Dirty Morals Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Also by Lexi Adams

  Dirty Morals

  Lexi Adams

  Copyright © 2017 by Lexi Adams

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Also by Lexi Adams

  1

  I’m fucking exhausted. I know that’s an odd point to jump off on, but hear me out. This is my third week working nights as a cocktail waitress at the hottest bar in town: the Jaybird. The job has its perks, namely the tips I get to bring home every night. One of the more irritating facets is the revealing clothing I’m forced to squeeze into before going to work every night, not to mention the obnoxious customers. That’s almost impossible to tolerate in and of itself.

  To make matters worse, if at all possible, I’m already pushed to my limits when I come into this shithole every night. My day job is much more respectable, from a completely objective standpoint. From nine to five every day, I work as a receptionist in a small veterinary clinic in town. Brookhaven isn’t a particularly large area and I’m fortunate that most acquaintances in my home town aren’t partial to spending their nights in Downtown Atlanta.

  Which, of course, is where the Jaybird is located. After getting off work at Brookhaven Veterinary Services, I make the drive downtown, where I’m expected to be ready to work by eight and continue serving until closing time. For the record, closing time happens to be two thirty in the goddamn morning.

  As you may be able to guess from my schedule, I have very little time for myself. It’s all for the greater good, as it were. I say that as sincerely as I can manage; I wouldn’t be working myself ragged if there was no reasoning behind it. My Mom, God love her, got really sick a few months back. Not just sniffling sick, I mean… well, she has breast cancer. It was like the air had been knocked out of me when I found out, but I know I have to keep positive for her. At first, it was easier to keep a sunny disposition.

  The thing about cancer is that it can completely turn your life upside down, even if you aren’t the one directly afflicted. My Mom has always been a pretty independent lady, but when she lost her ability to work, the hospital bills started stacking up. Her social security benefits are pending but getting approved for that sort of thing is never easy. In the meantime, she stopped being able to pay the mortgage on our family home and like that, she was essentially homeless. As much as I wish I could have saved our home, I knew the only thing I could really do was bring my Mom into my apartment to live with me.

  I’ve never been the nurturing sort, but when my Mom needs me, you bet your ass I’m going to do my best to take care of her. Right now, that means being able to provide for her. We’re steadily losing ground, as far as keeping up with her hospital bills. My job at the Jaybird has managed to keep us from going under altogether, but… I’m not exactly thrilled to be working doubles every day.

  Like I said, I’m fucking exhausted. It makes it difficult to carry trays of drinks and look properly sultry, but I’m doing the best I can with the hand I’ve been dealt. Fortunately, I’ve been able to avoid any dramatic incidents like passing out on the job, or God forbid, spilling a drink on a customer.

  As soon as that thought entered my mind, I hear a loud crack as the heel on one of my stilettos breaks off and sends me stumbling forward. A tray full of two dollar shots is flung from my hands and I have to fight the desire to screech as I hit the floor. Cursing whatever higher power may have it out for me, I look around to assess the immediate damage. The floor is soaked with booze, I’m soaked and… oh, goddammit.

  “What the hell is wrong with you, you crazy broad!?” a familiar voice roars and I’m stricken by just how bad my luck has become. Chip Chetford, local football player and the Jaybird’s most notable customer, turns a glare upon me as he frantically tries to wipe the harsh liquor smell off of his prized jersey. A sinking sensation settles in my stomach as I realize everyone in the entire bar is watching the situation unfold.

  “I’m– shit, I’m sorry,” I blurt, trying to rise to my feet, only to nearly collapse again as, obviously, my shoe is still broken. I kick the heels off, grabbing wads of napkins to attempt to help Chip clean himself off.

  “Where’s your manager? I want to talk to your manager! Do you know who I am?” he demands and as if summoned by the words alone, said manager emerges from the back of the bar and stares at me as if I’d just kicked a puppy or something. I hardly think it’s all that dramatic, but when my boss stalks over to Chip and myself, it’s clear the situation is serious.

  “I am so terribly sorry, Mr. Chetford,” the manager says. “I’ll see this taken care of right away. Maggie, turn in your uniform and clock out. You’ll be receiving your final check in the mail, of course with a deduction included for our favorite customer’s dry cleaning bill.”

  I stare at the men in disbelief, desperately wanting to argue my case. This asshole can’t begin to understand how much I need this job. However, anything I try to say is ignored entirely. Realizing I have little choice but to accept what’s happened, I slip towards the back of the bar to shimmy out of my uniform and put my dowdy scrubs on.

  As I slip through the bar towards the exit, I can feel all eyes on me. The sounds of snickering are obvious and it’s all I can do to keep from bursting into tears in front of all these people. I won’t give these assholes the satisfaction, though. I can handle this. It’ll be okay.

