit on me when she walked out of the room one time. I never said anything to her because I didn’t think she was too into him, but what an asshole.”

“Are you serious? What a jerk. Yeah, I don’t know if it’s all her parent issues or what, but she seems to have a bad picker.”

“A what?” Grace screwed her face up in confusion.

“A bad picker. Like she has trouble picking a good guy. But I think her mother has her questioning her own judgment all the time.”

“That, or she’s doing it on purpose. You know, like a way of rebelling,” Grace offered thoughtfully.

“Hmmm,” I said, considering her theory as I started to head back to my room. “You may be on to something there.”

Grace seemed to want to continue chatting, though. “What are you up to today?”

“Right now, I need to check my email to see if any of the jobs I applied for responded. If I don’t land a job in the next few days, I’ll never save up enough for next semester. There won’t be enough hours in the day to work, lose a portion on taxes, pay regular living expenses, and still save enough.”

She gave me a worried look.

“Something has to come through. I’m so screwed otherwise,” I said from the doorway of my room.

She followed me down the hall and lingered in the doorway when I went to sit in front of my laptop at the desk. “Do you have a backup plan?”

Frowning, I explained, “Yes and no. I mean, I could ask one of my sisters. Two of the four have really wealthy men, but that would be the absolute last resort. If I have to do that, it’s about fifty-fifty that my parents will find out about the whole mess.”

As I focused on the monitor, she got the hint that I needed to get down to business. “It’s all going to work out, Clem. I have a good feeling,” she said, tapping her temple with her index finger.

“I hope you’re right,” was all I could add.

I held my breath while I launched my email program.

I needed this to work out, and karma owed me one. At least one. I was a good human being. I typically treated people kindly, and anytime someone asked me to help them, I was there for it. It was one of my better traits, I always thought. Doesn’t the universe keep a tally of that kind of stuff?

Twenty-six new messages populated the screen, and I opened each message one by one. If someone was turning me down, at least I could learn why and use the information moving forward if I had to go out and start the process all over again.

God, I pray I don’t have to do that.

About halfway through the list, I was seriously discouraged. There were a few solid rejections, which was fine, but more didn’t respond at all. The more messages I deleted, the more frustrated I became. How could I not land a freaking entry-level job? If it was this difficult to find an everyday, no-skill-needed position, what the hell would it be like after graduation?

Was I really busting my ass at school and worrying to death over staying in school just to not be able to get a job when I got out? Why did they just about brainwash you in high school that the only way to a solid career was to go to college? It was all starting to feel like a big scam.

Then I saw the last email I expected of the bunch. It was from the Sugar Dating website. I had been assigned a mentor, and she was reaching out to welcome me and help me fine-tune my profile.

Of all the jobs I’d applied for, this would be the best paying. But was it something I could make peace with?

With no other options, it looked like I was about to find out.

A part of me wanted to confide in Grace about the opportunity and get her thoughts. It was unnerving to get involved in something like this without any advice from someone I trusted. I’d rather poke my eyeballs with toothpicks than ask my sisters, so that was off the table.

I’d think about it some more before making a decision. I didn’t need negativity right now, and though I didn’t think I’d get that from her, she might downright think it was a bad idea, and I couldn’t really deal with that either.

My mentor went by the name Solei. I scrolled through the website looking for her profile but couldn’t find it. Either she was dating under a different name, or maybe once the agency promoted you to mentor, you didn’t have to have an active profile.

My nerves were on high alert when I replied to her. I took a moment to assess what it was I was feeling. It wasn’t fear. It was excitement.

The more I thought about how lonely I’d been feeling, the more anxious I was for her reply. Maybe this wouldn’t be bad at all. I’d get to go out on fun, adventurous dates, meet new people, and possibly make some connections in the business world for when I graduated.

The little peek I had into the job search adventure really had me thinking differently about the future.

Solei responded right away, and we agreed to message on a different app where we could go back and forth in real time. She advised me to download a particular app because that was where my dates would contact me as well, so I loaded it on my phone and waited for her first message.

