“Do you like it?”
“Pro boner work? I mean bono. Pro bono work?”
“Legal work in general.”
Carla didn’t have to consider the question very long. “Love it. I’m good at it. It’s challenging. Every day is different.” She tossed a confident smile back his way.
“Can you talk about your cases?”
“Depends. If the case is concluded, and I don’t give you any specific information, sure.”
“Do you have a favorite case?” He raised one brow, something Carla had only seen in the movies.
Maybe he was right. Maybe there was a bit of actor in him. “You’re going to find it boring,” she said.
“How do you know?”
“Because most people do.”
“Maybe I’m not most people.”
She took in those blue eyes, that handsome face, that scorching hot body. “You’re definitely not most people. But that doesn’t mean you’re going to be enchanted by talk of corporate lawsuits.”
“Are you trying to enchant me, Carla?”
“What?” A jitter seated right under her rib cage. “Of course not.”
“Well, you do. Enchant me. I like you. And I really would like to hear about your favorite case.”
Carla smiled. Most men, scratch that, most
people
didn’t want to hear the details of her work. Janet sure didn’t. But Jake seemed sincere. “I like justice.”
“Like sticking up for the little guy?”
“Like making sure the law is followed.”
“So why not be a prosecuting attorney?”
“I considered it.”
“Not enough money in it?”
“No, money wasn’t the reason. Don’t get me wrong, I like the money I make in corporate litigation. But the thing that bothered me most was how blurred the lines can become in criminal cases. Too many gray areas. Too many unintended victims. What I do is clear cut in comparison. If I make my case better than the other guy, I win.”
“You have more control.”
Carla had never thought about it that way. “Yeah, I guess that’s it.”
He took a long swallow of his beer, and Carla followed suit.
Maybe she’d been a little hasty, classifying him as a typical young tomcat. The more she got to know him, the more she doubted there was anything typical about him.
And the less she noticed how young he was.
“Hey, I almost forgot,” she said, snapping her fingers. “I owe you a hundred dollars.”
“Forget it.”
“No. I may peek into windows on rare occasions, but I don’t welch.” Her purse was on the kitchen counter, and she took out her wallet and found a hundred dollar bill. She held it out for him.
“We can still do double or nothing,” Jake said, eyes glinting.
“You said you don’t get involved with neighbors.”
His smile faded a little. “You’re right. We can be friends, but we probably should keep the nudity to a minimum.”
He took the bill from her, and for a moment his fingers touched hers. It was like an electric spark. Carla quickly pulled away.
“Well, this has been, um, interesting,” she said. “But I have to get some work done before I turn in.”
“Thanks for the beer.”
“No problem.”
Jake stood up, pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, and stuck the hundred inside.
“See you around, neighbor,” he said.
“See you around.”
He took his beer and left. Carla blew out a big breath, feeling like she’d dodged a bullet.
My new neighbor is a prostitute, and a pervy one at that. It was a good thing. Carla knew she’d been crushing on him, but now that she knew his profession, he was much less of a temptation. Especially since, according to his own rules, he never did anything with his neighbors.
She walked back to the kitchen and saw something on the floor where Jake had been sitting. A business card.
It must have fallen out when he took out his wallet. Carla held it up for several seconds before she could focus her mind enough to read
Jake D.O.P
, followed by a phone number.
Carla went to throw it away, but instead found herself tucking it into her purse.
The next day, Carla met Janet at one of their favorite little Italian places. She usually didn’t have enough time at noon to splurge this way, but today her schedule fell just right. And besides, she had a lot to tell her friend. She sprung the news as they were waiting for their Pollo Artoccio, sliding Jake’s card across the table and simply saying, “My new neighbor.”
Janet picked up the card. “Jake, D.O.P? What is that? Director of photography? I knew it! He’s in porn!”
“No, don’t be ridicu—” Carla caught herself, not sure if Janet’s guess was closer to being ridiculous or the truth.
“What is it then? Date of purchase?”
Carla gave Janet a grimace.
“Domain of pain?”
“What?”
