Boyfriend for Hire: A Stand-Alone Contemporary Romance (Escort Files Book 1) by Nina Strych Page B

little stroll through the wet sand where the surf ended might feel good. Walking through that warm, salty water might even make her feet heal faster if what people said about the sea being a healing thing was true.
    Amy glanced at the hotel, at the many lights on in the rooms, and wondered which room was Mike’s. She hadn’t wanted to intrude so she hadn’t even been to his room. It was one thing to hire him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t deserve privacy when not working.
    She made a face at that. Hired. Working. Those were clinical terms and she felt very uncomfortable with them. The whole thing was starting to seem like a mistake, something she’d jumped into without thinking, morally ambiguous if not wrong. What was wrong with her that she had to hire a companion with the intent to have sex with them if she could get comfortable enough to do so?
    Women didn’t need to do that. They got in the mood and let their hair down a little. They went to bed with someone, let all of their body show, and simply enjoyed the feeling of being with another person close to them. They opened themselves.
    Why couldn’t she do that? Why was her mind always churning? It was not normal to have a constant litany of— what does that look like to him, is that normal, should I do this —in her head. And it had seemed like a good idea to hire a stranger, someone she didn’t have to worry about being embarrassed to see the next morning.
    But it wasn’t like that. Not at all.
    Mike was beautiful, yes. His body was a work of art, sculpted to make the female heart flutter. Everything about him was sexy and attractive and made her knees weak if she thought about it too long.
    But he was also kind, courteous, generous with his attention, and funny. He was—for lack of a better word—great. How was she supposed to get around the simple fact that when she looked at Mike, all she could think was, Please, don’t let this end.
    The water was warm around her ankles, the foamy barely-there surf tickling as it touched her bare feet and retreated once more. She stood and let her footprints deepen as the water shushed in and out, pulling the sand out from under her while she remained still.
    That was what this week was like. All the sand she had thought was firm ground was being slowly pulled out from under her with each tide. Practicality—gone. Distance—gone. That firm belief that relationships just weren’t for her—going, going, gone.
    Raised voices in the distance put a stop to her ruminations. It was dark, the moon a waxing crescent low in the sky. A shadow further down the beach seemed to be the source of the disturbance and if Amy had to guess, she would say it sounded like a standard lover’s squabble. It was too bad.
    She hoped it wasn’t one of the honeymooning couples, though that was probably the most likely scenario. Her friends had been marrying—her circle narrowing as they paired off and socialized with other couples—but Amy still heard all about the stress. The anxiety of a wedding suddenly lifting could bring that sort of spat on.
    But they always described the make-up sex as something very worthwhile, so there’s that.
    The couple was moving her way, still arguing, and she didn’t want to be that unpleasant surprise listener. Regretfully, Amy left the shallows and took her bruised feet toward her cottage, thinking to sit for a while until the couple passed before returning to the water.
    Their voices rose as she sat and there wasn’t any way not to hear them. The man shouted, “You think I’m blind? I won’t have it. Not here, not now. You save that for when we’re at home and only our friends will laugh at me behind my back.”
    The woman responded with a bitter, “Everyone laughs at you no matter what I do. You’ve taken care of that yourself with your bouncy young things. I’ll take my fun where I want to. After thirty years of waiting for you to come home from your mistresses, you should be glad I’ve