understand it, but with her—”
“No. I get it. I, mean, Callie’s smokin’ hot. From what I’ve seen of her, she’s a sweetheart, too. And she has that snobby look about her, with all that fancy shit she wears, yet she’s the complete opposite of that. A killer combo. So, it’s cool. I understand why you dig her. I just think it’s time you let it go. Move on. You’ve put her on a pedestal for far too long. She’s like this unreachable thing you’ve just got to have. Do you have any idea how many girls you could get? I mean…right now.”
Emmett stabs a finger at the table. “Right this second, there are probably twenty chicks I could name that you could call up and say you needed a little ‘stress-release’”—he makes air quotes with his fingers—“and they’d be here in minutes. You’re one of the best ballplayers we’ve got. You’re all tall and built and shit. And sensitive. Chicks eat that crap up. They don’t dig short, stocky, curly-haired bastards like me. You’re lucky as all hell. The gene pool did you good, my brother.”
“Dude, again, you’re so gay.” Dean says, but he’s not laughing. He’s too caught up in everything Emmett’s saying and the thought of finally letting go of his dream of being with Callie.
I just can’t do it.
He shoves his hands into his hair and says, “Don’t you think I’ve tried to get lost in other girls? You don’t think I want to move on? I’ve gone out with plenty of chicks, but none of them are Callie.”
Emmett groans and rolls his head on his shoulders.
Dean sighs. “I’ve tried to forget her, but no matter what, she’s always there. She’s in the back of my head constantly. I’ve even tried avoiding my sister so I don’t have to see her all the time. But she’s like a drug, and I just can’t stay away. It’s a fucking sickness. Callie Cartwright’s like…like my heroin,” he says, fisting his hands in his hair again. His stomach cramps as he pictures her smiling face. “I feel sick.”
“Wow. That’s deep, dude. And some sick shit, too.” Emmett smacks him on the back. “I knew it was bad but…you’re like a masochist or something. It’s like you want to torture yourself.”
“I know.” Dean thinks of Callie’s date last night, and even though the guy was a loser and most of these guys would be, the thought of her going out with another turned his stomach. And suddenly he has to tell someone what’s going on.
The words stream out of his mouth before he can stop them. “She’s doing this… thing right now, and it’s driving me crazy. You know how she’s interning at the huge finance place, right?”
Emmett nods, and his eyes narrow as he listens.
“Well, apparently all that expensive crap she buys and wears has put her in the hole pretty good. She might lose the position that she thought for sure was hers after graduation. And so she’s desperate. She kind of…” He pauses, playing with the straw in his cup. “…started an escort service.”
Emmett’s eyes widen. “Whoa.” He lowers his voice. “Like prostitution?”
Dean screws up his face and flicks him in the forehead.
“Ow!” Emmett’s head snaps back and he rubs the strawberry mark blooming on his head.
“No. Douche,” Dean says.
“Jeez. Okay, asshole. No need to get violent.”
“An escort basically goes on a date for money. So, in short, a bunch of rich, lonely, lame idiots—”
“I get the picture,” Emmett says, rolling his eyes.
“These guys pay her to go out with them. That’s it. They’re only paying for her companionship . And not that kind of companionship,” he says, warning flashing in his eyes.
“Huh. A young, hot thing like Callie? That sounds…I don’t know…unsafe or something.”
“Exactly! Thank you.” The pent-up air whooshes from Dean’s lungs in relief. “I tried to tell her and Jinny that, but they’re so blinded by the fact that this is easy money that they don’t see the
“No. I get it. I, mean, Callie’s smokin’ hot. From what I’ve seen of her, she’s a sweetheart, too. And she has that snobby look about her, with all that fancy shit she wears, yet she’s the complete opposite of that. A killer combo. So, it’s cool. I understand why you dig her. I just think it’s time you let it go. Move on. You’ve put her on a pedestal for far too long. She’s like this unreachable thing you’ve just got to have. Do you have any idea how many girls you could get? I mean…right now.”
Emmett stabs a finger at the table. “Right this second, there are probably twenty chicks I could name that you could call up and say you needed a little ‘stress-release’”—he makes air quotes with his fingers—“and they’d be here in minutes. You’re one of the best ballplayers we’ve got. You’re all tall and built and shit. And sensitive. Chicks eat that crap up. They don’t dig short, stocky, curly-haired bastards like me. You’re lucky as all hell. The gene pool did you good, my brother.”
“Dude, again, you’re so gay.” Dean says, but he’s not laughing. He’s too caught up in everything Emmett’s saying and the thought of finally letting go of his dream of being with Callie.
I just can’t do it.
He shoves his hands into his hair and says, “Don’t you think I’ve tried to get lost in other girls? You don’t think I want to move on? I’ve gone out with plenty of chicks, but none of them are Callie.”
Emmett groans and rolls his head on his shoulders.
Dean sighs. “I’ve tried to forget her, but no matter what, she’s always there. She’s in the back of my head constantly. I’ve even tried avoiding my sister so I don’t have to see her all the time. But she’s like a drug, and I just can’t stay away. It’s a fucking sickness. Callie Cartwright’s like…like my heroin,” he says, fisting his hands in his hair again. His stomach cramps as he pictures her smiling face. “I feel sick.”
“Wow. That’s deep, dude. And some sick shit, too.” Emmett smacks him on the back. “I knew it was bad but…you’re like a masochist or something. It’s like you want to torture yourself.”
“I know.” Dean thinks of Callie’s date last night, and even though the guy was a loser and most of these guys would be, the thought of her going out with another turned his stomach. And suddenly he has to tell someone what’s going on.
The words stream out of his mouth before he can stop them. “She’s doing this… thing right now, and it’s driving me crazy. You know how she’s interning at the huge finance place, right?”
Emmett nods, and his eyes narrow as he listens.
“Well, apparently all that expensive crap she buys and wears has put her in the hole pretty good. She might lose the position that she thought for sure was hers after graduation. And so she’s desperate. She kind of…” He pauses, playing with the straw in his cup. “…started an escort service.”
Emmett’s eyes widen. “Whoa.” He lowers his voice. “Like prostitution?”
Dean screws up his face and flicks him in the forehead.
“Ow!” Emmett’s head snaps back and he rubs the strawberry mark blooming on his head.
“No. Douche,” Dean says.
“Jeez. Okay, asshole. No need to get violent.”
“An escort basically goes on a date for money. So, in short, a bunch of rich, lonely, lame idiots—”
“I get the picture,” Emmett says, rolling his eyes.
“These guys pay her to go out with them. That’s it. They’re only paying for her companionship . And not that kind of companionship,” he says, warning flashing in his eyes.
“Huh. A young, hot thing like Callie? That sounds…I don’t know…unsafe or something.”
“Exactly! Thank you.” The pent-up air whooshes from Dean’s lungs in relief. “I tried to tell her and Jinny that, but they’re so blinded by the fact that this is easy money that they don’t see the
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