sweet.”
“Dude, who are you? What about the untamed stallion that doesn’t do relationships. One of the most sought-out escorts in the nation. You have princesses and queens, attorney generals and esteemed judges all bidding to buy an hour of your time. Talk about a one-eighty change. You’re pussy-whipped.” He laughs. “Now I’ve seen it all.”
“Shut the fuck up, man.” I retrieve a bottle of water for myself and close the fridge door with a bang. He speaks the truth.
Another round of laughter roars through his chest and his head tilts back, greatly amused.
Fuck me. I’ll never live this down. Should have kept my mouth closed.
“You want the premises to yourself and your enchanted pussy, tonight, yes?” he says with a snort. He strolls toward his room. “Thank fuck I’m immune to the likes of it.”
I CLEAN THE KITCHEN while thinking back on when Zach’s path crossed mine.
I had just arrived in Vegas. Penniless and homeless, I wandered through the streets, sleeping in dark alleys and eating what grocery stores and restaurants discarded in dumpsters. It’s amazing how one can survive on that alone. I tried to get a job, but no one would take a chance on an underage teen. Not to mention, I couldn’t use my real name. It was mission impossible.
In order to survive I had to be creative. Besides eating from the trash, I did the only other alternative I could think of: steal.
After carefully choosing my victims, it would be like the movies. A bump, the sweep of a wallet, and voila, all the cash I needed was mine.
My first attempts were successful. A teenage girl. Easy-peasy. Except she only had eight dollars in her purse.
Next, I decided that middle-aged tourists would be more profitable. Which they were. The first sucker was leaving a casino. All smiles, bragging about hitting the coin machines. I followed his intoxicated ass and swiftly snapped his fat wallet from his back pocket. Bingo. A wad of three hundred dollars—crispy and green bills—glinted at me.
Though I recognized the danger of being caught, I got cocky. I changed my demographic yet again. That’s when I spotted Zach—tall, handsome, preppy, and apparently high as a kite. He was leaving the Caesars Palace Hotel. I followed him through the strip until he turned into an alley. When I turned the corner, he was bent over, puking. My chance to slip his wallet. Except as I reached his back pocket, he swirled, and a hand gripped my wrist. Before I realized what had happened his forearm pressed against my throat, and his body caged me against the wall.
“What the fuck do you want?” he asked, panting against my face.
“I, nothing. . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence. My throat throbbed under the pressure that blocked my airway.
He released the pressure and asked again, “Why have you been following me? Who do you work for?”
I gasped for air. “No one. Fuck.”
“You’re just a fucking kid,” he said as he studied my face. “I’m going to let go of you, but don’t try to jump me,” he said in a small but menacing voice.
He released me and stepped back.
With my hands on my knees, I coughed and gasped for air, trying to soothe my burning lungs.
“What the fuck, man? I could beat the crap out of you, or call the cops. Neither scenario would be good for you,” he yelled.
I caught my breath and stood tall, doing my best to restore my dignity. I had to fly before the dick head changed his mind and did one of the two things.
He studied me for a moment, taking in my raggedy shoes, dirty pants, oily hair, and hoodie that had seen better days. “What do you want, money? Here, take it.” He snatched two twenties from his wallet and waved them at me. When I refused to take the cash, he shoved it into the front pocket of my jacket.
“Not worth going to jail for a few bucks, man,” he said shaking his head. “What’s your name?”
“I don’t have one,” I responded.
“Everyone has a
“Dude, who are you? What about the untamed stallion that doesn’t do relationships. One of the most sought-out escorts in the nation. You have princesses and queens, attorney generals and esteemed judges all bidding to buy an hour of your time. Talk about a one-eighty change. You’re pussy-whipped.” He laughs. “Now I’ve seen it all.”
“Shut the fuck up, man.” I retrieve a bottle of water for myself and close the fridge door with a bang. He speaks the truth.
Another round of laughter roars through his chest and his head tilts back, greatly amused.
Fuck me. I’ll never live this down. Should have kept my mouth closed.
“You want the premises to yourself and your enchanted pussy, tonight, yes?” he says with a snort. He strolls toward his room. “Thank fuck I’m immune to the likes of it.”
I CLEAN THE KITCHEN while thinking back on when Zach’s path crossed mine.
I had just arrived in Vegas. Penniless and homeless, I wandered through the streets, sleeping in dark alleys and eating what grocery stores and restaurants discarded in dumpsters. It’s amazing how one can survive on that alone. I tried to get a job, but no one would take a chance on an underage teen. Not to mention, I couldn’t use my real name. It was mission impossible.
In order to survive I had to be creative. Besides eating from the trash, I did the only other alternative I could think of: steal.
After carefully choosing my victims, it would be like the movies. A bump, the sweep of a wallet, and voila, all the cash I needed was mine.
My first attempts were successful. A teenage girl. Easy-peasy. Except she only had eight dollars in her purse.
Next, I decided that middle-aged tourists would be more profitable. Which they were. The first sucker was leaving a casino. All smiles, bragging about hitting the coin machines. I followed his intoxicated ass and swiftly snapped his fat wallet from his back pocket. Bingo. A wad of three hundred dollars—crispy and green bills—glinted at me.
Though I recognized the danger of being caught, I got cocky. I changed my demographic yet again. That’s when I spotted Zach—tall, handsome, preppy, and apparently high as a kite. He was leaving the Caesars Palace Hotel. I followed him through the strip until he turned into an alley. When I turned the corner, he was bent over, puking. My chance to slip his wallet. Except as I reached his back pocket, he swirled, and a hand gripped my wrist. Before I realized what had happened his forearm pressed against my throat, and his body caged me against the wall.
“What the fuck do you want?” he asked, panting against my face.
“I, nothing. . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence. My throat throbbed under the pressure that blocked my airway.
He released the pressure and asked again, “Why have you been following me? Who do you work for?”
I gasped for air. “No one. Fuck.”
“You’re just a fucking kid,” he said as he studied my face. “I’m going to let go of you, but don’t try to jump me,” he said in a small but menacing voice.
He released me and stepped back.
With my hands on my knees, I coughed and gasped for air, trying to soothe my burning lungs.
“What the fuck, man? I could beat the crap out of you, or call the cops. Neither scenario would be good for you,” he yelled.
I caught my breath and stood tall, doing my best to restore my dignity. I had to fly before the dick head changed his mind and did one of the two things.
He studied me for a moment, taking in my raggedy shoes, dirty pants, oily hair, and hoodie that had seen better days. “What do you want, money? Here, take it.” He snatched two twenties from his wallet and waved them at me. When I refused to take the cash, he shoved it into the front pocket of my jacket.
“Not worth going to jail for a few bucks, man,” he said shaking his head. “What’s your name?”
“I don’t have one,” I responded.
“Everyone has a
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