Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
“Why the fuck did you let me do this?” I screech, shoving the contract in Lily’s face. My hangover is gone, righteous anger having beaten it into submission.
Lily squints and grabs the paper, tucking her legs under her and leaning forward to read it. She scratches the side of her nose and gasps. “Holy shit! A hundred grand?” Her eyes bug and swing to mine. “Did I sign one too?”
I roll my eyes. “No, slut. You’re not eligible.”
“Oh, yeah.”
The Pleasure Academy has been around for fifteen years. It started as a hedonistic retreat for singles and swingers and morphed into a multimillion-dollar business where subscribers enjoyed online access to inhabitants from novice to master. Two years ago, they upped their game, adding a new twist. One hundred grand in exchange for a year at the academy. And the price? Your virginity.
“I’m not going.”
“The hell you aren’t!” Lily says, tossing the contract on the floor and tugging me onto the couch beside her. “Do you know what this will mean for you? You could open Pages and Pastries!”
I frown. Pages and Pastries is my dream—a bookshop and bakery—two of my favorite things. It’s the perfect venture. I have a head for marketing, a heart for books, and a figure for cakes and cookies. A year and a half of community college and a bunch of online business courses kept my dream afloat until six months ago, when reality drove headlong into my fantasies, bulldozing them with things like rent, food, and minimum wage. I lost my job as manager of the local Big Box store after telling a customer there wasn’t enough toilet paper in the warehouse to wipe up the shit spewing out of his mouth when he’d called me Plus Size Barbie and asked where the nearest buffet was when I refused to refund a half-eaten cake. I ended up taking a job at a gas station to make ends meet.
“Come on, Eden. It’s only a year.” Lily grabs my hand. “One year, and then you can say fuck you to everyone and be your own boss.”
Biting my lip, I stare at the yellow paper on the floor. In a way, it’s a Wonka Golden Ticket. Only instead of a lifetime supply of chocolate, I’d win a lifetime supply of books and baked goods. Lily pokes my shoulder repeatedly, cajoling me with the possibilities of all that money. I feel my will falter.
What was one year and my virginity? I’d been meaning to lose it anyway. I just hadn’t found the right moment or the right guy. The idea of getting naked in front of someone makes me sweat. Never mind my thick thighs, padded tummy, and the faint stretch marks on my boobs. That’s me, and people can take it or leave it. If a man doesn’t like it, he can give himself a five-finger massage for all I cared. No, it isn’t the nakedness. It’s the act itself.
The farthest I’ve ever gone was with Tommy Hooper in my senior year in high school. He slipped his hand in my underwear and came in his pants. I tried not to giggle, I swear. Well, I made a half-hearted effort. But the look on his face was like something out of a cartoon. By the time I’d stopped snorting with laughter, the damage was done, and he vowed I’d never get another guy who’d stomach the belly rolls to touch my snatch. Was socking him in the groin the best reaction? Probably not. But I have no regrets.
After that, I made out a few times, but school and work took their toll, and dating lost its luster. Besides, I have a little magic wand in the top drawer of my bedside table that takes care of business quite nicely. Add in some spicy alien romance books, and I’m all set.
But I digress.
Lily studies me, then hops up when the coffee maker beeps. Her arms shoot out like a goalie in a hockey game, and she stands momentarily, clamping her lips as her face turns green. Shaking off the nausea, she slowly continues to the kitchen. Pouring the dark liquid into the mugs, she adds large helpings of creamer as I watch from the sofa.
Is it coffee I love or creamer? I wonder, holding out my hand as Lily passes me a mug. Taking a sip, I decide it’s creamer.
“Don’t back out.” Lily blows lightly into the steaming cup. “You’ll regret it if you do.”
I make a face and sip my coffee. Why should I be bound by a contract I signed when I was hammered? And, for that matter, what kind of scumbag hangs out at a bar looking for people drunk off their asses to sign away a year of their lives?
Wait. Did we stay at the bar all night?
Setting my mug on a side table, I look at my roommate. “Did we go somewhere besides the bar?”
Lily frowns. “Hell if I know. I can’t even remember how we got home.”
Sinking into the cushions, I sift through snatches of memories doused in liquor. They’re blurry things, nonsensical for the most part, but in the miasma of my hungover brain, I see myself climbing into an Uber with Lily.
Layered over the images is Lily’s voice. This is going to be epic! Losing your V-Card… The rest of what she says is a garbled mess of slurred consonants and vowels. The only other thing I can make out from the memory is me yelling, Damn right!
Fuck.
F. Scott Fitzgerald wasn’t kidding. First, you take a drink, and then the drink takes you. Why and how I came up with the ludicrous idea that losing my virginity on a hedonistic island was a wise decision is beyond me. I’d blame the Jolly Ranchers I’d obviously downed by the pint, but booze isn’t a puppet master.
I drop my head into my hands. Drunk or not, this is my doing. The contract isn’t binding, though. Committing yourself for a stint of time to the Pleasure Academy is voluntary. In fact, signing the contract isn’t even a guarantee. I’d seen enough documentaries on the island to know that thousands apply, and only a fraction are selected. The chances of being chosen are slim.
Relief swamps my body, quickly followed by regret as the realization that Pages and Pastries would remain a dream sinks in. I look at Lily, who is massaging her temples in slow circles.
“They’ll never choose me, you know.”
She cracks an eye open and drops her hands into her lap. “Sure they will.”
I shake my head. “You’ve seen the types they pick. I believe anorexic and exhibitionist are two of the required traits.”
“Wrong.” Lily grabs a throw blanket and tucks it around her legs and middle. “You stopped watching like last year. It’s a whole new game now. Viewers are totally into the off-beat, curvy type.” She wiggles her eyebrows up and down like a lecherous villain. “You’re a perfect fit.”