We texted for about ten minutes and both agreed we were comfortable enough to talk on the phone. She already had my number from the application I filled out, so she called me. Her voice was sultry and deep—a lot like what mine had been described as.

“Hello,” she purred. Already I felt awkward from the way she pronounced the everyday word.

“Hi,” I said, trying to sound excited without sounding nervous.

“Let me reiterate, Nicole, we’re really happy to have you on board. You’re a total ten in the looks department, and I think a lot of our clients will be interested.”

“I’m ready to get going,” I said.

“It’s important to remember a few golden rules, okay? I know you’re probably excited and ready to move forward, but these things will save you a lot of wasted time on guys who aren’t the right match for you, and regardless of our strict screening process, sometimes scammers still get through.”

That last comment would’ve normally heightened my anxiety, but I’d read a lot about scammers online and wrote down some notes on what to watch for.

“A guy should never ask you for indirect money exchanges,” she began, her tone shifting into more of a lecture mode than regular conversation. I had to wonder if she was reading off a script.

“For example, a man should never ask you if he can deposit more than your agreed-on allowance into your account and have you give him the difference. Either in cash or a gift card, or something like that. Just like we review rules with our girls, we have strict rules with the clients too. They are informed transactions like that are strictly prohibited.”

Solei paused there, so I thought maybe I should say something.

“Okay, that makes sense,” I replied.

“Also,” she continued, “above all else, remember you are in charge of this relationship. You should never be guilted into doing anything you are not comfortable doing. We do not promote transactional sexual relations at the agency. A client should never tell you that it is expected of you. If, over the course of time, you develop a relationship with a client and the natural course of events would involve sexual activity, that is completely up to you. But that is not something you should expect a higher allowance for.”

Again, she was quiet after saying that, so I felt like I should let her know I was on board. “I understand completely.”

“And, Nicole, my final piece of advice is the most important.” Here, the pause was a pregnant one.

I almost thought the call dropped until she started speaking again.

“Trust your gut. If a conversation makes you uncomfortable, if the meet-and-greet gets awkward or chaotic, if a client tries to pressure you into something you’re not comfortable with at all, you have the right to stop the whole thing. Always remember that.”

“All right,” I answered much quieter now.

For some reason, hearing what she’d just said made me question if I was okay doing this. Was I putting myself in harm’s way? I thought by using an agency rather than going out on my own, I would be safer. But the bottom line was no matter who a girl went out on a date with, or how the date was set up, she was always putting herself at a measured amount of risk by meeting up with a stranger—or even someone they knew.

It’s not like I hadn’t thought of these things before, but hearing her verbalize them made me take pause. Immediately, I reminded myself about the situation with my scholarship and not having money for tuition next semester.

I don’t have much of a choice, do I?

“You still with me?” Solei asked.

After swallowing the lump in my throat, I answered, “Yes, I’m here. So what are the next steps?” I wanted to be enthusiastic without sounding desperate, and I felt like I was really toeing that line right now.

“Well, I would like to work on your introduction a little bit more, and then we will activate your account. You can expect a lot of messages in the first couple of days. We find that when we post new girls’ profiles, their inboxes get flooded. Remember also that it may take a few meet-and-greets to find a good match. We are all still humans, and we don’t mesh with everyone. That is perfectly normal.”

We spent a good amount of time fine-tuning my introduction. My mentor had years of experience and knew a lot of keywords and phrases to use that would, as she explained, attract the right guy.

God, I hoped she was right. The worst part about dating was those first few dates. At least in my experience. I was always so excited yet nervous at the same time and questioned my judgement afterward, wondering if I had blinkers on that made me just see the good things and ignore any early warning signs. Especially when a relationship didn’t work out, I’d look back and think, man, I saw that coming. Should’ve listened to my gut.

Solei’s advice seemed even more poignant. She said to trust my instincts, and I already knew it was something I didn’t have a lot of confidence in my ability to do.