  I burst into tears as soon as I slip into the driver’s seat of my car though and it’s a wonder I don’t flip the car into a ditch on my way back to my apartment. As soon as I step inside, my mother calls out to me, her voice sounding pained. I shuffle into her room, greeting her with a weak smile.

  “Maggie, honey, are you okay?” she inquires softly. I force a smile, waving her off.

  “I’m fine, Mom. Just tired.” I murmur. She watches me with pursed lips, reaching out to touch my cheek. She looks just as exhausted as I am and I can’t imagine the pain she’s in. Tears threaten to spill over again as I’m struck by just how hopeless the situation seems.

  “Honey, you’re putting so much pressure on yourself. You know I hate to see you so upset,” she says quietly. I manage a weak laugh, sitting on the edge of her bed. “Why don’t you stay in here with me tonight? We’ll have a sleepover,” she suggests with an excited smile. I’m unable to refuse her, but that’s nothing new. I can’t deny that it’s a comfort to feel her loving presence as I drift off at night.

  “A sleepover? What are we going to do, have a pillow fight?” I ask with a small smile. My Mom’s gaze turns mischievous, and she grabs the pillow from behind her head, struggling to sit upright. What she’s planning is obvious, but I make no move to avoid the strike of her pillow against the side of my face. It has more force than I’d have expected, and I laugh out loud as I plop dramatically against the b
ed.

  “Don’t give your Mom so little credit. I still have a bit of life in me,” she says with a grin. Warmth floods my heart, and I’m stricken by just how much I love this woman. “Now go get a shower and we’ll gossip about the boys at school,” she says facetiously. I roll my eyes but readily oblige her. I’m ready to get the sticky soda and alcohol mixes off of my skin.

  After my shower, I return to find my Mom already asleep. I’m not surprised and I could easily take the opportunity to sneak off to my own room for the night.

  ...One night at my Mom’s side wouldn’t do any harm. I tuck myself into the bed beside her, comforted by the steady sound of her soft snores. Here, alone with my mother, I’m reminded of how far I would go to see that she is taken care of.

  As I drift off, I take one of my Mom’s smaller and frailer hands in my own. What little sleep I get is peaceful, all things considered. It’s a welcome surprise.

  The next day finds me feeling a bit more cheerful… hell, who am I kidding? As soon as I left my Mom alone in her room for the day, I was miserable again. At the very least, it’s my day off and I can take some small comfort in that. I make the short trek to the coffee shop down the street from my apartment to meet with my friend, Kara Rogers. As usual, she’s sitting in a booth waiting with my coffee already ordered. I slip into the booth, taking the paper cup in my hands. It is steaming hot but it keeps me grounded as I try to focus on what my best friend is going off on a tangent about. Kara is one of the few people who knows about my rather grim living situation and she’s always looking for some weird new ways for me to make some extra cash.

  “– and you don’t even have to have sex with them, at least, not always! Girls are making thousands,” she rambles and I blink my eyes in confusion as I try to make some sense of what she’s talking about.

  “Wait. Kara, what the hell? Are you talking about prostitution? Seriously?” I hiss, able to piece the story together somewhat judging from what I’d heard. Kara rolls her eyes, sipping from her iced coffee.

  “It’s an escort website. Really high profile. If you were listening, you’d realize that it’s not prostitution. Well… not really,” she says defensively. I roll my eyes, feeling my phone suddenly vibrate in my pocket. I grab it, swiping it unlocked only to see a message from Kara. It’s the URL of the website she’s telling me about. My thumb immediately moves to the delete button but something gives me pause. I stare at the message for a long moment before closing out of it, notably not deleting the stupid thing. Kara seems to notice, lips curled into a sly smile.

  “I’ll look at it later, just for laughs,” I say defensively. She submissively throws her hands up and goes off on some other tangent that I scarcely pay any mind to,. In spite of my scorn for her suggestion, I can’t deny that there’s something interesting about the concept.

  “Shit,” Kara blurts suddenly and I focus in just in time to see her packing up to leave.

  “You’re gone, then?” I sigh, standing from the booth and tossing my empty cup into the garbage bin.

  “The boss just texted, apparently someone called in today and I need to cover for them. Rain check, alright? It’s not like you were paying me any attention, anyway,” she teases, though there’s no malice in her words. I smile, feeling somewhat abashed at how obvious I’d been.

  “Sorry, Kara. You know how it is,” I explain weakly. She smiles, leaning in to kiss me on the cheek before quickly shuffling out of the coffee shop.

  “See you next time, Maggie. Think about what I told you,” she calls back as she steps through the door. I’m sure there’s no way in hell I’d consider selling my body for pay, though I suppose she did say it was for companionship as well. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad… No! I’m not even going to think about it. I’m going to go home, look for a new job and forget this entire conversation.