“Sorry. It’s some sort of online gaming thing. The guy last night couldn’t shut up about it. He was more into swearing at griefers than he was into me. Gamer nerds. Never again. Plus he smelled like Doritos. I mean, you know how guys have a scent? His was nacho cheese Doritos. His spunk even tasted like Doritos. I wanted to dunk his dick in ranch dip.”
After her day yesterday, Carla wasn’t about to let her friend one-up her in the kinky story department.
“It stands for dungeon of pleasure.”
Janet sat up straight and let out a squawk. “You are fucking me with a summer squash.”
“Is that a thing?”
“It really stands for dungeon of pleasure?”
“Yes. He works as an escort.”
Janet slapped her thigh and cackled. “Well oil my labia like a catcher’s mitt, he’s a goddamn gigolo.”
Carla cringed at the volume at which Janet said the word. “That sounds so… seventies or something. He’s an escort.”
“Gigolo… escort… both mean the same thing. Cock for sale. Does he like guys or girls?”
“Girls… er, older women, actually. But he doesn’t have sex with his clients.”
“Bullshitburgers.”
She should have known Janet wouldn’t get it. Come to think of it, Carla wasn’t sure she got it either. “That’s what he told me.”
“Does he have a dick?”
“Most definitely.”
“So if he doesn’t fuck them, what does he do in this dungeon of pleasure?”
Carla could feel her face heat a little remembering what she’d seen through Jake’s bedroom window. She reached for the roll basket, tore off a bit of baguette.
“Oh, come on, Carla. Don’t leave me hanging here. How many times have I told you about my manmeat diet? Remember I told you about that guy who wanted me to shove grapes up his ass and drink the butt wine?”
“I remember.”
“Or the one who wanted to fuck me while holding a picture of his mother over my face?”
“I’m pretty sure you made that up.”
“God’s truth. And she looked like a dude. Mommy dearest was a dead ringer for Pancho Villa, right down to the mustache.”
Carla began to choke and almost spit out her roll. “You’re terrible.”
“I’m honest. Now spill. You have
got
to give me details.”
“He… does what the women want.”
“And what do they want?”
“I guess it depends on the woman.”
“Give me an example.”
Carla described what she’d seen as briefly as possible. The handcuffs, the chains, the giant dildo. By the time she finished, her heart was beating faster, and she really considered ordering a glass of wine.
Janet was practically licking her lips. “I’m so wet right now I think I’m stuck to my chair like a plunger.”
“Janet!”
“That is so hot.”
“You think so?”
“It beats the shit out of butt wine. Which, incidentally, is what butt wine tastes like. With hair in it.”
“You don’t think it’s kind of… weird?”
“Why is it weird? All guys have butt hair.”
“Weird that my next door neighbor is an escort specializing in bondage.”
“What’s wrong with weird? You need to give him a call. You could use a little kink.”
Kink? Me?
Carla glanced in the direction of the kitchen, hoping the waitress would bring their chicken before Janet said something even more outrageous. “Not my thing.”
“Oh, come on. You don’t even know what your thing is. This might be a good way to find out. He left you his card, right?”
“It fell out of his pocket. It was an accident.”
“My bleached asshole it was an accident.”
“You bleached your asshole?”
“Don’t change the subject. He left his card there for you to find.”
“It was on the floor.”
“Left in plain sight. Could it be more obvious?”
“He has a rule about not having neighbors as clients.”
“Right. And I don’t velvet teabag on the first date.”
“Do I want to know what a velvet teabag is?
“When a guy shoves his balls in your box.”
“You’re making that up. Do you just sit around and think up this stuff? Other people read, or watch TV, while you’re curled up with a notepad, jotting down the most perverted things possible?”
“The velvet teabag is real, and kinda hot, and you’re changing the subject. Man whore gave you his card. He wants you to partake of his services.”
Did he?
“He does not. He was just being friendly.”
“He was soliciting business. And why wouldn’t he? I bet you’re hotter than any of the old crones he’s got on his jock. You can’t tell me you don’t want your hot escort neighbor to tie you up and eat you out until you scream.”
“Two orders of Pollo Artoccio,” the waitress said, setting the plates in front of them.
“Would you want that?” Janet asked the waitress.
