Forever by Allyson Young Page B

his experiences, and he wondered which approach was better, or if people just did what worked for them. He made a noncommittal sound.
    “Then group care , which was really juvie, because of a youthful mistake. Mistakes. I tended to accept dares and the judge frowned on several counts of public mischief. I got out and was on the street at sixteen. Don’t know how I stayed clean, away from drugs. Booze never really appealed. Until I discovered margaritas.”
    The look she slanted his way had his cock stirring. He’d make sure to have the ingredients for her favorite tipple available from time to time. Drunk sex with Amy promised to be a lot of fun.
    “It wasn’t a stellar life, but fortunately, I was a late bloomer and really lucky no one bothered the gangly, skinny kid. I panhandled, worked as a waitress, lucked out with a government sponsored computer course for the homeless, such a joke, but I took advantage and excelled. Problem is you can’t find that kind of job without money to start with. You have to have a place to live and the right clothes to be interviewed.
    “Then I woke up one day and discovered my best asset. I had bloomed, so to speak, and was starting to attract unwelcome attention. So I walked into a casino, took my clothes off and got a job as a show girl. Once I got comfortable with wearing something on my head and nothing on my ass or boobs I was good with it.”
    She laughed again, this time for real, tilting her head to the side, eyes looking up and to the left, clearly remembering those experiences. He’d never thought about it, never considered how it might be for a woman to present herself to the public like that. Mostly to men.
    “They had a spa on tap for waxing, lasering, all that kind of stuff, and every girl wants to learn makeup. It was fine, because I discovered I’m a girly girl. I strutted with the rest. It wasn’t until I got older that management gave me the option of going to the parties. The guy who hired me knew my age. Nineteen isn’t exactly a big number in Vegas. He took a chance but wasn’t going to risk the law, so he waited. I might get away with it as a show girl at the actual performances, but not the parties. He was a good guy.”
    Dean doubted she met many good guys. He was just relieved for her sake she hadn’t prostituted herself, that her issues with quick hookups were a result of poor personal choices. Although that might not say much about him, he thought wryly. They were indeed a fucked up pair. “But not like a call girl.”
    “Nope. You could hang out, have a good time, sometimes the guys would leave you money. I won’t say I didn’t sleep with some of them, but nobody had any expectations, or if they did I wasn’t pushed. But show girls who can’t sing and dance, who just strut, get replaced by fresher stock.”
    It was an altogether depressing comment on the vagaries of men and societal expectations. Dean dreaded what was coming next, but he needed to know. And he was going to have to share something , too. He wasn’t certain which was worse.
    “I became an escort. I didn’t have much else to fall back on, although I kept up my computer skills. Again, my choice if I slept with the client. They weren’t actually looking for that, if you can believe it. They needed camouflage or distraction from what they were up to. It was me looking.” The painful chuckle belied the composed way she now talked about her past. She was getting close to the difficult stuff. Her face had lost some color and he could feel her beginning to tense.
    “They wanted somebody on their arm to pull the eye while they worked the tables or did their deals in the rooms. I went out on countless calls for a few years. I made lots of bad choices in men when I wasn’t working, some who used me for sex, lived off me, smacked me around when their lives weren’t going well. Those I lost in a hurry. Not much different than the way I was treated in foster care. But I took the