The Sex Surrogate (21 page)

“Alright,”
she said, stepping back, the tube of lipstick in one hand, the top in
the other. She squinted at me. “Yeah,” she nodded,
smiling slowly. “That's good.”

“Let
me look...” I started to say, getting off my seat which had
been killing my ass for the last half hour.

“No,”
she said, pushing my shoulder back down. “You don't get to see
until you are dressed.

“Fine,”
I grumbled, sitting back down. “What about your makeup?”

“Oh,
yeah, give me five,” she said, turning to the mirror.

Then
she literally took five minutes. Five. After all she put me through.
She applied a little powder, lined her eyes, and put on a coat of lip
gloss and she was done. Flawless as per usual.

She
grabbed the dresses off the door, finding the one she wanted: a
bright eye-grabbing red number, sleeveless, skin tight, short, with a
visible zipper running up one side. She confidently stripped out of
her clothes, standing in front of me in her thong and strapless bra
for a long moment before slipping into her dress. And she was nothing
short of billboard worthy.

“Okay,
I brought a few for you, but I know the one you should wear. Now,”
she said, her voice getting serious, turning down the music like what
she was about to say was super important, “I know you usually
have a very... um... conservative style. So you are just going to
have to take a deep breath, put on your big girl panties, and get
over it. Though,” she said, grabbing the dress, “You're
probably better going panty-less in this.”

“That's
not gonna happen.”

She
rolled her eyes dramatically. “Get your clothes off.”

Oh.
So I wasn't going to get to change in private. Well, okay. I mean...
I could do it. She did it. I tried not to think that she did it
because she was literally perfect as I reached to take of my shirt
and pants.

“Okay,
thong works,” she said, nodding at my near-nudity. “Okay,
I want to be surprised,” she said, handing me the dress and
clapping her hands. “I know it's going to be perfect, but I
want to see the big reveal so I am going to wait in the living room.
Be careful not to get your makeup on it,” she warned and was
out the door.

I
looked at the dress. It was electric blue and looked like it was
going to fit like a second skin. Two small straps. The bust slightly
scalloped so that it would dip a bit between my breasts. I turned it,
finding a huge cut out in the shape of heart in the back. So,
apparently, I wasn't allowed to wear normal panties... or a bra.

I
took a deep breath, deciding to try to go with the flow, taking off
my bra, and sliding in. Luckily, there was a small shelf bra inside,
providing a bit of support and keeping my nipples out of sight. I
shimmied the dress up, slipping the straps into place, finding the
hem didn't even come half way down my thigh.

I
took a deep breath, moving the remaining dresses off the back of the
door so I could get a look in the full-length mirror attached to it.

And...
damn.

I
wasn't one for vanity (in fact, it was usually crushing insecurity),
but Shay had worked fucking magic. My hair fell in straight sheets
around my shoulders. And the makeup that seemed like it was going to
be caked-on and over the top, was actually pretty understated. My
lids had cat-eye liner, my lashes darkened to make them pop, a tiny
bit of pink to my pale cheeks, and some bright red lipstick.

The
dress looked great, hugging of bust and hip, making them the
highlights, rouching slightly so you couldn't see every movement of
skin underneath.

“I'm
growing old out here,” Shay called and I shook my head, turning
off the straightener, squirting a spray of the perfume Jake had
bought me over my chest, and opening the door.

“Daaaaammn,”
Shay said, smiling and nodding.

“Holy
fuck, Ava, that you?” Jake asked, walking to stand next to
Shay, fully dressed in slacks and a button-up.

“Why
are you dressed?” I asked, suspicious.

“I'm
coming with.”

“Oh,
like hell...”

“Hey,”
he said, holding up a hand. “I was told that if I am in your
life and I care about you, I have to do better. So I think that means
being a chaperone to make sure you don't get stupid drunk and go home
with some sleezebag.”

“Oh,
bullshit. You just want to convince Shay to come back here with you.”

“Yeah,
well, that too...”

“You're
impossible.”

“Hey
it works out better,” Shay insisted, grabbing her purse and
pulling out two wallets, one small and one normal. She took out cash,
and ID, a condom, and two sticks of gum from the big one and put them
in the small one. “He can hold our wallets,” she said,
handing hers to him and he easily tucked it in his pocket.

“Fine,”
I said, going to find something small to put my stuff in. Minus the
condom. Add in a single serve packet of aspirin. “We ready?”
I asked, reaching for a coat.

“No
coats,” Shay and Jake said at the same time.

“It's
cold out!” I objected. “I don't want to stand in line in
the middle of fall in glorified underwear.

“Oh,
honey,” Shay said, shaking her head, “we won't be waiting
on any lines.”

And
we didn't. As soon as we got out of the cab, Shay grabbed my hand and
pulled me to the door, giving the security guard a soul sucking
smile... and in we went. They didn't even bother to check out Ids.

“First
is first,” Jake declared, a hand at each of our backs, guiding
us toward the bar. “Drinks.”

And
then I was plied with liquor.

The
night was a bit of a blur after the first two drinks. A shot (Jake
insisted we take before anything else, toasting to a good night),
then a martini. Jake disappeared and Shay dragged me to the dance
floor, promising to keep the creeps away.

Which,
to her credit, she managed to do.

