Sometimes pulling back the curtain can give you a wealth of information. I learned what Brittney, my supposed girlfriend, was doing behind my back. The little bottom feeder thought she could swim with the sharks without getting bitten. Wrong. She didn’t realize I could swallow her whole, without a lick of effort.
“Do you like skydiving?” Tracie-Tammy-Mindy continues, earning an A for effort. “I’ve always wanted to try it.”
Jasmine Rocha caught my attention for all the wrong reasons. She’s absorbed in her studies, doesn’t have any significant steps into the real world. She’s without a job and all but broke. A perfect candidate for a long weekend of pure, unadulterated sex with no strings attached. She could get lost in the moment, without a need to go anywhere, and I’d be more than willing to pay her for her time, and, in this case, for her body. Then we could go our separate ways. No unwanted drama.
Unfortunately, one look also told me it wouldn’t happen. At least it wouldn’t happen easily. Seeing absolutely no sign of a guy in her life, I’d bet my 1976 Wozniak-built Apple-1 computer, signed by the great Woz himself, Jasmine is a virgin.
I shouldn’t know her situation, but what can I say, I bent the rules I preached to the students in my cyber security course. I thrive in the process and all the doors a good hack can open. It’s how I found the virgin auction to begin with.
I glance at my watch again. Midnight. The day is over. So much for that. I toss back the Scotch, trying to drown my disappointment. Then the phone buzzes in my hand. I freeze, my gaze glued to the screen. Gardener. The contact name I used for Nina. I smash the button with one hand and slam the glass down with the other. “One second,” I say into the phone, then reach into my pocket, dropping a couple of bills on the bar.
“Oh,” the woman says, flustered. “Where are you going?”
“To my suite.” I catch the bartender’s eye, leaving him a generous tip.
“Would you want some company?” the woman asks, sounding hopeful.
“No.” I swing around and bring the phone to my ear.
“Excuse me?” Nina asks.
“The comment wasn’t for you,” I say, exiting the bar at a brisk pace.
“I see.”
A mix of anticipation and annoyance clogs my throat as I head to the elevators. “What happened?”
“She just called,” Nina says calmly. “I arranged for a car to pick her up.”
A wave of unexpected relief washes over me. “So, we’re set for tomorrow?”
“Almost.”
I press the button, and the elevator doors open immediately. I step in, riding alone as I call up the payment app. I type in the account number I’ve memorized along with the buy in total then go through the two-factor identification. The wheel spins, taking a lifetime to stop before I have final approval. “I made the deposit.”
“Excellent. Stay by a computer in the late afternoon. You’ll be contacted with a link. The auction will be online this time, with the winner receiving the prize shortly after the transactions are completed.”
“I’ll be ready.”
“Then you’re set,” Nina says in closing. “Oh and, Mr. Reynolds, if you’re going to spend the better part of an hour with a woman speaking to you, you should know her name. It’s Susan.”
Nina ends the call, and I’m left staring at my reflection in the mirrored walls surrounding me. “I’ll be damned.”
4
Jasmine
A phone rings in the distance, pulling me from sleep. I open my eyes to a wide cream-colored ceiling, without the remnants of some alcoholic drink sprayed across the corner on Heidi’s side of the room. I switch to the wall and the painting of a woman in formal wear displaying a turquoise earring as she glances over her bare shoulder. Where am I? Disoriented, I search my memory. This room is bigger than the dorm I share with Heidi
The phone rings again, and I remember. The car service picked me up in the middle of the night. It wasn’t an Uber driver, but a man in a suit who took my bag and opened the door to a Lincoln Navigator. We drove thirty or forty minutes to the heart of the city while I chewed on my thumbnail. I was ready to call it off and try to figure out something else when we arrived at the hotel. Nina stepped out of the front entrance just as we pulled up. Despite the hour, she looked as fresh and beautiful as she did in my dorm room.
My tummy flips as I relive the moment I stepped into the hotel with my canvas bag, backpack, and well-worn T-shirt and jeans. I’m so glad I changed into jeans before I left. As it was, I felt like a hobo being brought in from the rain. And that was before I saw how much even the smallest room in this luxury hotel costs per night.
The phone rings again. Should I answer? Who would be calling? Nobody knows I’m here but Nina. “Oh!” Coming fully awake, I scramble to stretch across the bed and grab the phone. “Hello?” I fumble with my glasses as I answer.
“Good morning, Jasmine.” Nina’s voice carries the same comforting tone it had yesterday.
“Good morning.” Glasses in place, I glance at the clock and push myself to a sitting position, dropping the covers into my lap. “Oh my goodness. I’m sorry it’s so late. I showered when I came in then couldn’t get to sleep.”
After finding the hotel online, I figured out I’m in one of the suites, which means they’re spending more for my stay than what my financial aid covers for an entire semester’s tuition at the university. I couldn’t get into the pristine Egyptian cotton linens without bathing. Not when Heidi’s comment about wearing yesterday’s clothes was still ringing in my head.
“That’s fine Jasmine,” Nina says in an understanding tone. “I wanted to make sure you were up, and I hoped you’d had breakfast already. I have staff coming to give you a spa treatment.”
A spa treatment? I curl my toes, trying to handle the sudden bout of insecurity. What could she have set up? Never having a spa treatment, I have no idea what to expect. Will I end up wearing the fluffy robe in the bathroom with some kind of mud covering my face and my hair up in curlers? LOL. I don’t know if that actually happens other than in the movies.
“I’ll have some food brought up for you as well. Don’t take too long with the meal. You should have someone arriving shortly.”
A knock at the door calls my attention. “I think they’re here now.” I throw off the covers and shimmy off the edge of the mattress, which, according to the website, sleeps four. Why that would be listed in the description, with an actual head count, is beyond me.
“Excellent. I’ll be over as soon as I order your breakfast.” The line goes dead.
After fumbling with my shorts, I manage to pull them up and tie them at my waist. Then I rush to smooth out the covers. I tossed and turned, knowing what I signed up for. Still, the doctor who came in to confirm my virginity was a surprise.
The person at the door knocks again. I rush around the bed, pulling the scrunchie out of my hair and reworking my ponytail as I power walk. My stomach flips again as I open the door.
A thin blonde woman, who reminds me of a news anchor, smiles at me. “I’m Millicent,” she says in a businesslike manner. “I’ll be doing your hair.”