Maybe telling Grace about this adventure was more a necessity than a comfort. I had been thinking it would be great to have someone I trusted to talk with throughout the process and share the experience with—now I was thinking it was more of a must for my own protection.

Ending the phone call with Solei, I went to find my roommate. I got to my door and paused. What if she tried to talk me out of it? Well, it was too late for that because my profile would be live in the next hour. I didn’t think she’d be judgmental about my decision, but what if she was? Would it cause a rift in our friendship? No more than straight-up lying to her about what I was up to.

Yeah, I needed to tell her.

Once again, she was curled up on the sofa watching TV. I sank down on it in the small space remaining next to her feet.

“Do you want more room?” she asked and started to sit up.

“No, stay where you are. I’m fine here.”

She stared at the screen, so I waited for a commercial before I started the conversation. I knew how seriously she took a lot of the shows she watched, so I tried to be respectful and not interrupt with my life crisis.

Finally, the show cut to a break, and I asked, “Hey, can we talk about something? Can you pause this? I don’t want you to miss anything, but I really need to talk to you.”

“Yeah, sure,” she said and sat up. “What’s going on? You sound so serious.”

“Nothing to worry about. I just want to talk about a decision I made. I’m thinking I’m really going to need some support while I do this, and you’re the only person I’d want that from.”

“That’s so sweet, but you’re freaking me out at the same time. Are you sick or something? No, wait…are you leaving school? Oh, Clemson, nooooo!” she wailed dramatically.

“No, no, that’s not it. I’m not leaving. In fact, I’m doing everything I can think of to stay. But that is what this is about. Please don’t freak when I ask this, okay?”

“Ooohhhkaaay,” she said cautiously. “You know”—she eyed me sideways with a smile—“no one likes conversations that start that way, right?”

I nodded. “I know. But I don’t know how to ease into this conversation gently.”

My roommate scooped my hands up in hers, nearly climbing on top of me to sit closer. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Have you heard of sugar dating?” I asked.

She just stared at me. For what seemed like many long minutes, she didn’t respond, just stared. Finally, she began to answer and then stopped herself. Went through that process again until she finally spoke.

“I have.” She looked at me with her head tilted to one side like she was trying to figure me out.

“I submitted an application to an agency, and my profile goes live tonight. It was the quickest way I could come up with the money I need. The quickest legal way, at least.”

My joke didn’t change the worried expression on her face.

“I can earn enough to live and go to school and not get my parents involved,” I said. “I’m only going to do it until I have enough for the semester. I figure I can come up with something to tell my folks about housing and see if they might give me money for that—if I need to.”

Again, she just sat and quietly observed me. I didn’t like the scrutiny. At all.

“Are you going to say anything?” I blurted after I couldn’t take the quiet anymore.

“Well, yes. I’m just trying to think of how to word everything I’m thinking. I mean, Clemson, that’s a pretty big bomb you just dropped.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I wanted to keep it to myself, but the more I thought about it, the more my anxiety was ramping up. If just thinking about the whole thing is making me that anxious, what is doing it going to be like?”

“Are you sure it’s something you can go through with? I mean, in all honesty, men are going to want to have sex with you. You realize that, right?”

“I know there is a possibility that it will come up, but I’m in control of everything. The agency I signed up with said they don’t promote transactional physical relations?—”

“Because that’s prostitution,” she said plainly. “But isn’t that what they have to say officially but it’s really a sort of wink-wink thing? Like everyone knows what’s really going on, right?”

“No, seriously. If I feel like a relationship is at a place where I want to have sex with the guy, then I can. But my mentor, Solei, said that no client should ever ask for sex, especially at first. If one does, I’m to report him immediately, and he will be let go from his contract with them.”

“I don’t know, Clem. Are you sure this is the only option you have? What about a real job?”

“Have you ever looked for a job? It’s ridiculous. I put so many résumés and applications out there, and the few I heard back from only offered minimum wage and part-time hours. I literally have no experience or marketable skills.”

