Honor Roll Read online

  Honor Roll

  Kelly Collins

  Copyright © 2016 by Kelly Collins

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design by Michelecatalanocreative.com

  None of this would be possible without the love and support of my family.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Thank you for reading.

  Sneak Peek into The Learning Curve

  Do you need more of Making the Grade?

  Acknowledgments

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  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  When I stepped off the bus on 6th Avenue, I felt tired. I’d been selling myself by the inch all week, and my twenty-six-year-old body couldn’t keep up. With thirty minutes to class, I hit the student union to get caffeinated. The funky little cafe had been the landing place for Jade, River, and me when we started work at Concierge Services. Our weekly meetings were what kept us sane.

  The coffee was hot, and as it cooled, I looked around campus and watched the couples walking hand in hand. Happy. Content. In love. They flirted and giggled while I stared in envy. I’d never had that. Hell-bent on getting my degree, I’d given up relationships. When I started escorting, it wasn’t possible. River became my friend and a surrogate girlfriend until she fell in love with one of her clients. Jade was pregnant with her second child and still living with her two men. Then River married Jonathan and had a little boy.

  And here I was, still single and whipping my dick out for dollars. The bitterness of the coffee tamed the bitterness of my mood. Twelve more weeks and I'd never have to sell myself again.

  The weight of my emotions, or maybe my backpack, slowed my pace to a crawl across campus. Professor Thieland was my favorite instructor and my graduate advisor. Twice a week I attended his commodities class. The Monday and Friday classes were the highlights of my week, but even the prospect of attending one of his lectures couldn’t diminish the cloud hanging over my head.

  The auditorium hummed with the quiet voices of at least fifty students. At the podium, a ZZ Top look-alike tapped at the microphone.

  In the fourth row, I sat in my Hugo Boss suit and waited. Did we have a guest speaker? The screech of audio feedback silenced the room.

  “Good morning.” The high-pitched voice of the man at the mike didn’t mesh with the man in the Grateful Dead T-shirt and ratty jeans. “I’m Professor Saunders, and you’ve got me for the rest of the semester.” Groans echoed through the lecture hall. “Jack Thieland had a family emergency and will be taking a sabbatical until next year. Keep him in your thoughts. This is Commodities in the Twenty-First Century, and I’ll be using the synopsis and following the same curriculum of the class.”

  What else could go wrong? The last thing I needed at the eleventh hour was change. I pulled a paper out of my notebook and wrote ‘screw me’ over and over again. I wanted to scream it, but writing it in big bold letters with exclamation points seemed my best option. I crumbled the paper up and set the balled up page in the cup holder beside me.

  A slim and sexy little brunette stood beside Professor Saunders. She was good-looking, curved in all the right places with long, shiny dark hair and eyes the color of sapphires. She handed him a few notes and stepped away. I watched her walk off the stage and take a seat at a makeshift desk set up to his right. She puckered her lips and blew at the hair that had fallen across her face. She appeared as happy as I felt.

  “Twelve of you are graduate students and owe me a graduate project. Be patient as we try to squeeze you into my schedule. My assistant, Mim, will be here after class to talk to those of you who have already scheduled their presentations.” He picked up a remote control and turned on the overhead projector for his lecture. “This is not an ideal situation for any of us, but like the stock market, there are highs and lows, and those who fare the best know how to ride the wave.”

  The rest of class slipped by in a haze. I was preoccupied with thoughts of work and mesmerized by Mim. Something about her drew me in. I didn’t know if it was the way her hair flowed over her shoulders and curled on top of her breasts, or if it was the way the light bounced off her blue eyes. I’d been a point A to point B guy for so long, I’d never noticed anything else along the journey, but Mim could not be overlooked.

  Class dismissed, I made my way to the table.

  “Name?” she asked without looking up.

  “Hi.” One word was all I spoke. I wanted her to look up at me so I could lose myself in her eyes.

