Chapter 1
T he Alaskan air is cold and uninviting, but I have to get some work tonight if I want money to eat tomorrow.
There was a time where walking the streets in Fairbanks wasn’t a necessity; hell, there was a time where all I had to do was look at a man a certain way to make his dick hard.
But because of the bullshit I’ve spent a year or two ramming up my veins I’ve lost my appeal.
I hate that I look no better than the junkie whore that’ll give a blow job for five dollars, and I hate that sometimes that’s the only price I can fetch for a full-on fuck.
Hopefully tonight I can get at least fifty
dollars. As my worn-down heels crunch along the cool pavement, I can feel my luck already changing.
There’s a man watching me from his car.
He has been for the past hour, and it’s why I’ve stayed on this particular block. I feel like a fucking fool walking back and forth, parading myself in front of the lone car on the street, but if he weren’t interested, he would have left by now.
Maybe he doesn’t mind that I’m not as pretty as I used to be. Maybe he doesn’t care that I don’t look like Honey Bee on the next block. Maybe he just wants to use me for the night, and I’m quite alright with that—as long as he’s got more than five dollars.
I decide to stop walking in the middle of the block and hike my skirt up enough to show off my thigh tattoo.
My knee-high boots always make my legs look longer when my skirt is higher up, but I really wear them to cover the tears in my fishnet stockings.
I proceed to rummage around in my small clutch for a cigarette, not that I have any, but perhaps he’s just waiting for an opportunity in which I’m not being so blatant about selling my cunt and then he’ll finally approach me.
If he doesn’t, I’ll just leave this block and go chat with Honey.
She likes me, so there’s always a good chance that if she hooks a John tonight, she’ll let me tag along and I’ll earn some money.
We’ve done that before, the two of us. She sets a price for her and charges an extra hundred bucks to “bring along a friend.” She gives me the hundred, tells me that I’m far too pretty to be on the street, and that I’ll go back to my “junkie ways if I don’t find a hobby soon. ”
She may be right, but I haven’t touched that shit in almost six months and I still can’t think of anything better to do with my time. I wonder if I’ll ever get myself off the streets before I wind up just another dead whore in a dark alleyway. Some days, even that doesn’t sound so bad.
The sound of a car door opening then closing makes me smile.
I guess he’s one of the shy ones that needs me to be distracted before he has the balls to approach me.
That’s just fine with me. The shy ones are usually nicer, and I can usually set a higher price because this isn’t something they do very often.
They just get lonely and need someone to talk to for the most part—that or a quick hand job and they’re on their way.
I keep my eyes inside of my almost empty clutch and wait to glance up until he stops right in front of me. I smile at him as seductively as I can in this biting cold weather, and I am honestly surprised when my fingers brush against a lone, half smoked cigarette at the bottom of my bag.
“Got a light?” I ask him, placing the stub between my teeth and giving him the once over.
He’s not bad looking. Big, black-framed glasses rest on a kind face, and he’s got that James Dean bad boy thing going on with his hair.
He’s dressed warmly and much more appropriately than I am for the night.
As I reach forward to run a hand down the interior of his black bomber jacket, he smiles slightly.
“Sorry. I don’t smoke,” he murmurs, running a hand back through his hair.
“I guess I don’t either then,” I say as I flick the stub into the street. I close my clutch quickly and pull my skirt back down. Now that I have his attention I don’t need to show him anymore than he’s willing to pay for.
His eyes wander down to my hand and he chuckles softly. “What’s your name?”
“Burgundy,” I reply.
“Because of your lipstick, right? No. I want your real name,” he responds, his tone changing slightly.
“I don’t tell my real name,” I reply, rolling my eyes.
“Then I guess I’ll move down the block,” he states with a nod, turning on his heel to head back to his car.
I bite my lip for a second as I watch Mr. Fancy Jacket stuff his hands into his pockets and walk away. If he can afford a coat like that, then he definitely has more than five dollars to burn.
“Wait!” I call out, quickly following him into the street.
He turns and raises an eyebrow. He’s reached his car by now, and he leans patiently against the hood while waiting for me to catch
up to him.
“Why?” I ask curiously.
“I just like to know who I’m dealing with,” he replies with a simple shrug. One of his hands reappears to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, before he again places it in his pocket.
I sigh and stick my clutch under my arm. I don’t like telling anyone my real name because that makes business too personal. Even Honey Bee doesn’t know it. I don’t know hers either, now that I think about it, but that’s because we both know where to draw the line on shit like this.
“What’s yours?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Lowell,” he replies with a bright smile spreading across his face. It figures—a nerdy name for a somewhat hot, nerdy guy.
“Cessi,” I concede quietly.
“Was that really so hard?” he asks as his smile transforms into a wide, sexy grin.
I shrug and glance into his car. It’s clean and neat, much like his appearance, and I bet it’s warmer in there than it is out here.
“What are you looking for tonight?” I ask, turning my attention back to his big, brown, soul catching eyes.
“Lowell,” he finishes.