“Hell, yes,” she answered. “My boyfriend couldn’t find my clitoris with Google Maps and a GPS.”
“Preach it, sister.” Janet held up her hand, and the waitress gave her a high five.
“Can I bring you ladies anything else?”
“Two coffees, please,” Carla said.
“You like it black?” the black waitress asked, picking up a pot from her tray and flipping the cups on the table upright.
“Black is perfect,” Carla said.
“Damn right.”
“One more thing,” Janet said. “Can you bring my friend a backbone so she calls the guy?”
“Call him,” the waitress told Carla. “We’ve been the playthings of men for too long. Time we turned the tables, took some of that sweet ass for ourselves. I paid for it once. Bachelorette party. Stripper dressed in one of those cowboy outfits, looked like the Marlboro Man. Girl, he ate downtown for so long and hard he licked the hair right off of me. Best twenty dollars I ever spent. Now can I get you anything else?”
“Cowboy stripper’s number,” Janet said.
“I never got it. Just mounted him and discounted him.”
“You go, girl.”
Another high five, then the waitress walked off.
“You don’t think it’s weird we just had a frank talk about paying for sex with our waitress?” Carla asked.
“Naw. Happens to me wherever I go. This morning, at Starbucks, the barista and I were swapping blowjob tips. Case in point, in the past I’ve been ignoring the taint. Barista said to massage it. Give it a little pinch and tickle. Sounds like smart advice.”
“Did you really bleach your asshole?”
“Don’t do it. Hurts worse than the Hershey squirts after eating jalapenos. And I didn’t notice that much of a color change when I checked with the hand mirror.”
Carla frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen my own anus.”
“Don’t bother. It looks like a gorilla winking at you.”
They ate, chatting about this and that and mostly the guy Janet had conquered the night before, but the whole time, Carla could sense that Janet was just waiting to swing the conversation back to Jake’s dungeon of pleasure.
Janet pushed her plate away. “I need tiramisu like Bambi needs a mother. You?”
Carla stared down at her plate. “The chicken was enough calories for me.”
“Watching your figure, huh? Want to look fuckable for a certain stud next door?”
“Janet…”
“Order tiramisu and more coffee. We’re celebrating.”
“What are we celebrating?”
“I’ll tell you when I get back from the restroom.” Janet swished away from the table, giving the eye to a cute waiter she passed.
Carla looked down at her plate. She had to admit, she’d liked having a good story to tell Janet for a change. Something that had even shocked her, at least a little. But the teasing tone in Janet’s voice as she left the dining room made Carla feel uneasy. Carla was not as wild as Janet, and she had no desire to be. She worried her friend was going to bring back some waiter or bartender and try to set her up. Maybe Carla should just order the dessert, pay the check, and leave so she could make a quick exit when Janet returned.
She waved a hand for their waitress.
The woman didn’t see her.
“Excuse me,” Carla said in her best lawyer tone.
The waitress zoomed to the table as if pulled by a string. “Did you call your hot escort neighbor yet?”
“What? No.”
She leaned in. “You scared? Embarrassed?”
“Neither.”
“He left his card for a reason. Trust me. I work in the service industry. The stud is interested.”
“I don’t pay for sex.”
Their server laughed. “Girl, we
all
pay for sex, one way or another. Whether it’s pretending to be interested in his stupid stories, or dressing like a ho because he likes it, or putting up with all the farting. If you’re paying anyway, you might as well get something out of it. My boyfriend likes it when I twerk.”
“Twerk?”
“You know. Twerk.”
The waitress bent over and began to shake her butt like it was on fire and she was trying to fan out the flames.
“I do this for him and the little pervert throws Ritz crackers at me, trying to get them to stick in the crack. And you’re telling me we’re not paying for sex?”
“I’d prefer not to discuss this anymore.”
She stopped twerking and held up the coffee pot. “Warm up?”
“Please.”
“Would you care for dessert?”
“Hell yeah, we need dessert!” Janet boomed, striding back to the table, hips swinging. “We’re celebrating.”
The waitress took their dessert order, and Carla snuck her credit card onto the woman’s tray when Janet wasn’t looking.