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cafe stays open twenty-four hours. “My favorite. I
wonder if they’ll have the chicken satay tonight.”
    “Mmm. That does sound good.”
    He keeps hold of my hand as we wind through the canyons
created by the crooked townhouses lining the canals. I allow myself to believe
my safety is his primary concern.
    The smell of peanut sauce greets us when we duck through the
weathered entrance to take a seat behind the massive bar constructed from
timbers ripped from the galley of an old trading vessel. I imagine all the
things the polished boards have seen.
    I’m almost positive none of them have been odder than a
hooker and a bodyguard devouring platters of gooey skewers while deciphering
legalese intended to put guardrails around an extreme, for-profit sexual
encounter.
    I tug the sheaf to my side of the table and shelter it with
my hand while I sign on the dotted line, right below Rick’s autograph. It
strikes me that I never knew his last name, Brouwer. I admire the way our
signatures fit together before folding the document, tucking it into my purse.
    “I’ll take care of this.” It has my real name on it.
Immediately below his. Something about the juxtaposition feels intimate.
Surreal.
    “Star.”
    “Hmm?”
    “What happens after the show?”
    “I suppose things return to normal. I’ll work my window and
you’ll be a bodyguard. Unless…” I try to erase my frown, though I doubt I’m
entirely successful. “Do you want to be a performer now? You could talk to
Tommy—”
    “No!”
    His emphatic denial thrills me. And shames me. How could I
think less of him for aspiring to share his passion when I sell mine every day?
    “I didn’t mean that, Star.”
    “What did you mean?”
    “I meant this.” He stares pointedly at my beaded nipples.
Yearning turns his eyes smoky.
    “‘This’?” I can’t force anything else past the lump in my
throat.
    “Us. I want you more than ever—need more than what I take
through your window. I don’t mind seeing you like that if I have to, but I’d
like to give you more. Do you date? Have boyfriends socially? Can I ask
you out?”
    I can’t help it. I burst into a raucous fit of laughter.
    His pinched mouth and balled fist—crumpling his napkin—cut
me off.
    “Shit. Sorry. I—”
    “No, I understand. I should have realized I didn’t have a
chance with you.”
    “Huh? Are you nuts? It’s hysterical because… Well, I can’t
imagine a man interested in dating a hooker unless he’s looking to be her pimp
or score a freebie.”
    “Jesus. Star, that’s not at all what I had in mind.” He
tosses his fork onto his plate with a clatter then starts to rise as though
I’ve destroyed his appetite. “You must think I’m a complete asshole.”
    “No!” Now it’s my turn to shout. I panic, afraid I’ve caused
him more damage than a bruised ego. When I lay my fingers on his forearm, the
power in his bunched muscles thrills me. He allows me to guide him into his
chair once more. “I think you’re…gallant. Fun. Sexy. And I don’t understand why
you’d care to give me the honor of being yours when any number of women
would be thrilled to have you. You can fuck me any time you like. You know
where to find me. Why would you want a girlfriend who has sex with other men?”
    “Do you plan to be a whore for the rest of your life?” It
sounds far more harsh than his delivery indicates. He speaks softly, not a
fleck of recrimination tinting his interest.
    “I—I don’t know.” I bite my lip. The truth will surely
destroy our rapport.
    “Don’t start lying now. I’m not judging. I’m asking.”
    I nod then take a deep breath. “Yes. This is what I want to
do until I retire. I care about you, Rick. I enjoy sex with you. It’s easy to
talk to you and you always make me laugh. But—”
    “Not the ‘but’.” He shakes his head. One corner of his mouth
curves up in a sardonic grin.
    “See, like that.” I can’t help but chuckle. “ But … I
love my job.