Jake
showed up on occasion, handing Shay and me drinks. First something
pink and fruity. Then something blue and fruity. Then something green
and melon-y.

And
I danced.

Now,
to be perfectly honest, I had never been much of a dancer. Okay. I
had never been any kind of dancer, period. Except in my room while I
was getting dressed. Never in public. Never in a huge crowd of bodies
crushing in on me. But the music was throbbing, hard and sexual,
vibrating through my feet and upward until I felt it reverberate in
every cell in my body. That, mixed with the gloriously swirling
feeling in my head... and, well, I was dancing.

Time
got lost. All that mattered was the music and Shay laughing and
spinning around with me, and the floating feeling of my soul.
Everything felt light and unimportant outside of our little circle.

Some
time later, late enough for me to start to feel my shoes biting into
my feet, Jake showed up with another drink. Orange and citrus-y. Then
he was dancing with Shay, talking into her ear from behind and she
turned her head to answer.

Two
minutes later, I was being pulled out to the cab, and driven back to
my apartment. Where, apparently, we were having some kind of after
party. Ten people I didn't know, men and women alike, were crowding
around, drinking liquor Jake pulled out of the cabinet, dancing to
the music Shay had put on.

I
kicked out of my shoes, going to the couch because the world was
doing some spinning thing that made me feel like I couldn't stand on
my own two feet anymore. I sat there, looking around in a weird sort
of detached entertainment for a long time.

Then
I was reaching for my phone.

And
I dialed Chase.

I
got the machine.

Drunk
and undeterred, I listened to his outgoing message and waited for the
beep. “I don't care what Dr. Bowler says. It feels real,”
I said, my words coming out in a voice that was mine, but wasn't...
slower, slightly slurred. “And you can be as mea... stop pawing
at me!” I growled to some random guy who sat down next to me
and put a hand on my hip. “I'm talking to Chase's machine,
leave me alone,” I said to him, thinking my voice sounded super
stern, but the guy only laughed. “So, anyway, Chase... I don't
care if it's fake, you know? It's okay. I'll deal with that... okay,
buddy,” I said, slapping his hand hard enough to make my palm
smite despite the alcohol, “get off my couch. Off. Get off. You
ruined my message!” I accused, ending the call, unnecessarily
angry at the stranger.

“Come
on, baby, you look ripe...”

“I'm
not a piece of fruit,” I objected, then broke off into a fit of
giggles.

He
was attractive. Around my age with brown hair and big brown eyes,
sharp jaw. He was dressed in a blue button up and jeans. Attractive
in a very ex-frat boy kind of way.

A
quiet settled then, me looking around, swatting his hand away when it
kept reaching out to touch me. Then, what felt forever later, but
couldn't have been more than a ten minutes, I broke the silence.

“Listen,
I know you like my blue dress,” I said, shaking my head. “It's
very nice. But it's not mine.” In my drunk logic, that was
somehow supposed to deter him.

“Well
then maybe you should take it off,” he suggested.

“I
can't.”

“Why
not?”

“Because
I only have a thong on,” I admitted, completely unaware how bad
a thing that was to say.

“That
sounds sexy. Why don't you show me?”

“Why
do you keep touching me?” I asked, looking down at his hand on
my thigh.

“Do
you like when I touch you?” he asked, his hand snaking upward.

“I
don't even know you.”

“Makes
it even hotter, don't you think?”

I
squinted at him, “I don't think I work that way.”

“Oh,
baby, I can make you work that way.”

“You're
not allowed to call me that,” I objected.

“Why
not?”

“Because
Chase does.”

“Who
the hell is Chase?”

“I
am,” Chase's voice said from in front of me.

I
turned my head and there he was, in a blue suit and white shirt. From
my angle, he looked like a giant: strong, intimidating. It didn't
help that he was glaring, positively glaring at random frat guy.

“It's
Chase!” I declared, pointing, as if it wasn't obvious. “You're
here!”

“Yeah,
baby,” he said, giving me a short glance, then turning back to
frat guy. “Get your hands off of her,” he said, his voice
low, scary. “Take a look at her. Does she really seem like she
is any condition to consent?”

“She's
fine, man. Who the hell are you?”

“He's
Chase,” I supplied, un-helpfully.

“Get
lost,” Chase said, reaching down to grab the front of the guy's
shirt and hauling him up.

“Alright,
alright. Fuck. She ain't worth all this trouble.”

“Hey!”
I objected, lowering my eyes at him.

“So,”
Chase said, sighing a little, “did you have fun tonight?”

“I
had a
lot
to drink,” I said up to him.

“Seems
like it,” he agreed, moving down to take the space the ex-frat
boy had vacated. “So where is your friend?”

“Shay?”
I asked, looking at him, his dark scruff, his bright eyes.

“Yes,
Shay.”

“Oh,
look for the most beautiful girl in the room. That's her.”

“I'm
looking at the most beautiful girl in the room,” he countered,
reaching out to touch my silky hair.

“You
need to stop saying things like that.”

“Why?”

“Because
I like it.”

“Isn't
that even more reason that I should say it?” he asked, reaching
down for my knees and pulling my legs over his lap.

“I
don't know,” I said, shaking my head like I could clear the fog
there. “I feel like no.”