His Personal Call Girl - Volume 4: Book 4 of "His Personal Call Girl"

Veronica Sloan

His Personal Call Girl Livre 4 · Boruma Publishing

À propos de cet e-book

ÿIn the conclusion to this tawdry tale of personal prostitution, Catherine is divided between Bobby, the man she thought she loved, and Tom, the enigmatic client that may truly need her. After having her way with both of them, Catherine separates herself from these men, seeking emotional (and physical) comfort in the arms of her best friend Allison. Who will she ultimately end up with, if anyone?

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

Without Tom's bi-weekly visitations to look forward to the days ground on. I didn't stop hitting the gym, but I never saw him there. Allison's acting dreams weren't panning out like she'd hoped and so we became gym bunnies again, getting smoothies afterward, talking about guys, work, and other parts of the daily grind. I didn't tell her about Bobby, or Tom. I tried not to think about it.

I'd saved up enough from our contract to make a down payment on an apartment. If I kept the secretary job I could scrimp by. It wouldn't be a comfortable existence but the few grand would act as a nice buffer while I continued my job search. If that was really what I wanted to do.

I hated to admit it, but without Tom's bi-weekly visitations I lost a little bit of color in my world. In the beginning, I was afraid of him and afraid of what I was doing to myself. Towards the middle, I saw it as a job, as an enjoyable job, but a kind of employment (not a career or a calling, certainly) nonetheless. By the end... I'll be honest, I missed him. I missed his kisses, and I missed his loud, stupid motorcycle. I didn't miss the mystery, because I realized I'd wanted to know more a long time ago.

The orgasms were rough to lose, too.

I tried not to concentrate on that, tried to keep myself in reality. I was at home, it was nearly March, and I was staring at several browser windows of job applications and graduate school websites and trying to figure out if it was weird that Tom had just disappeared from my life. I could call him whenever I wanted, but I didn't know if he'd pick up. I didn't know where he lived. I couldn't find him online. He was like some tricky phantom who'd blown in with the season and blown away, sad and strange. But Tom was more than a ghost. He'd been flesh and blood, hard, never mean, rough and gentle.

It bothered me that I missed him, because I didn't know if I missed him because I missed him, if I missed him because it was over with Bobby, if I really missed Bobby, or if my life was just directionless and I was looking for anything halfway decent to prop me up. It was an uncomfortable position to be in.