Page 38 of With a Cherry On Top

Instead, I typeTOPinto the navigation bar.

The homepage loads instantly, a carousel of faces smiling seductively at the camera. I ignore them all and type her username, finding her immediately.

On a public live feed.

The thumbnail is small, but even in the still image, she looks like trouble. She’s sitting on the edge of her bed, hair loosearound her shoulders, lips slightly parted like she’s just uttered something sinful.

I shouldn’t click.

Ishould notclick.

But I do.

The screen buffers, the little loading icon spinning for a few seconds before the image clears.

Charlotte’s face comes into focus—dimly lit and framed by the cascade of her scarlet hair. She looks tired, but not in a bad way. Cozy, wrapped in a loose sweater that’s slipping off one shoulder.

Her eyes are warm as they land on the chat, her lips curving just a little more than usual.

“Cole,” she says almost fondly, “You’re back.”

“Yes. How—how are you?” I say. Should I try to mask my voice? I guess the laptop microphone doesn’t modify it enough for her not to recognize it, so I probably should?—

“Microphones and cameras are not allowed during lives, only one-on-ones. You’ll have to write for me, baby.”

Oh. I glance at the chat box, fingers hesitating for a second before typing.

Chief.728

I couldn’t sleep. I figured I’d check to see if you were still up.

She grins, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I was about to call it a night, actually. There’s hardly anyone at this hour.”

That makes sense. The chat box is empty, save for my message. No flood of donations, no names popping in and out.

It’s just us.

Chief.728

Don’t let me keep you up. It was nice to see you.

I throw my head back. “Jeez, why not write her a love letter?”

But she reads the message, and the way she blushes makes it impossible to regret sending it. “Leaving already? Did you change your mind about wanting to hang out?”

Chief.728

Why would I, when you look like that?

She shifts to get more comfortable, her legs kicking lazily behind her. “Have you ever been in a live feed on TOP?”

Chief.728

Not really. Give me the tour?

“You got it.” She points one long, manicured finger at the camera. “There should be a few buttons on your screen. Each of those corresponds to a donation.”

I glance at the panel and locate the buttons lined up in a neat row beneath the feed, each one labeled with an action and a price tag. Twenty dollars to lift her top. Fifty to remove her bra. A hundred for her to touch herself.

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