Roni Loren - Call On Me

Oakley opened her mouth to protest, but he was already at the door.

He turned back to look at her, as if he wanted to say something else, then his gaze flicked to the coffee table where her phone sat. He put his back to her again. “G’night, Oakley. Don’t stay up too late.”

When the door closed, she sank back onto the couch, head in her hands. It would be so easy to call him back in. So. Easy. She could tell him about her secret job, unload that burden. She doubted Pike would care. It’s not like he wanted to date her. He wanted to sleep with her. Who cared what she did for a living?

He could be in her bed tonight and sneak out by morning before Reagan woke up.

But then what? Awkwardness and hurt feelings, probably. She’d learned early on that she sucked at casual. Maybe it was her conservative upbringing, but she had trouble separating out feelings from sex. She didn’t have a ton of experience, but when she let someone inside her body, it left a mark.

She didn’t need any more marks. Especially ones meted out by fly-by-night musicians who bedded women for sport.

Her life was complicated enough.

So what if her libido had decided to make an appearance after a long hiatus? That didn’t mean she had to appease it with the nearest willing heartbreaker. She didn’t need some guy to fix it.

Tomorrow, she’d take a trip to one of those stores with the suggestive names and tinted windows. She’d handle this herself.

But for now, she had other people’s libidos to satisfy.

Her phone was ringing before she shut her bedroom door.

“Hello, this is Sasha …”

By quarter to one, Oakley was running on fumes. She’d taken seven calls tonight and the last had been a guy who’d wanted her to humiliate him pretty much non-stop. She’d had to pull out all her reserves to find creative enough insults because he’d complained that other women he’d called only said things like “You’re such a naughty boy.” He needed more than that. He wanted to be verbally assaulted. That took energy.

She let her head sag onto her pillow, her headset like a weight pressing down on her brain, and waved the white flag. She’d planned to work until one but she didn’t have it in her tonight.

After yawning loudly, she sat up and reached for her laptop to sign out of her shift. But before she could hit the button, the phone rang.

“Son of a bitch.” Once a call was in her queue, she had to take it.

She clicked the Sign Out icon on her laptop so she wouldn’t get another call after this one and slammed her laptop shut, then she sank back onto the pillows and hit the button on her headset to answer the call.

“Hello, this is Sasha. Ready for a fantasy night?”

God, she hated that cheesy scripted intro the service required. It made her teeth grind.

The caller cleared his throat on the other end.

Great. A breather. “Hello?”

“I’m here.” The voice was quiet, still.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to put some effort into it. “Well, hi there, handsome. How you doing tonight?”

A few seconds passed, and she thought maybe the call had dropped, but then he spoke. “You sound sleepy. Are you in bed?”

“I am. All alone. How about you? You want some company?”

“I want you.”

The words were ones she’d heard a thousand times before, but for some reason these sent a bloom of heat through her. Her body prickled with awareness. Huh. Weird. “Well, I’m right here for whatever you want.”

“I just got what I wanted.”

She frowned. “And what’s that?”

“To hear your voice one more time tonight.”

Her eyelids blinked open. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name, have we already talked?”

The sound of sheets rustling filled the phone as he apparently shifted in bed. “Yes. And I’m still waiting for you to sing to me.”

Her heart jumped into her throat, time slowing around her and alarm bells blaring in her head. She grabbed her cell phone from the nightstand and flipped it over. A name she’d programmed into it only tonight showed on the screen.

Pike Ryland .

She hadn’t checked the phone before she’d hit the button on the headset. She’d been so tired she’d forgotten to look. Who the hell called after midnight? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Her hands trembled, adrenaline chasing her panic. “You must have the wrong number, sir.”

“You know I don’t,” he said, his voice slipping into his normal tone now that he knew she’d figured out who it was.

“I’m sorry, I have to—”

“Oakley, take a breath. It’s okay,” he said, his words gentle. “I’d already pretty much figured it out. It’s why I thought I could get away with calling you so late. I knew you’d be up.”

She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Pike, I—We—No one can know I—”

“Shh, hey, calm down. I told you tonight I’m not into telling other people’s secrets.”

“This is—No one knows this, Pike. No one can know.” She closed her eyes. “God, this is mortifying. You must think—”

“That it’s incredibly hot? That the woman who I thought probably said fudge instead of fuck actually has the ability to talk dirty enough to get paid for it? Yeah, that’s exactly what I think.”

She groaned, tapping the back of her head against her pillow. “Of course that’s what you’d think, isn’t it? Guys are so ready to buy into the fantasy. You probably think I’m dressed in a silk nightie and have come seven times for my seven callers tonight.”

He laughed. “Oh, no. We allow ourselves the illusion, but most of us know that we’re probably talking to a Chris Farley lookalike who’s watching infomercials on mute while she talks to us about how bad she wants us to give it to her.”

“Sounds like you have some experience.”

“Totally. Fourteen-year-old Pike was a big contributor to the Dial-A-Girl industry.”

“Oh, God. Don’t say that. I need to have my own illusions that the measures they have in place to keep kids from calling me actually work.”

“Sorry. You’d probably be able to tell. They’d just want to talk about feeling up your boobs.”

“Ha. Welcome to half my callers.”

“Really?”

“No. That’d be too easy. Most require more effort than that.”

He got quiet for a second. “So do you get into it? I mean, it’s got to feel kind of powerful knowing you’re turning someone on.”

She blew out a breath. “We’re so not going to talk about this.”

“Aw, come on. I want to know.”

“No, Pike. I do it for the cash. My position at Bluebonnet is great and I’m hoping for a promotion, but I could never afford Reagan’s schooling on a receptionist salary alone. I do this because it’s good money that I can earn from home. It doesn’t turn me on. If anything, it numbs me. Makes me immune to things most people would find sexy.”

“Well, that would explain how you’ve so easily resisted my undeniable charms. But sexually immune? No fucking way.”

“Believe what you want.”

He sniffed. “I saw how you looked at me in the restaurant, Oakley. That look did not come from a woman who’s numb.”

“That look is called shock. I thought I heard something I didn’t. And seriously, how do you and your ego fit in the same room?”

“We work it out. And that was more than shock. You wanted me.”

“Whatever.” Great. Now she was sounding like the kids she worked with.

“Close your eyes, Oakley.”

“What? Why?”

“Humor me.”

“We’re not going there, Pike. I was not issuing a challenge.”

“Come on, close them. What can it hurt? I’m all the way across town. You’re safe from me.”