24. Chapter 24
twenty-four
Boston
My alarm goes off later than usual because the gym doesn’t open till eight on weekends.
Doesn’t matter, though. I’ve been awake for hours.
In fact, I didn’t really sleep. I just lay there staring, tossing, thinking, turning. Until everything blurred. Her voice, her hands, the weight of my decision. All I want is to figure out how to feel like myself again.
The shame sits on my chest like a rhino. So does the money in my pocket.
I reach into my jeans and feel them—five crisp hundreds, folded neatly.
Enough to make a difference.
Enough to make me sick.
My brain’s on a damn loop.
It’s fine.
It was just one time.
It’s for Cassie and Bronx.
It’s nothing like what your mom did.
That last thought makes my heart stutter every time. She never told me outright that’s what she was doing, but it doesn’t exactly take a genius. The strange men coming and going. The look in her eyes when they were gone, like they had taken a part of her with them.
Nausea floods me.
This isn’t the same.
I’m not her.
This was an exception. Controlled. A means to an end.
I groan, dragging both hands down my face like I can wipe away what happened. Then I grab my duffel bag.
I’ve already decided I’m not staying here. Sleeping in my car might suck, but at least I don’t have to constantly worry about coming face-to-face with the woman who bought my body last night.
I’ll come up with something to tell Jake. I don’t want to impose. Your mom’s busy. Whatever.
What I’m not going to say is: I let her suck my dick. I let her fuck me in your dad’s bed. I took her money. All while you were asleep in the same house.
I pad down the hallway in my socks, trying not to wake anyone. I’ll just… slip out.
So much for not running away again. Sorry, Jake.
“Boston!” I hear Mrs. Davis’s voice from the kitchen.
Shit.
I turn. She’s already there, barefoot in that damn silk robe, a coffee mug in hand. Her hair is pulled back, face clean. She looks… refreshed. Like she had a fantastic night’s rest.
“Are you going somewhere?” Her voice is all sugar, but her eyes drop to my bag. I can tell she already knows the answer… and doesn’t like it.
“Heading to work,” I say.
She raises her eyebrows at me.
“It’s early.” She beckons me to join her in the kitchen. “Come on, at least take some coffee for the road.”
God, I really don’t want to linger, but I can’t just bolt. That would make this feel even worse than it already does.
She pours me a to-go cup without waiting for my answer. “How do you take it?”
I swallow.
She smirks. “Your coffee,” she says. “Milk? Sugar?”
I shake my head and shrug. “Uh, sure.”
She twists the lid onto the mug, then hands it over with a smile.
“Thanks,” I murmur.
I turn to go, but her hand on my biceps stops me.
“I enjoyed last night, Boston,” she says softly. “You’re really damn good.”
I don’t say anything. Wouldn’t even know what, to be honest.
Her eyes are pinned to mine. “I hope you’re not leaving because of what happened between us.”
“No,” I lie. “I just think—”
“I’d like to make you an offer,” she says, cutting me off.
My gut instantly tightens.
She steps in close again, her hand skimming over my chest in that slow, almost taunting way. “I have needs, Boston—needs my husband doesn’t meet. You know how much he travels.” Her fingers drift lower, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re an exceptional male specimen.”
I hold my breath.
“And I want more of you,” she adds breathily. “I want you to stay, Boston. I want you at my beck and call.”
She leans up, her lips only an inch from mine. “And in return”—she whispers, her breath hot against my mouth—“I’m going to pay you a thousand dollars a week.”
My heart stumbles in my chest.
Fuck. A thousand dollars? A week? That’s… everything.
But it’s also her. Her hands. Her mouth. Her body. Her bed.
And it’s wrong. Even if I’m doing this for a good reason.
Mrs. Davis strokes me lightly through my jeans. “What do you say, Boston? Last night wasn’t so bad, right?”
I don’t speak—just shake my head.
“Come on, then, baby. Let yourself enjoy it. You’re not a kid. And plenty of guys your age would kill to have sex with a woman who actually knows what she’s doing. The only difference is you get paid for it.”
I want to say no. I really do. But the math doesn’t lie.
Ten weeks. Maybe twelve. That’s all I’d need. Just long enough to buy Cassie and Bronx a chance at a life worth living.
I take a deep breath.
Then I nod. “Okay.”
Mrs. Davis smiles, triumphant. “I knew you were a smart boy.” She gives me one more squeeze, then steps back just enough to appraise me. “What time do you start work this morning?”
“Eight.”
Her grin turns suggestive. “Plenty of time, then.”
She doesn’t wait. Just takes my hand and leads me to her bedroom.
When the door shuts behind us, it clicks like a cell door.