Only You

Chapter 3

Elora

Nine days after my misstep at Marina's and I'm still convinced I could never take her up on the offer. Nine days of going out with my sisters and friends, always on the lookout for a male specimen that appeals to me to no avail. Nine days and I still haven't even opened the link my hairdresser sent. Because it's no option, really.

And yet, sitting alone on my bed in a house deadly silent with my parents out for dinner and my sisters out with our friends, I feel that curious itch beneath my skin once more. I should have gone out with the others as Serena begged me to. She's twenty-one so closest to me in age in our little group. She's also been taking great pleasure in my sudden interest in guys. If only she knew the reasons.

I stare at the last message Marina sent me, the blue, underlined letters mocking me, telling me I want to know too bad to never open it and that I should just get it over with.

Hell, I should have gone out with my sisters. They're probably at a bar or the lake like we often are, laughing and picnicking and complaining about the horrible music Rhea is playing. I'm sure I would have cracked a genuine smile or two, if only I weren't so damn tired.

I haven't been sleeping all that great. Whether it was memories keeping me up, or the idea of clicking on that stupid link and getting it just over with. The shadows beneath my eyes have become dark enough for my mother to comment on it at the breakfast table. That woman never points out anything less than perfect and pleasing so it must be bad.

I slap my laptop shut and straighten my back, willing my resolve to grow back and for some solution to drop into my lap. It doesn't. I look around my room in a fruitless attempt at finding a solution but the only thing my eyes catch on is the small, yellow porcelain bike. I turn away, cursing myself and everything that brought me here before opening my laptop back up.

Without giving myself time to overthink, I bring the tip of the small arrow on my screen to the middle of the link and click only to startle when the page instantly opens. Of course, today is the first time our horrible internet works as it should.

I'll take it as a sign.

I read the "Welcome" page. All of it. Even the annoying details no one ever spares a glance. I thoroughly read the policies. Then again. And a third time just for good measure. Also, perhaps I'm searching for something fishy that'll send me running.

No such luck. The website is infuriatingly pretty and the structure is orderly enough to please my control-freakish heart. Not to mention that they continuously mention that consent on both sides is key. It should be obvious but it still calms the frantic beat in my chest.

When there is no more thing to check or read, I take a long look at the "Employees" section, questioning myself when a nervous kind of anticipation makes my head heady. Why do I suddenly feel excited? Just because I like the website does not mean I should do this.

I click the button, heart pounding, but as the first picture of a man's face lights up on my screen, I slap my laptop shut again on instinct. I take a deep breath, looking around my room as if someone had just materialized to chastise me and try to calm my breathing.

God, what's wrong with me? It's not like I was watching porn or anything. Not that there's anything wrong with that either, it's just-

When have I become such a prude?

I'm twenty years old, soon to be married, and thinking about a naked man sounds like the scariest thing I can imagine. Oh god, not to mention being naked in front of one. I shake my head to myself and get off my bed, pacing the length of my room as a mix of nausea and shame twists my gut.

It takes a good ten minutes for me to get back on my bed and open my laptop with renewed resolve. I'm an adult and I've come to the conclusion that an escort might be my best solution. Besides, nothing is decided yet. I'll merely take a look at the candidates and if there is anyone that appeals to me, which I do not expect, I might think about my next step.

But really, my standards are high so I don't think I'll consider any man on this site worthy of the prices listed along with part of my dignity. I've seen the guys my sisters and friends hit on or settle for. They're not it.

Scrolling down the list of escorts, I'm quick to cross most of them out without checking out more than the pictures of their faces next to their names. Most of them seem too old and if there is one thing I know, it's that old guys are a no-go for me. The very few whose profiles I take a look at, their descriptions and pictures of their body- I try not to look at those since they make me uncomfortable- all seem to have something about them that makes them a no.

Helplessness claws at my throat, trying to bring those stupid tears back to my eyes without my understanding why. It's not like I wanted this to work out in the first place but this was supposed to be my safety net, my fail-safe, and now even that is out of question.

I keep scrolling, furiously blinking back tears until my eyes catch on to a certain photo in the blur of colors and faces. My fingers stop moving, digits hovering over the touchpad as I stare at the picture with my breath held. Part of me is calling me a creep for staring at his face but the rest of me can't seem to care because, dammit, he's beautiful.

Black, slightly curled hair framing his face orderly with one strand falling loosely on his forehead in a way that makes me want to brush it to the side, a symmetrical bone structure that the old statues of Greek gods would envy along with a sharp jaw. Most captivatingly, he has bright hazel eyes with an expression so fierce they seem to stare right out of the screen and through me, freezing me in place.

I blink, reminding myself that it is merely a picture and that I am still alone before clicking on his profile. Alexey Perez, 25 years old, Venezuelan. I read what else there is listed, from his hobbies- cooking- all the way to his star sign- Virgo. Somehow, reading all that about I person I don't know makes me feel like an intruder but again, I can't seem to stop. My curiosity is peaked.

So much so that I even dare take a look at his full-body picture. He's in boxers like all the others, standing in front of a white wall just like them, and yet his picture seems entirely different. He's smiling, grinning mischievously with a glint in his eyes that no one else seemed to have. He looks full of life.

My heart skips a beat, signaling me that I've ogled him enough, and I scroll away from the picture so I can think. Going over the facts, all that I seem to remember is that I'll be the one in control, I'll be safe, and there will be no expectations other than what we both know going in which means no messy feelings seeing as I'm engaged. I won't have to go through the whole talking stage to find out he's a jerk, and he's attractive. The last one is a very loud pro right about now.

I'm sure I had some valid cons at some point, though I can't currently remember any of those.

I bite my nails- something my mother would have a heart attack over- as I try to talk myself out of sending an application for this Alexey. But then I think I can merely arrange a date with him to go for dinner and if we don't click, we'll never go up to the hotel room I'd book.

I write an application and send it out without giving myself time to chicken out.

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