The Sex Surrogate(4)

Fact of the matter was, it was an expensive freaking city. And my job didn't pay that great. On my salary alone, I'd have to live in one of the shitty areas, worrying myself to ulcers about all the unseemly characters I shared a building with. So, unfortunately, my only other option was to find a roommate to live a better neighborhood.

So, I tolerated Jake. As I had already been doing for two and a half years.

“Hey,” he said, coming up behind me unexpectedly, putting his soggy cereal down on the counter next to me.

“What?” I snapped, staring out the window over the sink, bracing myself for the next unfeeling thing bound to come out of his mouth.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Surprised, I turned, brows drawing together. “What?”

“Why didn't you tell me that you have like... issues with that?”

“Why would I?”

“Aw, love, that hurts,” he said, putting a hand over his heart. “I thought we were pretty close. I buy you fucking tampons for god's sake.”

“It's not something I like to talk about,” I said, shrugging a shoulder. Though I had to admit, it was sort of nice that someone knew. Someone saw the whole picture.

It was getting beyond irritating to go to family dinners and be teased relentlessly about my always being single. About how much my mother wanted grand babies. My coworkers getting annoyed at me when they discuss their sexcapades and I never had anything to pitch in.

“Christ, I feel like a dick, Ava,” he said, backing up and leaning against the kitchen island. “How many times did I pick at you about needing to get laid? If I had known you have like... problems...”

“You still would have teased me,” I said, smiling slightly. He might have felt like a heel, but the fact of the matter was... that was just his personality. He was always saying shit that got him in trouble. Hitting on women in front of their men. Telling the meatheads at the gym that they must be compensating for something. He seemed to have an innate ability to know just what buttons to press... and then push the fuck out of them.

“Yeah, maybe,” he smiled, boyish, charming, “but I would have felt bad about it after.”

“You're a prince,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“So, how did it go?” he asked, putting his hands at the edge of the counter behind him, completely comfortable with his half-nakedness. He always had been. For which, I couldn't blame him. He looked like he was sculpted out of clay.

“Are we really going to talk about this?” I asked, shaking my head at the cereal bowl he was totally going to let sit there on the counter to fester.

“Only if you don't want me constantly pestering you about it.”

“Fine,” I said, turning to strain the milk down the drain and drop the globs of cereal into the garbage. “It was weird. Uncomfortable.”

“Well, I mean... you're going to be fucking the dude. So... yeah.” He stayed silent as I washed the bowl and spoon, placing them in the drying rack. “Was he halfway decent looking? Please don't tell me you're fucking a gross fat old guy.”

“He's probably the best looking guy I've ever seen,” I admitted.

“Hey,” Jake objected, eyes squinted at me.

“Aside from you,” I laughed.

“That's better,” he smiled, and I could see why so many women blindly followed him home. “So, he got your panties all wet, huh?”

“What? No!” I screeched, too loud, too fast. A blush crept up into my cheeks and Jake threw his head back and laughed.

“You're cute when you're all turned on by your new sex doctor.”

“Oh, my god. Shut up,” I said, brushing past him.

His arm swung out, grabbing my bicep and holding me in place until I looked at him. “I'm just playing,” he said, shrugging. “I'm glad you're getting help. And if you need to talk about the sex stuff, well,” he said, smiling his devilish smile again, “I am an expert too.”

I laughed. “Oh, yeah? What credentials do you have?”

“Baby, I graduated at the top of my class in Pussyology at Fucking U.”

I giggled, shaking my head. “You're such a tool.”

“For serious though,” he said, letting my arm go, “if you have any questions or want to talk about it... I know you don't have anyone else to talk to.”

“I don't need a sympathy ear,” I said, spine straightening.

“It's not sympathy. It's interest. Hell, maybe I should get a job working as a sexual surrogate...”

“It's good money,” I said, starting toward my room.

“How much money?” he asked, pushing my door open as I went to my closet.

“Three grand for ten, well, technically eleven, sessions.”