  That idea works until much later that evening, after I’ve had about two glasses of wine. I’m a lightweight, what can I say? The way I saw it, there was little harm in checking out this little escort website. Like I’d told Kara, I’ll just look at it for a few good laughs. I clumsily type in the link, propping my chin up in my hand as I scroll through the page. The profiles of the female members look relatively innocuous and some have their earnings listed on their profile sidebars. My eyes widen at some of the large numbers I see and for a moment I’m tempted.

  Much longer than a moment, truthfully. I’m tempted long enough to go through the process of making a profile, taking a few drunk selfies before deciding to use a photo from my cousin’s wedding. I keep telling myself it’s just so I can see some of the private features; just for fun, no harm can come of it. In spite of myself, with the booze fogging my mind a bit, I kind of hope to get a message. It’d be flattering, at the very least.

  With a single click, I save my profile and push away from the computer. I stumble a bit as I head to my bedroom, my mother having gone to bed hours previously. Hitting the mattress, I’m as good as dead to the world. For once, I get some decent rest, but I know it’s likely just a fluke.

  The sound of my phone vibrating the next morning jolts me awake and I glance around blearily before managing to snag it off of the nightstand. I swipe it unlocked, blinking as I try to make out the words on the screen. It’s a notification from some website that I’d drunkenly signed up for. Nothing new, I tend to get download crazy when I’m drunk. Much to my surprise, however, it’s a notification from that escort site I’d joined.

  “Hello, I’d like to meet up with you for a night,” I read aloud, snorting in disbelief. It’s not as flattering as I’d have thought, especially considering that the male profiles have more features for anonymity. I type back two letters, a simple ‘NO’. Hitting send, I expect the conversation to be over and done with. Moments later, as if this guy had been anticipating my response, my phone lights up again. “There’s five grand with your name on it, if you agree to meet me,” the message reads. My eyes widen in disbelief as I read over it again, unable to believe that some crazy guy would offer five grand just to spend the night with me.

  There’s no way I’m willing to sacrifice my dignity for this… even if five grand is incredibly tempting. Swallowing a lump that I’m surprised has formed in my throat, I shakingly type out another rejection. There’s no telling what this guy looks like, or what on Earth he plans to do to me. It’s a matter of safety at this point; admittedly I’ve already given up on the idea of keeping my dignity intact.

  “If you’re worried about my intentions, I assure you that you will be well taken care of. I wouldn’t dare see harm befall such a beautiful young woman, especially if you were under my… care,” the next message reads and I’m startled by how relentless this guy is. Before I can formulate a response, he sends me a winking emoticon. Suddenly wondering what he means by ‘care’, I can’t deny that my interest is piqued.

  In all likelihood, this guy probably looks like he got hit in the face with a shovel as a kid. No good looking or actually self-respecting guy would join one of these sleazy websites. Then again, I never would have expected that I’d join either.

  “Fuck it,” I mumble, fingers darting across the on screen keyboard. I agree to meet him, under the condition that there be no expectations on this first meeting. I’ll check him out, but nothing more than that. He sends a smiling emoticon and then one with a kissing face. Inexplicably tickled by how goofily charming this man seems to be, I hesitate before tossing my phone aside.

  Ugh. I can’t believe I’m doing this. What happened to the Maggie Stroud who carried herself with pride? I suppose she died long ago. The new Maggie would do almost anything if presented with the opportunity to earn five grand.

  Almost anything…

  2

  Having taken the day off, I’m sitting at my usual spot with all the jitters of a cat on a hot tin roof. I don’t know what’s come over me but I messaged my strange admirer of sorts to meet me at the place I usually frequent with Kara. In retrospect, I probably should have met
him somewhere I don’t go on a regular basis, but hindsight is 20/20. For once, I’m sitting at one of the small outdoor tables, enjoying the warm and sunny weather. Well, partially enjoying the sunny weather. The other part of me is busy fiddling with a new application on my smart phone.

  A message pops up from the escort site and I swipe over to read it. I find myself smiling in spite of myself, rolling my eyes a bit. ‘It’s extra sunny today. I suppose I might attribute it to your radiance nearby’. He’s a bit corny, but something of a poet at heart from the looks of it. I suppose it’s rather romantic, but it only raises my suspicions that he looks more like a potato than a man. Good-looking men don’t have to resort to flirting with women online. It’s just the natural way of things. Although I know he’s likely nothing special, I find myself tapping out a quick response. ‘Oh, that’s just my oh-so-sunny disposition’. He sends back a laughing emoji and I hear someone nearby laugh rather abruptly. Caught off guard, I look up to see an exceedingly handsome man glancing at his phone. I quickly avert my eyes as he seems to catch me staring, feeling almost guilty for how attracted I am to him.