Page 3 of Double Mountain Men

Jenna shrugs with a small smile playing at her lips.

“I keep my profile private, and then I only ping men who have hot photos.Ifthey’re good-looking, andifthey’re offering a gig that I’m interested in, then I’ll set something up. It’s pretty simple, and the money is fabulous. Plus, like I said, I only do platonic dates. You can choose that, you know: the level of intimacy you desire.”

I stare at her.

“So none of these guys have ever asked to make out?”

“Well, okay yeah, they have,” she acknowledges. “But I’m fine with a little kissing. Even a little petting sometimes, but nothing more than that. The men are generous too, so I often get a huge tip on top of my fee.”

I stare at her.

“You know I’m going to ask, Jen. How much are we talking here? You do dinner dates, right?”

She smiles mysteriously while taking another sip of espresso.

“I charge a thousand dollars per dinner date. And that’swithouttip. Plus, we often dine at Michelin-starred restaurants, so I get a nice meal out of it too.”

I blink, trying to process this information. A thousand dollars for a two-hour dinner with a stranger? This isn’t sounding too bad at all! Still, I have a lot of questions.

“So you never go home with your dates?”

My friend shrugs.

“I have. Again, there’s some kissing and petting, but I’m okay with it. I only pick guys that are good-looking, Misty, so it’s not difficult either. It’s not like I’m kissing a hobo or something.”

I squint, still trying to think through this new information.

“Butwhywould your clients agree to the arrangement, especially since you’re not putting out? I mean, four figures is a lot for just dinner and kisses.”

Jenna shrugs.

“I think they’re bored. I also think that some of my clients have wives or girlfriends, and they’re in a rut. They want romance in their lives, but they’re not comfortable “cheating,” so to say. So we never have sex because would be crossing the line. But they still want the girlfriend experience, andwah-la!I provide it.”

I stare at her.

“But having a romantic dinner with a pretty young woman kind of sounds like cheating. Emotionally, at least?”

Jenna nods seriously.

“I know what you’re saying, but we’re operating in a gray area here, and if I can spice up my clients’ lives in a way that makes them happy, then I’m going to do it. I mean, put yourself in their shoes, Misty. Imagine being married to the same person for years. You’ve heard all their stories a million times, and they’ve heard yours. Maybe you even have kids together, and your life is now consumed by a carousel of playdates, work, work events, and household chores. The spark’s long gone, but still, youyearn. It’s kind of nice to experience romance again, right?”

I stare at Jenna, still trying to process.

“Okay, you have a point. It does make sense. But how do you know your clients have wives and girlfriends? Is it just something you suspect, or do they actually tell you?”

My friend throws me a look.

“No, they don’t say it outright,” she replies slowly. “But this is why we’re operating in a gray area. Sometimes, my clients are wearing wedding bands, and not only that, but they want me to pretend to be their wife or girlfriend while we’re out. See? These men want romance. There was even one client who brought an engagement ring for me to slip on my finger during our date, and it was like we were a real couple. I’m telling you, Misty: men have romantic sides too, and I’m filling a gap in their lives. Plus, I like the job, and it pays a lot. You should give it a try, girlfriend. What do you have to lose?”

A million things, the voice in my head whispers.No matter how much Jenna whitewashes it and paints it as “filling a need,” this is still a sketchy situation.

But then, my stomach growls painfully and I’m reminded about my current problems. I’m pinching pennies to afford stale bread whereas my friend is living like a queen. Am I willing to take a job I’m ambivalent about so that I can eat? People have done much worse in times of need, certainly.

But then my morals speak again, and I shake my head.

“I can’t,” I say. “It’s too much, and I’d feel ... I don’t know—”

“Dirty?” my friend asks in a knowing tone. “Filthy? Wrong?”

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