4. Is This Really Legit? #2
She rolls her eyes. “That’s not what I meant. Does your stepfather even need it? Or is he just—” Her voice goes low and fierce. “Is he just faking it because he wants your body?”
I flinch, a whole-body jolt. “Jesus, Kayleigh.”
She doesn’t let up. “You’re gorgeous, you know that, right? Like, if I was a forty-something man, and I lived with you, and my wife left? I would be thinking about it. All the time.”
I shake my head, but my face is burning again, and I can’t meet her eyes. “Kent’s not like that. He’s a physician. He knows this stuff. If he says it’s a thing, then it is.”
Kayleigh scoffs, the sound sharp as a chip in glass. “Doctors can be creeps too. Especially the smart ones. They think nobody can catch them because they know all the big words.”
I want to say something smart, something that will shut this down, but all I can think of is Kent’s face when he asked me for help, the way he didn’t look away, not even for a second. “He’s not a creep,” I mutter. “He’s just a man in pain. Literally.”
There’s a silence, thick and heavy. Kayleigh rubs the back of her hand across her nose, sniffing. “And you’re sure you want to do this?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. The air is warm and humid, smelling of cinnamon.
“Kent took care of us, Kayleigh. My mom was a single mom for a long time, and she’d work those overnight shifts at the rehab center when I was little, which were real tough.
Kent gave us breathing room, footed the bills, and let us move into his mansion.
He’s never asked for anything in return and in fact, pays my tuition even now. This is nothing compared to that.”
She chews her lip, not convinced. “Still. It’s weird.”
I nod, because it is.
She softens a little, reaching out to touch my arm. “What if you get, you know—emotionally attached?”
I laugh, the sound brittle. “No, no, that’s unlikely.”
She shrugs. “You’d be surprised. Intimacy is intimacy. Or maybe you just feel like you have to repay him, and it turns into something else.”
The image flashes behind my eyes: Kent on the massage table, shirt unbuttoned, his eyes heavy-lidded and blue as the night sky, calling my name. I want to say it’s impossible, but the word jams up in my throat.
Kayleigh lets out a breath, watching me close. “Does your mom know about this arrangement?”
My mouth goes dry. “Jeannine’s the one who asked me to help.”
Kayleigh’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wait—your mom actually said, ‘Go massage your stepdad’s—’”
“Not like that,” I cut in, voice sharp. “She just said he needed help. She didn’t know the details, or if she did, she didn’t say anything.”
A shiver goes through me. Maybe my mom knew all along. Maybe she orchestrated it. My stomach lurches at the thought.
Kayleigh leans against the wall, crossing her arms. “You know, you don’t owe them everything. You’re allowed to say no.”
I shake my head. “It’s not like that. I want to help. Kent’s in pain, Kayleigh. And besides, it’s medical. Clinical. There’s nothing…” I trail off, because the word I want is ‘sexual,’ but I can’t make myself say it.
She studies me, her eyes narrowed. “You say it’s clinical, but you’re blushing.”
I force a laugh. “It’s warm in here.”
We sit there, not talking, while a couple of kids run past on the sidewalk, shrieking with laughter.
Kayleigh looks out the window, her reflection half-merged with the racks of secondhand jackets.
“So what does your stepdad think about all of this?” she asks, barely louder than a whisper. “Is he the mastermind?”
The words hang in the air, sharp and pointed.
I picture him as he was last night, the way he said my name, the way his hand lingered on my shoulder. I want to say he’s grateful. That he’s desperate for relief. That he trusts me, and only me.
But what comes out is softer, and less certain.
“I think he needs me,” I say. “And that’s enough.”
Kayleigh doesn’t argue. She just nods, slow and thoughtful, as we absorb the weight of my words.
We sit in silence for a bit, letting the sounds of the cafe surround us. Kayleigh gets a scone and picks all the sugar crystals off before eating the pastry, savoring it one bite at a time.
After a minute she finds her smile again. “Do you remember the virginity bet from last year?”
I groan, but it’s a fond groan because what happened was unreal.
Me, Kayleigh, Stella and Andie went in on a contest to see who would lose their virginity first. The prize was a thousand dollars, and our friend Andie won by hooking up with Stella’s dad.
