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name there’s not a whole lot more I can do. It makes me wonder if Claudia neglected to provide any details, like a first name, on purpose.
    Perhaps a bit more insurance that I won’t back out of the deal like the other girls? 
    At eight o’clock I’m just about ready to give up when there’s a knock on the front door.
    It surprises me that I’m shaking with fear. I’ve only had two lovers: my high school sweetheart and my husband, who I met in college. I’m not exactly what you’d call extremely experienced sexually. How in the world do I think I’m going to be able to please a man who wants me as a mistress? I’m used to being intimate with men who were friends first and then lovers. Men I shared a lot more with than just a bed. This arrangement is just supposed to be about sex.
    Second thoughts and doubts quickly overtake me. Am I really going to be able to do this? I always looked down on girls who engaged in quick hookups and one-night stands and now I’m the one taking money for sex.
    What a hypocrite.
    When he knocks again, more loudly, I know I have to do something. Is there any way to cancel the contract? Return the money?
    I already spent it.
    Claudia said this is my one and only shot. McNally or nothing. And right now I’m not in a financial position to choose nothing.
    I have to sleep with whoever I see behind that door. No matter how old, or how hideous the man is, I’m going to have to lay down and let him fuck me.
    When he pounds on the door one more time I know I have to answer it. I take in a deep breath and open the door.
    “Are you Mary?”
    I nod.
    I’m doing my best to keep my mouth closed so my jaw doesn’t drop to the floor.
    There is a boy standing at the door.
    Okay, maybe not a boy , but he’s not exactly a man either. At least he’s not what I imagine when I think of a man. 
    “Are you Mr. McNally?” Calling someone who barely looks eighteen Mister doesn’t seem right.
    He nods.
    We stare at each other for several seconds. His mop of thick, black hair doesn’t look like it’s ever been properly styled. And his smooth skin is pale, giving the appearance of someone who rarely goes out in the sun. He’s tall, definitely over six foot, but the ill-fitting clothes he’s wearing make him look more slender than I think he probably is. If he got a decent haircut and wasn’t wearing clothes that look like they were from a Goodwill reject pile the guy might actually be attractive.
    I immediately get the impression that he was one of those kids who never quite fit in in high school. No matter how hard he tried he just wasn’t quite like everyone else.
    Not that I have too much room to talk. I wasn’t exactly Miss Popularity myself. I wasn’t a reject either. I was one of those kids who just got lost in the shuffle.
    “Do you want to come in?” I offer once my initial shock has worn off.
    I move out of the way so he can enter.
    “My name is Dante,” he tells me as he glances around my house. “Nice place.”
    His name takes me off guard. I’m a medieval scholar and his name is Dante. If I believed in a higher power I’d wonder if this was some kind of cosmic joke.
    We stare at each other awkwardly as I close the door behind him. I want to ask him if he’s even graduated high school yet. I don’t want to be rude, but I also don’t want to be arrested for having sex with a minor.
    “I’m twenty-two,” he says as if he’s reading my mind. “I know I look young. So do you, by the way. Claudia told me that you’re thirty-two. You look like you’re just a few years older than me.”
    “Does it bother you?” I ask. “That I’m in my thirties.”
    He shakes his head.
    “Do you want something to drink?” I ask. “Wine? Beer? Soda.”
    “Sure,” he replies, but I can see his attention is on my vast library. He’s drawn to my book collection like a magnet.
    “You can tell a lot about a person by what he or she reads.” He’s already inspecting the spines of my