I sat in the truck, breathing rapidly: in through my nose, out through my mouth. In and out, over and over. I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white then let go. Luke. Luke was my customer...
But wait. Luke Hemmings could be anyone, technically. There could be plenty of men in this city with the name Luke. And who knows, maybe Logan got lazy and wrote "Luke" and not "Lucas" or something. I pulled the truck back into traffic and drove steadily to the hotel. Once there, my doubts had returned though.
What if it wasn't an adult Luke, but my Luke Hemmings? I am too scared to think about that possibility.
I pull out the phone Logan gives me whenever I am conducting one of these ordeals. I dial home and hope somebody picks up. Logan does. "Logan. It's Cheyanne. Um... how old did this guy sound? This Luke?"
"Cheyanne, what does it matter? He was pretty young sounding. Now go do your job, little bitch." I heard the click of the receiver and nothing more.
I clutch the phone in my hand before tossing it into the passenger seat. I run my hands over my face. What am I going to do? What if it is Luke? I can't waltz into the room, rip off my clothes, and say, "Well, guess what, Luke? You knew nothing about me, and although you wanted to take a guess at finding out, here it is! I'm a prostitute! Yay! Sometimes even an escort! Woo hoo!"
No. I can't do that. Duh. I roll my eyes at myself.
On the other hand, there is also a possibility that it's a total sleaze.
I keep that thought refreshing like an internet page in my head. When I knock on the door and a twenty something year old man stands at the other side, I sigh out loud in pure relief.
.
I tie my hair back up and smooth the creases over my shirt. I kiss Luke (shudder) Hemmings one last time and close the door behind me. I walk down the carpeted hallways of the Holiday Inn and make my way outside.
A little drizzle is falling when I get outside. I pick up the pace a bit and speed walk to my car. The clock on the dashboard blinked 11:37pm when I started the car. I sat in peace for a few seconds. It wasn't Luke.
It will never be Luke, I tell myself. Why? Because seventeen year olds aren't legal as it is and him requesting an escort would be kind of illegal and it would also be terrible for his image.
His image is everything. His rich and famous, yet laid-back image was everything to Luke. Sure, he had his tattoos and his piercings and I suspect he smokes, but all his fans love him. You can't love someone without having a reason. So Luke musn't be that horrid.
I get home, where only my mother is awake. A drunk and asleep Logan is sprawled out on the couch, the neck of a beer bottle hanging from his hands. I place it on the table gently, as to not wake up to broken glass. I sneak up stairs and go to bed.
~~~
Logan and Margret were gone when I woke up the next morning and I was late. I rushed around my room, dressing real quick and I was half way down the stairs when I realized I was only wearing one shoe. I raced back up and grabbed my sandal.
In the kitchen, I grab a slice of toast from the open bread box and stuff it into my mouth as I close the fridge with my hip, all the while pouring orange juice into a cup. I chew the bread and take a swig of the juice. I yank my bag off the chair in the front hall and lock the door behind me. I tie up my hair as I walk down the walkway and only stop when the soft hum of a car pulls up to my driveway.
I look up and a lock of hair falls into my mouth. I spit it out and glare at the person leaning up against the car. "Why are you here?" I ask. Luke grins, almost evilly. "I'm here to drive you to school." I keep walking down my driveway, away from Luke, away from the car my father wanted so badly.