“What?” I ask in confusion.
“’What are you looking for tonight, Lowell.’ It’s quite alright with me if you call me by my name and for now, I’ll call you ‘Burgundy’, until you feel it’s alright for me to address you otherwise,” he says warmly.
“Okay,” I reply indifferently. At this point, I could give two shits if he has money. He seems to be playing games and that’s making me rethink this entire thing.
“I want to know if you’re willing to stay with me tonight,” he finally says, his persona slipping back into the shy man that first approached me.
“Always,” I reply with a big grin. “Just tell me what you’re into and we can get this show on
the road, Lowell.”
He laughs and walks around the front of his car, to the passenger side, and opens the door.
I raise an eyebrow at him, and he motions for me to get inside.
It seems that Lowell is quite the gentleman too.
That’s not something I’m used to either.
I’ve been beat up, fucked, and tossed out of cars with no money, and robbed more than I’ve been paid.
It appears that my luck may actually be changing, for tonight at least.
“Thank you,” I say to him as I follow his trek around the front of his car and slip into the passenger seat. He nods and closes the door firmly behind me before he makes his way back toward the driver side and gets in.
I wait patiently while he fishes around in his pocket for the keys, slides them into the ignition, and turns the car on.
“It shouldn’t take too long to warm back up. I’ve had it on the entire time I was—,” he cuts himself off and laughs nervously.
Watching me, I finish in silence for him. Since he’s being nice to me, I don’t want to embarrass him or scare him off.
“Here. Put your hands in front of the vents. You’ll warm up faster that way,” he says as he nervously reaches for my wrists and holds them close to the lukewarm air that’s blowing softly into the car.
“Thanks.”
I rub my hands together in front of the vents and like he promised, the car is almost completely warmed up.
“No problem,” he says as he puts his hands on the steering wheel and gently begins to drum his fingers against it. “So, not to sound like a total jerk right now, but um, how much?”
“Depends on what you want. A blowjob is twenty and so is a hand job. Sex is a hundred and anal is an extra seventy-five,” I reply nervously. I’ve never charged that much for anything before, but I don’t think he’s done this before either. Maybe I should have told him higher prices.
Leaning back against his seat, he lets out a laugh. He’s still nervous but I’m all business now and if he wants me to ‘stay’ with him tonight, then he’s going to ante up and keep me off the streets for a few days.
“Tell you what,” he begins as he turns to face me. “I have a better offer for you.”
“This isn’t a negotiation,” I snap at him. “Either you have the money, or you don’t. Also, I’ll be needing to see it before we do anything, so pick your poison and let’s do it.”
He blinks in rapid succession, mouth hanging slightly open, as he holds his hands up. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t—wow. You must think that I’m a total asshole. I wasn’t going to try to talk you down, I was going to try to offer you more.”
“How much more?” I ask suspiciously.
“You know, for a second there, I thought you were going to bite my head off,” he says, pulling on the collar of his shirt.
“How much?” I repeat, ignoring his boyish clumsiness.
He sighs and leans back in his seat again, glancing out the driver’s side window. “How much do you think you’re really worth?”
“A lot more than anyone is willing to pay,” I grumble.
I find my mood starting to sour and realize that maybe I don’t need a night with a nice guy.
Maybe I need to be roughed up by a bastard that’ll at least throw a twenty at me for a full-on fuck and ride away with the rest of what I was promised.
It would be a hell of a lot less painful to my soul that way.
“Okay, well, allow me to make an offer. And if this isn’t what you were thinking, then by all means, feel free to counter me.
” He leans to the side and pulls his wallet out of his pants pocket.
Clearing his throat, Lowell opens the wallet wide enough for me to see the endless amount of bills inside, and licking the tip of his thumb, counts out ten bills and sets them on the dashboard.
“For every night you stay with me, I’ll pay you this same price,” he says, glancing at me.
I furrow my brow and lean forward to look at the money.
The one on top is a Ben Franklin, and as I reach forward to fan out the rest of the money, I can feel myself becoming light-headed.
They all are. He’s tossed one thousand fucking dollars onto the dashboard and he’s offering it to me just to fuck him for a few nights.
The survivalist in me is tempted to take the
money and run, but the bleeding heart in me knows that he’d be disappointed. And more than likely hurt at being robbed like I’ve been so many times, I take my hand off the money and lean back in my seat.
“One thousand dollars. For each night I spend with you?” I confirm quietly.
“Correct,” he replies. “And let me assure you that this isn’t a joke, Burgundy.
I’m sure you can tell by looking at me that I’m not used to being around beautiful women all the time—or ever really, so I’m willing to pay for the pleasure of your talents and company for as long as you can put up with me. ”
I turn my eyes toward the windshield and think of the possibilities.
With one thousand dollars, I can get off the streets for at least a month.
With two, I wouldn’t have to work again for even longer, unless I wanted to.
And with three, I could probably get a small studio apartment somewhere with a short lease and maybe some groceries to last me for a little bit.
“Deal.”