“Don’t sell yourself so short,” she said, trying to be encouraging. And I loved her for that. The reality of the situation was just what it was, though.

“It was a real eye-opener. I’m wondering why I even want to finish college in the first place, though. What is going to change after graduation other than I’ll have a piece of paper that all the other graduates will have? Nothing will make me stand out in the crowd. I don’t see it being any different in a few years.”

“I hadn’t really thought that far ahead,” she admitted.

“None of us have,” I added. “We’re programmed from grade school on that this is the path to take to be successful. When’s the last time you spoke to someone who just graduated? What luck have they had landing an actual job?”

“If that’s true, and it makes total sense that it would be, how slim are the odds an available job would also be in your chosen field?” Grace piled on.

“Exactly! I think super low,” I said, continuing on this tangent.

“That’s good food for thought, for sure. Pretty depressing meal though, you know?”

“Trust me, I know. Like I said, job hunting this week was very eye-opening.”

“Okay, so why put yourself at risk doing this dating situation with strangers to earn money to continue something you’re not completely behind?”

It was a valid question.

“For now, I don’t know another option. And facing my parent’s wrath after telling them I’m giving up on school is not something I’m prepared for right now. If I end up making that decision, I need to be financially secure beforehand, because I’m pretty sure they would disown me.”

“Really? Over not wanting to finish college?” Grace asked skeptically.

“It’s a pretty big deal to my dad. He’s definitely in the camp that believes you need to have a degree to make anything of yourself.”

We sat quietly then, both lost in our own thoughts. I stared at the paused show on the television screen but wasn’t seeing the picture there. Lost in my head, I imagined what it would be like to go on my first meet-and-greet and couldn’t deny the excitement I felt in my stomach.

Finally, Grace checked back in. “When did you say this is starting? I lost the details amid the shock of the subject matter.”

“My profile will go live tonight sometime, and then I just read the incoming messages and look at the guys’ profiles. If I want to have a conversation with one, there is a specific chat client for that. From there we can set up a date when we feel ready.”

“Are you nervous?” she asked.

“A little, but it feels more like excitement. Some girls make thousands each month. Can you imagine? Just for going on dates and having conversations with lonely men?” I shook my head. When I said it out loud, it seemed too good to be true.

Grace must have felt the same. “Why don’t these guys just date the traditional way?”

“Some are too busy for all the trappings of a relationship. Some are shy. Some are?—”

“Some are married. What are you going to do then? Are you okay being a homewrecker?”

Shit. Putting it that way, it sounded really bad.

“Hmm… I hadn’t thought of it in those terms exactly. But it’s definitely something to consider. Again, I’m in complete control of who I date. If I find out a guy is married and I’m not comfortable with what he wants, then I say no.” I shrugged. That seemed to be the easiest way for me to digest all of this. I didn’t have to do anything I wasn’t comfortable doing.

But my roommate looked doubtful.

“So, that’s kind of what I was hoping by telling you,” I said. “Can you help me keep my head on straight throughout this experience? I really think I’m going to need someone to talk to. But if you’re not okay with it or are uncomfortable, it doesn’t have to be you,” I explained, sure to provide an out if she couldn’t be a part of this.

“No, I’m totally here for you, girl. Trust me. There are parts of this that sound exciting. I agree with you there. Just promise me you’re going to be careful. Like, overly careful. You’ll have to tell me where you are and who you’re with all the time just in case anything goes bad, okay?” She sat up tall and bounced a little on the sofa cushion.

“Yes! I like that idea. I can definitely do that. Solei suggested that too and said if I didn’t have a personal friend that could be my safety net, I could use her. So again, only if you’re sure.”

“I’m in,” Grace guaranteed, squeezing my hands in hers. “Now let’s watch the rest of this show while we wait for your profile to go up.”

I sank back into the sofa, and she lay back down where she was. This time, though, she stretched her legs out over my lap and covered us both with the throw she was using.

We watched TV for at least an hour, and once I relaxed, my body took over and demanded some rest after the long few weeks I’d had.