Mrs. Robinson (Mrs. Robinson #1) Read online

  But lately I’d started to get a little restless. I didn’t know how much longer I could sit on the sidelines of life, reading about the world instead of living in it. I was kind of over getting told to swoon every time some unrealistically wealthy alpha dude told his clueless virginal girlfriend to drop her panties, went to town on her for an hour, and then flew her off into the sunset in his helicopter in some perfect little happily ever after. News flash: real life didn’t come with happy endings. There were jagged edges; flaws in the system; all kinds of unsavory details to deal with. I mean, in the last book I read, the female character had eight orgasms in one night. Eight! Who even orgasms during sex at all? The endless parade of billionaires, affairs, bondage, drama, unrealistic orgasms – at the end of the day my romance novels were kind of bullshit, and they did nothing to help my unhappy little life. Every book was the same, and I was starting to feel like it was time to shake things up. Where was the climax of my story? Were Richard and I built to break? Would things somehow pick up, and the magic would return? Or would I stay in the shades of grey forever?

  I grabbed my iPad Mini from my bag to distract myself, as I had appetizers on the way and didn’t want to waste a perfectly good eighteen-dollar salad just because I’d been ditched. I pulled up my browser, which was set to some political news blog I’d been reading earlier, when suddenly a certain story caught my eye:

  CONTROVERSIAL NEW APP BEING CALLED MAIL ORDER SERVICE FOR YOUNG MALE PROSTITUTES, the headline read.

  What?

  I tried to close out the window, but something stopped me. Telling myself I only wanted to rubberneck at these crazy women using this strange app, I opened the story.

  NEW “COMPANIONSHIP” APP IS ALL THE RAGE – BUT ARE CLIENTS PAYING FOR MORE THAN JUST FRIENDSHIP?

  The intrigue only grew as I scanned the article. Apparently there was a hot new app called Hookd that sad sacks were using to pay young hot dudes to sleep with them, and it was stirring up all kinds of drama. But because of a loophole in the wording of the app, it wasn’t even illegal – not yet, at least. I even laughed a little at the last paragraph:

  …Congresswoman Gloria Schein’s office had no comment on recent reports naming her as one of the controversial new app’s clients, but when confronted outside the Forum on Upholding Family Values that Schein hosted on Capitol Hill this morning, the notoriously conservative Republican did instruct reporters to “keep their grubby little hands out of her love life”…

  Suddenly my pulse sped up. My hands slickened with sweat. A legal service that could deliver one of the beautiful boys I read about in my novels – the idea certainly had its appeal. Was this app my ticket to living again?

  Wait – no. This is crazy.

  I told myself I was being ridiculous and X’d out the story. That was the last thing I needed right now, especially considering all Richard’s other scandals he had running. Figuring I’d lose myself in a novel like usual, I chose a book from the bestseller lists, a debut from a young male author that seemed chock full of sexy, cheesy drama, and then pulled up my Kindle app and tried to focus…but unfortunately, the book hit a little too close to home. “When you’re in love,” the book began, “the whole world feels like New York City.” I frowned, thinking of how my gauzy, sparkling dream life had burned down into this horrid little American nightmare – was this really it for me?

  I tried to stop myself and focus on my book, but soon I was powerless against the lusty tide sweeping over me. As I sipped my wine, another side of my brain – the reckless, foolish, long-silenced part of it that had persuaded me to get a tiny tattoo on my ankle when I was nineteen and try marijuana at my first party with Richard, leaving me in a coughing fit for the rest of the night – looped back to the app. I reminded myself that I didn’t have to leave in order to throw water on the hot coals inside me that begged for revenge on Richard with every breath. In fact, I could serve his medicine right back at him, except with someone even younger and hotter. Someone more, say, professional than an intern or a secretary – what about a through-and-through “professional,” perhaps? If Richard could play Hide the Cock with every bimbo on Capitol Hill who was still too young to legally rent a car, then why couldn’t I do the same just because I was a woman? And didn’t I deserve a little affection, too, even if I was paying for it? Was it really too much to ask to be with someone who looked at me, instead of through me, or past me? Was it really too selfish to want someone to make me feel like I did when I was seventeen and free and thought the whole world was New York City?

