Page 97 of Daddies' Holiday Toy
“Just give me the details so I know how much trouble I need to bail you out of. I’ve got a number for a bondsman I used to date if we need it. Just saying.”
I huff out a laugh. “You’re not helping.”
“That’s not my job,” she says sweetly.
I take a deep breath and then tell her.
All of it.
I keep my eyes on the road as words spill out faster than I mean them to.
I’m treating it the way you rip off a band-aid before you can think too hard about it, leaving out the most graphic specifics—mostly for my own sanity.
There’s still more than enough detail for her to piece together exactly what happened at that cabin while we were all snowed in.
How one night bled into the next until the whole weekend felt like a fever dream.
By the time I finish, we’re almost to Mr. Larkin’s office.
My fingers are locked so tight around the steering wheel that they ache.
Mallory hasn’t said a word since I started. She’s just staring at me, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.
Finally, in a voice that’s equal parts awe and horror, she hits me with, “You’re sleeping with three of your dad’s friends.”
“Yes.”
“At the same time.”
“Sort of. Two of them together. One likes it separately, but the others did watch at one point…”
“And…they’re paying you.”
“Paid. But yes.”
A beat passes. “I don’t even know where to start.”
I keep my eyes forward, heat prickling at my neck. “You know, we can just forget all about this and move on to a different subject. How wasyourweekend?”
Mallory’s head snaps toward me so fast I swear I hear her neck crack. “Oh, no. We’re talking about this. In fact, we’re talking about thisa lotbecause what the hell?”
“It’s fine. Really.” Maybe if I keep playing it off, she’ll drop it.
“Holly.”
I glance over at her, trying for innocent but probably looking more like a deer in headlights. “What?”
She gestures broadly.
“This is…I mean…you’re sleeping with three of your dad’s friends. And they’re paying you for it. That’s kind of prostitution, right?”
I roll my eyes hard enough that I’m pretty sure I see my own brain. “It’s more like sugaring. The money’s going toward my bills, not like…I don’t know, purses and trips to Venice.”
“That’s not exactly the point, Hol.”
“It works for me,” I say firmly. “And they’re not gonna tell my dad. They promised.”
Her eyebrows shoot up so far they’re practically in her hairline. “People promise a lot of things before they change their minds.”