Even crazier, Andie’s now engaged to the older man, and she moved out of our off-campus apartment to be with him.
It was shocking when we found out who’d taken her virginity, but then again, I’ve seen Mr. Moreland, and that man is jaw-droopingly gorgeous.
“Andie won. She slept with Stella’s dad, remember?
I always knew he had his eye on her. You could feel it, but yeah. Stella’s dad, OMG.”
Kayleigh nods, solemn. “But now you’re in a tangle with an older man too.”
I nod.
“I know. But my thing isn’t anything sexual,” I say quickly. “It’s just medical, I swear it.”
“Of course,” Kayleigh says mysteriously, and pops a sugar crystal into her mouth.
We’re both quiet for a minute, watching the college boys at the next table try to out-macho each other with stories about absinthe. I feel normal, almost, like none of the last hour happened.
Kayleigh leans in, dropping her voice. “So… are you still in the running?”
I laugh, really laugh. “You mean, for the virginity bet? But Andie won?”
Kayleigh shrugs.
“Yeah, but it doesn’t mean the contest’s over. So are you?”
I giggle a little. “Unfortunately, yes. I’m still a proud member of the V Squad.”
My pretty friend tilts her head, her tone shifting. “Does that bother you? Like, you ever just want to get it over with? Say to some guy, take my virginity and be done with it?”
I roll a melting ice cube between my hands. “Sometimes. But most of the time, I’m just… not ready? Or maybe I want it to matter. Or maybe I’m just scared.”
She shrugs. “No shame in that. I’m still a member too, if that makes you feel better.”
I look up, surprised. “You? Didn’t you date that guy with the skateboard tattoos?”
She snorts. “He was a poseur. Also, never made it past second base. Total coward.”
We both snicker, and then she gets quiet, looking at the wall. “If I had to pick, though… I’d want my first to be with my stepbrother.”
I almost choke on the ice. “Wait, the one who’s, like, thirty-six?”
Kayleigh grins, looking mischievous. “Yeah. And he’s hot, okay? He came to Thanksgiving in a turtleneck and I almost had a religious experience. Plus, he’s, like, loaded. Drives a Lamborghini. I know it’s wrong, but…”
I can’t stop laughing. “You want your first time to be in a Lamborghini?”
She winks. “Is there a better place?”
The mental image floors me. “I feel like you’d be the first girl to make a Lamborghini seem trashy.”
She bows. “Thank you.”
A pause, then: “So who would you pick? If you could pick anyone?”
I think of Kent, shirtless in the kitchen making pancakes, blue eyes still sleepy and soft. Of the way he hugged me last winter break, his hand warm on the back of my head, the quiet power in his arms. The memory of Thanksgiving, the electricity of that touch.
I deflect with a grin. “The hot barista from earlier. If he can pull shots, he can probably pull other things.”
Kayleigh throws a sugar packet at me, missing by a mile. “You’re such a liar,” she says, laughing.
We both dissolve for a minute, the old rhythm coming back, the world outside the window getting darker and colder but not touching us here.
When the laughter ebbs, Kayleigh gets serious again. “You’re really going to do it tonight, aren’t you? The massage?”
I nod, feeling the blood in my cheeks, but this time there’s no uncertainty. “Yeah. I am.”
She tilts her head. “You sure?”
I meet her eyes, and it’s like everything else drops away. “I’m sure,” I say, and I mean it.
There’s a long silence, but it’s not awkward. It feels like a breath held between two heartbeats.
Eventually we pull on our coats, brace ourselves against the wind, and step outside. The cold hits me like a slap, but I barely feel it. My head is buzzing, my hands steady. For the first time in days, I feel like I know exactly what I’m about to do.
As we say goodbye, Kayleigh gives me a tight, hard hug. “Text me if you need anything, okay?”
“I will,” I promise, and this time I know I will.
I watch her walk away, hood up, boots crunching the grit on the sidewalk, and then I turn for home, the air sharp in my lungs.
The lights from the streetlamps catch in the ice along the curb, turning every puddle gold.
My phone buzzes—a calendar reminder: 8:30 pm, “Appointment.” I slide it back into my pocket and keep walking, my breath fogging in the dark.
Tonight, I cross a line, and for once, I’m not looking back.