  Cursing myself, I Googled the stupid app and pulled up its website. My eyes fell across a few phrases as I tried to convince myself to stop reading…

  Companionship provided at a cost…

  Models come pre-screened and tested for disease, and are chosen for their looks, physiques, and skills at providing companionship…

  …utmost privacy, safety and discretion guaranteed…

  Honestly, it didn’t sound half-bad, I decided as I finished reading and leaned back in my chair. Thanks to the spicy romances I cycled through faster than joggers burned through water bottles, I had oodles of new positions and scenarios I wanted to try out in bed – not that Richard gave a damn, anyway. Trying to get him to make love to me was usually as futile as trying to lead a cat into a bath. Just for shits and giggles, I glanced through the app’s roster of guys…and then felt something below my stomach clench with desire. They were gorgeous model-types, every one of them, and just looking at their photos made me feel all sweaty and nervous. And truthfully, this wasn’t the first time I’d thought about younger men. My sex drive certainly hadn’t decreased with age – actually, it felt like the opposite was happening – and sometimes I fantasized about finding someone who could keep up with my newfound energy. I can’t say I didn’t take the long route to Whole Foods sometimes just to pass the campus of Georgetown and take a glance or two at the students on the sidewalk, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t stopped to admire their strapping shoulders and muscled forearms. Occasionally I’d even imagined one of them bursting through my door, tossing aside their backpack, and treating me like they treated one of those slutty cheerleaders they usually hooked up with…

  Oh, God. The reaction that flooded through me reminded me I was being totally crazy, once again. I mean, paying a random twenty-something guy for sex? That was more preposterous than some crackpot plot out of one of my novels. I needed to leave this stuff to my characters and stay in the real world. What was I even thinking?

  A few minutes into my book, my phone lit up with my husband’s name and photo, making a strange and pathetic relief flood through me. Even if I hated Richard, those dark eyes and that greying hair and that scar on his cleft chin from that bar fight in the ‘80s were still wonderfully familiar to me, and in some sick sense he made me feel like I was still the same person I was before we’d fallen into this mess; like the girl who lived instead of the walking dead. Forgetting that he didn’t have one, I decided maybe Richard had had a change of heart and picked up the phone with a smile, hating myself for that smile all the while.

  Come on, Richard, I thought to myself. Come on. Prove me wrong. Just this one time, you gorgeous little fucker.

  “Richard!” I answered, disgusting myself with my eagerness. “Hey! You’re coming to Le Brasserie after all? I’m so glad, I wasn’t expecting you so-”

  Richard spoke gruffly to someone in the background, cutting me off. His voice was small and far-off, like headlights across a median on a darkened highway.

  “That’s right, Sam,” he grunted, completely unaware that his own wife was listening. “You’re Daddy’s little slut. My crazy bitch wife can’t do that, not at all. Ugh, you’re so good with that mouth. Oh yes, you little whore, suck those balls, then let me fuck that ass on the desk…”

  I gasped and felt the phone drop from my hand and fall to the floor again. My wineglass clattered over and spilled its contents onto my gown, the liquid splattering down the sno
wy-white tulle like blood.

  Richard had butt-dialed me while having sex with my best friend.

  3

  Ben Bradley

  A few hours after rushing Claire to the emergency room I snatched a beer from my refrigerator and slammed it shut, my dwindling condiments clink-clinking as they rattled together inside the door. I’d spent the afternoon and evening flipping through the same four hospital magazines and staring endlessly at the same rusty water fountain waiting for news on Claire’s latest injury, and shocker of the century, it wasn’t good. Apparently she’d been left alone too long and had wandered out of bed and into the kitchen, where she’d fallen from her chair and hit her head on the tile. She was stable and conscious now, but she had a light concussion, and because of her other issues she was in the hospital for at least five days for observation. Poor Claire. Just thinking about all the issues she had to deal with on a daily basis made a hot, angry tear squeeze out of the corner of my eye and tumble down my cheek. It just wasn’t fair. Oh, and best of all, the fight of my life had started twenty minutes ago – across town – and I wasn’t there. I’d missed out on my only shot to make some money and save us, and now we were fucked in a million different ways – and that wasn’t even considering the added costs of this newest hospital stay. Paddle, creek, etcetera. We were done.

  I reached into my pocket for my phone and felt that my cock was semi-hard, just as it always was when I fell into a bad mood, for some strange reason. Now that I was finally home, I couldn’t wait to step into a hot shower, masturbate ‘til kingdom come, and then collapse on my bed and forget that this day had ever happened. I got so lost in anticipation for my solo shower session, in fact, that when I walked to the front door to turn off the porch light, I almost didn’t notice the gleaming black SUV sitting on the curb in front of my house, waiting for me.

  I walked onto the porch as the window lowered.

  “I’d recognize that cocky swagger anywhere,” the raven-haired woman in the car called. “Mr. Bradley, is it?”

  For a moment I just stared at the SUV.

  “Hey, aren’t you the lady from the other night?” I finally asked as the woman’s face came into focus in the darkness. “How’d you find me here? And…how’d you know my name?”

  She smirked, making me even more confused. What was this lady doing here? I hooked up with one or two women per month, sure, and they usually got clingy after a hookup, but none of them had ever actually tracked me down like this. My surroundings faded away as I pictured our night together. A drink delivered to me from across the bar had turned into a few minutes of evasive glances and flirty stares with the drink’s sender, which became half an hour of small talk once she finally introduced herself, which finally resulted in my tongue being in her pussy for two hours back at her place…

  “All that can be answered later, but right now, I understand you’re in a bit of trouble,” the woman said. “If you want a solution to all of your problems, get in.”

