Ezra Dawn, $2.99
Contemporary Romance, 2018

Davian Everleigh… wait, is he a refugee from Green Gables or something? He sells his body for a living, so I don’t know why he didn’t choose a more overt and stereotypical gigolo name, like Dirty Sanchez.

I’m a whore. I have sex with men for money. Young, old, it doesn’t matter as long as they pay. Sometimes I’m just a glorified counselor. I’ve always left my personal feelings at the door. My job is to be whatever my client needs whether it’s a warm body for the night, a shoulder to cry on, or just to lend an ear to their problems. There’s no room for getting personal in my line of work. It makes things messy and complicated and hinders my ability to stay focused on the task at hand. I thought I could stay closed off from my clients but then I met him, and everything changed.

Oliver Montgomery started out as just another client but what I didn’t realize when we met was that the man would find a way to burrow under my armor and into my heart. Our relationship may have started out professional, but it quickly became something more, and I found myself in deep with a man who could very well become my everything. The question is, could I become his?

There, that’s the prologue and that’s the entire summary too. That makes my life so much easier, so thanks Davie!

Mind you, this fellow is not a porn star, an Instagram thirst trap with a million followers, or anything remotely close to the C-list tier of celebrities, but he can charge ten grand a night. Apparently, his regulars often pay more than that. That seems a little bit high, but maybe that’s just me doing an online search to see just how much on average that a male escort typically earns and the most high profile ones tend to charge at most five hundred dollars per hour. Maybe Davie can insert ping-pong balls into his chocolate factory and, when he squeezes his muscles and shoots them out, those ping-pong balls come out coated in gold or something. I’m sure people will pay extra to witness such a performance.

At any rate, Davie had a sad childhood, et cetera. He also has some predictable angst.

I would love to do the same thing, find someone to love and settle down, maybe have a few kids either through surrogacy or adoption. It’ll never happen though. What kind of man is going to love someone like me? I’m worthless. The most I can offer a man is a decent meal and great sex. How is that going to work in a relationship?

I look at all those escorts in relationships with movie stars and billionaires and can only wonder why Davie is aiming for so low.

I’d kill for someone to ask me on a real date where no money changed hands but if I wanted to start a relationship with someone I’d have to stop working at the escort service. It’s against the rules to have relations with unauthorized persons outside of the organization while in their employ because of the risk of STD’s.

Uh, so… stop? I mean, he’s loaded. If he put out three days a week, that’s thirty grand in his bank account, minus tax and whatever cut the agency takes.

While, I don’t need the money, I love meeting new clients.

Ah, so this is self-inflicted misery. Got it. Sympathy for this whinebag, completely gone.

Meanwhile, Oliver’s ex-boyfriend ditched him because he is a workaholic. Oh, and he was a virgin until he met this ex, so guess who’s going to continue his schooling in the sexy department. At any rate, this ex is getting married, and feeling a bit down, Oliver gets the number of the escort service his father used—these are all very rich people, okay, so it’s probably one of those things that only they will understand—to find a bloke for him to talk to. Really, just talk to. With his mouth. The one on his face. To tell the escort that, you guessed it, he needs a date to this ex’s wedding day. Oh, and he’ll pay twenty grand to Davie.

Seriously, these people! That’s a lot of money! What the hell, give that money to a charity or something! Wait, give it to me; I’d love to have a swanky new desktop to replace my toaster with some spare change for some expensive dinners.

I hate these people so, so much.

These last three weeks with Davian have been amazing, the only downside is that I’ve had to pay him for each date.

He’s a freaking escort! What does this dim-witted moneybag waste-a-lot expect?

If Davian thinks I’ll let him go so easily, he’s got another thing coming.

Dude, just throw him a few dozen more grands, that should do the trick.

I can’t take it. These two men are whiny turds constantly going on and on about their self-inflicted issues, and it’s actually an obscene kind of tragedy that these people are not using the money they have to do things that make them happy. Get a drug habit, eat a lot of good foods and get fat, I don’t know, or maybe just blow those grands on therapy, I guess? Anyway, life’s too short for me to waste time on these two drivel-shoveling angst-buckets, and I wish someone has warned me beforehand on just what a bore Paying for Love is.