Weak for Him
Weak for Him
Published January 11, 2014
“Have you heard the saying, ‘sex sells’? Well, I’m the supplier.”
Finnley Felton sells sex.
Jennifer Downs is a virgin.
With the help of lady luck, the two meet.
Money. Bright lights. Sex.
Jennifer is made an offer: sell her virginity to the highest bidder and transform into one of Finnley’s girls. But she finds herself weak for him, and doesn’t fully realize what she’s agreed to until it’s too late.
Will she rise to the challenge and play by the rules in a land where money is king and love is prohibited?
Or will she lose herself and values in the attempt?
Excerpt – Chapter One
The real estate agent marked a giant black X beside the line at the bottom of the contract and handed me the pen. I understood the terms and conditions. I had read them at least twenty times over the past few days, but as my pen hit the paper, I froze.
“Sign on this line, Jennifer. Unless you’re having second thoughts.”
She tapped the paper with her pink manicured nail, causing her bracelets to jingle.
The people who wanted the house said they would convert it into a bed and breakfast for all the tourists visiting the Golden Triangle, a quaint area in Texas known for oil and the home of Janis Joplin. I would miss the little things, like the Groves town square and the Pecan Festival, but they would always hold a place in my heart. The worn boards, double windows, and wraparound porch would be fully appreciated by someone else.
Every detail about the house, the way the shutters haphazardly hung on the upper windows, the boards that creaked on the stairs, and the rounded corners of the island in the kitchen, were a constant reminder of how my life changed when a reckless driver slammed into my parents’ SUV.
I didn’t want the burden anymore. I had dealt with enough.
Instead of studying for final exams, I had planned two funerals.
Instead of walking across the stage during my college graduation, I buried my parents.
I couldn’t celebrate without them. I wouldn’t.
Tragic situations sometimes forced people into adulthood, causing one to take a leap of faith they might not have taken before. If I learned one thing from the accident, it was the fragility and preciousness of life. How a person should tell someone if they loved them and not hold back their feelings regardless of the consequences. I didn’t tell my parents how much I loved or appreciated them, and every day without them, I regretted it.
The two-story farmhouse was a reminder of the memories, of my childhood, and allowed the ghosts of my parents to linger and haunt.
Devastation could make a person stronger, or bitter, or depressed, and I didn’t want to stick around to find out which I had acquired. The longer I stayed, the less time it would take to lose myself. I wanted—no, needed—out.
I sucked in a deep breath and signed my name beside the overemphasized X.
Mrs. Shirley, the old bleached-blonde Barbie that used to babysit me when I was a child, smiled at the signature.
“Thanks, honey. I’ll let the buyers know everything is final.”
Her country accent seemed fake, almost how actors portrayed Texans on television, but it was natural; it had been like that for as long as I could remember.
Signing that paper lifted a million pounds from my shoulders. The shackles had released, and I was free from the responsibility, the reminders, and everything that came with the house. I blinked the tears away. I refused to cry. Shirley continued to make small talk as I loaded the last of my belongings into the trunk of the Honda.
“Where should I send your copies of the finalized paperwork?” she asked as I slipped into the driver’s seat. I rolled down the window.
“To my P.O. box in town. I’m having my mail forwarded there for now.”
“So no address in Vegas, yet?”
“No ma’am, not yet.”
“You know you don’t have to leave, Jennifer. There are people here who love you.”
“Yeah. There are also people that I loved that are no longer here. There’s no reason to stay anymore.”
She leaned into the window, hugged my neck, and kissed my cheek.
“Take care, doll. Call us if you need anything.”
But she knew I wouldn’t call.
It was an empty expression that she genuinely meant, but one that I would never claim. I was an independent kid, and not much had changed as I grew into an adult.
We exchanged one last smile, and then I put the car in reverse and sped away. As I cruised down the shell driveway, I took one last look into the rearview mirror, where she stood on the porch, watching me drive into the morning sun. I told myself I wouldn’t look back, but I had to take one last glimpse at my old life; the crooked shutters, the pasture with the tall crisp grasses, and the fence that didn’t connect all the way around.
“Goodbye,” I whispered.
The house faded away until it was miniature, and then non-existent.
The GPS read twenty-four hours.
I would stop halfway, and then continue.
The only choice I gave myself was to live like the sun wouldn’t rise tomorrow.
Las Vegas bound, finally.