“You're paying this fucker three K to teach you how to have sex?”

“Not exactly,” I grumbled, reaching for a pair of huge, baggy sweatpants and a big t-shirt.

“Ava, I'll fuck ya for half that,” he laughed.

“That's charming,” I snorted, grabbing my towel off the back of my door.

“I have references,” he said, following me to the bathroom.

“I've met all your so-called references,” I laughed over my shoulder at him, putting my clothes on top of the closed hamper.

“Yeah, so you know,” he laughed. I went to push the door closed, but he grabbed it with his hand and held it open. “Seriously though, if you can't go through it with him, I am here if you need someone you know and trust to... experiment with.”

“Who says I trust you?” I smirked, cocking an eyebrow, trying to push the door shut.

“Ouch,” he said, still smiling. “Just... keep it in mind,” he said, suddenly letting go of the door and send me falling into it as it slammed closed.

Okay.

Weird day.

I stripped out of my clothes, running the water on hot, and stepping in. I had already showered, but sometimes I just needed the water to calm down, clear my head, get my thoughts in the right order, have imaginary conversations for hypothetical situations that will probably never take place. You know, normal stuff.

So, not only did I have stuff with Dr. Chase to think about, I have whatever the fuck just happened with Jake to consider to. I mean... what the hell was that? Never once had he ever even come close to insinuating he would sleep with me. If he had, he probably would have been out on his ass a long time ago. It was my name on the lease, after all.

But his offer was almost... sweet.

Jesus. Did I just say that anything, literally anything, related to Jake Summers was... sweet? This was the guy who once told me that the dress I chose to wear to my work's New Year's Eve party was going to inspire a thousand flaccid penises. The guy who once announced, to an apartment full of people I didn't even know, that I hadn't gotten laid in over a year... and asked if anyone was up for ending my “drought”.

He was a grade A fuckwad ninety-nine percent of the time.

So, seriously, why the sudden pep talk and sex offer? Just because it was a challenge? Because I wasn't, like he thought, just some uptight bitch. That I had actual issues. And, what? He wanted to try his hand at fixing them? Like the other four guys who had tried? Probably. That was very likely exactly why he was interested. Because I was an anomaly. Because I didn't make sense. Because he wanted to prove his manhood by trying to get me all hot and bothered.

Unfortunately for him, I couldn't think about him without thinking about the pile of clothes sitting right in front of the freaking hamper. Not in it. In front of it. Or the shakers full of dried protein powder smoothies from his workouts sitting on the counter. Or his steadfast refusal to take the full garbage bag out of the can and put a new one in.

I would be laying in bed with him silently seething about the water marks his beer left on my coffee table.

Like a freaking resentful, unappreciated wife.

And that wasn't sexy at all.

Now, Chase.

Chase was the poster boy for sexy. What had even led him into psychology in the first place? He could have made a fortune just posing for pictures. Or reading the phone book to women who would drool over every last number coming from between his lips.

I mean... he would have needed to go to college and then grad school. Totaling at least nine years in education. He must have had some strong interest in the psychological field, not just sex therapy. And then after graduating with such a lofty degree, and the potential to earn all kinds of money, why would he decide to become a sexual surrogate on the side? Had he, himself, suffered from some sort of sexual dysfunction at one time? Did he see a surrogate that helped him? How does someone come to work in such an odd field?

Nine years of education. Which meant he would have graduated, at earliest, around twenty-nine. He couldn't be much older than... thirty-five or thirty-six. He hadn't even been practicing for very long.

Unless...

Unless he became a sexual surrogate before he graduated. As a way to make money to get him through his schooling. And he just... continued it because he liked it. Or was good at it.

Which I hoped, for my sake.

From what I read online, there is no law stating a sexual surrogate needs to have any kind of license or certification. Dr. Hudson did. Along with his doctorate. Which made him the best possible choice for me. I had the highest likelihood of success with him.

It had to work. Because I was out of other options. And I couldn't pay to go through the program again.