  “…What?” I asked after a short pause. “But…but how did you know about my…”

  “About your eviction notice, and your piling bills, and your critically ill sister? If you want to know how I know all of these things, get in. By the way, my name is Carol Bancroft, and thank you for the other night.”

  I stared at her for a moment and then turned to leave. “You know what, I don’t have time for this, lady. I had fun with you, but I don’t know why you’re here, and you’re clearly stalking me, so if you’re smart, you’ll-”

  “Five thousand,” she said from behind me. “Five thousand dollars if you say yes to my proposal. And that’s just the first installment.”

  I stopped short. Five thousand dollars. With that amount of money I could stop the eviction, pay some of my bills, and get a lead on hiring a lawyer to start sorting out Claire’s legal mess. We’d be saved – or at least we’d be on the way to salvation. But what was the catch?

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, turning back around. “What do I have to do?”

  “Just get in – I’ll explain everything over some champagne. And even if you decline, you’ll still get a free ride in a limo and some bubbly out of the deal – who could deny that?”

  “What? But I-”

  “If you want to save your house and your sister, get in,” she repeated, and then her lips pulled into a smirk. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite – too hard, as you probably remember.”

  I bit my lip and considered her offer as I tried not to blush. What did I have to lose? Clearly not my house, I thought darkly, if things kept going the way they were. Why not take a ride and listen to this strange woman’s proposal?

  I took a breath, swallowed my dwindling pride, swung my front door closed, and started for the car.

  “First things first,” Carol said a minute later, after she’d handed me a flute of champagne and told the driver to head toward Washington. She wore pointy black heels with red bottoms, black leather pants, and a black-and-white printed top, and her spicy perfume smelled vaguely like money. As I stared at her scarlet lipstick and tried not to remember how it’d looked smeared all over the tip of my dick the other night, I was briefly reminded of Cruella de Vil from 101 Dalmatians, which I’d watched with my sister a few weeks before. “I have a confession to make. The other night, I wasn’t just looking for a good time. I was head hunting.”

  “You were?”

  “Yes. And you passed the test with flying colors,” she said. “I want to recruit you, Ben. Have you ever heard of an app called Hookd?”

  “Uh, yeah, I think I’ve seen a few blog articles about it. Aren’t you some kind of matchmaking service or something?”

  “Something like that,” she said, her eyes sparkling like the glass she was holding.

  “What’s funny?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Like any business, we simply saw a demand, and then we provided the supply to fill that demand. And that demand is for you.”

  “Me?”

  “You,” she repeated as she settled into her seat. “You see, Washington is full of powerful men, Mr. Bradley. Everyone knows that. And everyone also knows that those men love hookers like dogs love porches on hot days. But what we’re interested in is the other side of things.”

  I leaned back. “Go on.”

  “The world is changing, Ben,” she said after giving me an appraising look. “This city is full of strong, independent, upwardly mobile women who spend so much time building their careers, they don’t have the energy to come home at night and think about searching for a partner. That’s where we come in. In short, Hookd is a totally legal app that provides companionship to women who are willing and able to pay for it.”

  “…You’re paying me to be friends with random ladies?” I asked after a moment.

  “For someone with such ferocious fighting skills, you’re really quite naïve,” she laughed. “It’s kind of cute, actually – it’s a very boyish quality. But no, friendship is only part of the package Hookd provides. These women usually want to see more…primitive desires pleased.”

  As her words sank into me, I looked around the SUV, and for some reason, I laughed.

  “What is it?”

  “Oh, it’s just that…hell no,” I said. “Hell fucking no. I am not going to become some male prostitute for you. Good God, what is even going on right now?”

  “This is hardly prostitution, Mr. Bradley,” she scoffed. “We are simply a matchmaking app that hooks up wealthy women with the young men they want to entertain. So what if money is involved? It’s like getting paid to have hot sex with sensual older women, which is something you’d maybe even be doing anyway on your own, if you’re like many other college students I know.”

  “Yes, which is exactly prostitution,” I pointed out. “God, this is crazy of you to even ask me. Please take me home.”

  She leaned closer. “Tell me, Ben – is it true that you’re ten days away from being put out on the street? And that if you don�
�t figure out a plan soon, your sister is being sent to a home for invalids?”

  “My sister is going to be fine,” I spat. “She has me. And how the hell do you know all this? Have you been stalking me?”

  “Mr. Bradley, I would kindly request that you get over yourself. I have many resources at my beck and call, including perfectly legal private investigators. We do this to all prospective employees. And fine – if you don’t want to save yourself by getting paid to have hot sex, then suit yourself. I can drop you off and find five more willing boys within the hour. But keep in mind that our most popular boy just got a Porsche sedan and an apartment on the river in Georgetown,” she smirked.