The money I made wasn’t amazing, but it was enough to live on and help my sister-in-law and nieces out when my brother took off on her. They were here in Detroit, so this was the only town where I turned down con jobs, because it was a town I had to return to somewhat regularly. You don’t shit where you eat.
It was also the only place I kept an apartment. While I was here, I always tried to book as many escort gigs as I could, because at least it was honest money, even if it was slightly weird sometimes. And it made my life a little less lonely. But I never broke the rules of the contract, because I couldn’t risk being reported to the company. I depended on this income. It was risky enough using a fake profile, but I couldn’t use the real one, of course, because a criminal record was not befitting of a Hottie.
To avoid attracting the attention of the IRS, I also did some occasional jobs for the carpentry business I’d started way back when, but most of the jobs were made up so I could launder the fraud money. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the work, and I’d been good at it, but you couldn’t build up a reputation or clientele when you moved around as much as I did.
I walked up Woodward toward the lot where I’d parked, shoving my hands in my pockets to keep them warm. It wasn’t usually this cold here in December, but it had to be less than twenty degrees right now, and a few solid inches of snow were already on the ground. I passed Union Street on my left, and it looked cozy and inviting inside. For a moment, I let myself think about what it would be like to take Claire on a real date someplace like that. To get to know her because I wanted to, not because I needed to. To feel like she wanted to be with me for me, not for who I was pretending to be. To share something real with her. To keep her warm on a night like this.
But that was ridiculous. Girls like Claire didn’t go for guys like me, and even if she did, I’d only fuck it up.
I knew who I was.
A screwup. An ex-con. A “security risk.”
It was better this way.
Six
Claire
* * *
After Theo left, I texted Jaime and Margot to see if they were at Union Street yet. Margot had come to town for a wedding dress fitting this afternoon and was staying to have dinner with us. I couldn’t wait to see her—it had been weeks.
Jaime replied that they were both there, so I zipped up my coat, tugged on my gloves, and hurried out the door into the blustery cold. I walked quickly, snow drifting down around me and crunching underneath my boots. Up ahead, I thought I saw Theo from behind and moved even faster. Sure enough, I recognized the black jacket, and I sped up to a near run so I could get a better look at his ass, nearly slipping on the snowy sidewalk.
It was worth it.
His jacket was just short enough in back to give me a nice view, and as an artist, I appreciated the fine lines of the human form. As a woman who hadn’t had sex in a couple years and who’d never had the kind of sex she read about in books (the Hallmark Channel was a bit of a letdown when it came to sex), I nearly groaned aloud at the thought of grabbing on to a solid, round ass like Theo’s. His entire body was so thick and muscular—he filled out that Henley like sand fills a punching bag. For a moment I imagined what it would be like to feel his weight on me. My stomach flipped.
As he passed Union Street, he slowed and looked inside, and I had the weirdest compulsion to run up and ask him to join us. But that was silly—it was Girls Night Out, and anyway, he wasn’t my type. Tall, dark, and handsome was fine, but Theo was the kind of guy who thought he knew everything, and furthermore, he was going to enlighten you on it, whether you asked him to or not. I liked his smile, but not his smirk.
Maybe I envied his devil-may-care approach to life a little, but it wasn’t for me. I wanted someone more traditional. Someone more settled, more grounded. Someone who wanted what I did—to fall in love, tie the knot, and put down roots. Lemonade on the porch swing in the summer. Snowman on the lawn during winter. Theo didn’t seem like a lemonade and snowman kind of guy.
But if my future husband had an ass like his, I would not complain.
Not one little bit.
* * *
“So?” As soon as the server brought our drinks, Jaime bounced in her seat. “I’m dying! Tell us how it went with Fred!”
Fred. It almost made me laugh. “It went…fine, I guess.”
“And you found him online?” Margot’s high forehead was creased with worry. “Are we sure this is safe?”
“I think it is.” I shrugged. “I mean, the website appears legit, and he has good reviews.”
“Good reviews, that’s hilarious,” Jaime said, picking up her martini glass. “You can review men just like a book or a movie.” She took a little sip. “But there’s no sex, right?”
“Right.” I giggled. “There’s a Platonic Promise in the contract that says there will be no sexual contact whatsoever.”
“Is he hot?” Margot asked.
“He is, actually,” I answered, crossing my legs, “although he looks nothing like the profile picture he used. It’s not even him. And his name isn’t Fred.”
They both stared at me.
“Claire, this sounds weird,” Margot said. “Did he tell you his real name?”
“Yes, it’s Theo.”
“Theo what?”
I tilted my head. “You know what? He didn’t give me a last name.”
My friends glanced at each other. “What does he look like?” Jaime asked.