  “Name?” she said again, with more than a hint of impatience.

  “Hi,” I repeated. “I know you’re busy, but there’s no need for bad manners. Mim, is it?”

  She lifted her eyes from the paper and placed her pen to the side. “I’m sorry. This…” she spread her hands on the table, “was not what I had planned today. Yes, it’s Mim, like Mom with an I.” She let out a sigh.

  Her English accent took me by surprise. “Well, Mom with an I, life has a way of throwing you curve balls at the least opportune times. I’m Luca Gregorio by the way.”

  I held out my hand, and she gently placed the tips of her fingers in my palm. I should have shaken her hand and dropped it, but being the suave Italian I was, I lifted her fingers to my lips and hovered over her knuckles. The roll of her eyes wasn’t what I expected, nor was the snap of her hand like I’d burned her with my touch.

  “Does that work for other girls?” She picked up her pen and scrolled down the names on her list. “Are You Getting What You Pay For? Commodities in the twenty-first century?” She recited my project title like it was an offering on the menu of a low-end diner.

  “Yep, it generally works, and yep, that’s me.” I squatted down so we were at the same level. Eye level. When our gazes connected, I would have sworn I saw a glimmer of something other than impatience. Mim was a tough sell but hey this was my field of study.

  “May ninth at two o’clock.” Her voice was direct leaving no room for negotiation.

  “What? No. That’s three weeks earlier than I planned.” Holy hell, how was I supposed to meet that deadline?

  “You heard the professor. Those who do the best are those who learn how to ride the wave.”

  “This isn’t a wave. It’s a damn tsunami.”

  She wrote the date and time on a sticky note and handed it to me. With a tilt of her head and a smile on her face, she said, “There’s no need to be rude.” She looked past me to the woman standing behind me. “Next.”

  Speechless, I stormed out of the auditorium and went directly to the gym. The only work I’d put into my project was picking out the title. Unless I dropped everything, getting it done was a long shot. I rolled my shoulders, but the tension wouldn’t ease. The only way to get rid of my stress was to sweat it out. I had three hours until my next appointment. Two would be spent working myself into a state of exhaustion.

  The Athletic Club was a perk of working for Concierge Services I’d lose soon. Jack, my trainer, was by the weights when I arrived.

  “Luca,
what are we doing today?” He was always in high spirits, and I wondered if he got off torturing people. I worked out all the time. It was the only way to maintain the body my clients expected, and the added benefit was stress relief.

  “Work me hard,” I told him. “I’ve had a shit day.” I changed into shorts and a cotton tee and met Jack at the weights. Bench-pressing my max for three sets would help right things in my twisted world for the moment.

  One-press

  Two-press

  Three-press …

  After three sets, I rose from the bench and bent over to hold my knees. I was pumped to continue once I caught my breath.

  “Give me thirty minutes on the elliptical. I want it set to cardio, raise the resistance and the incline.” Jack pushed me toward the machines and walked away.

  The only machine available sat between a female with a sweet ass, and a fat dude with a visible plumbers crack. I climbed aboard and began. A glance to my left, and I nearly fell off.

  “Not so smooth now, are you?” Mim pulled the handles and pressed the pedals like a pro.

  What could I say? My swag factor had hit a low. “I’ll get it together, don’t worry about me.”

  “I’m hardly worried, Luca.”

  She remembered my name. That had to be good, right? Not wanting to be outdone. I upped my speed, resistance, and incline to match hers. Game on. “Odd that we would meet here. There have to be hundreds of gyms in the city.” I huffed out the words. Cardio wasn’t my thing. I did it to gain endurance, but now that I was at the end of my tenure with Concierge Services, I’d be able to cut back.

  “It’s the best, and I like quality.” Her eyes ran the length of my body.

  “Like what you see?” I tightened my hands on the grips so every muscle in my arms would bulge with definition.

  “I love muscle. It's a damn shame most of yours seems trapped in your head. Inflated ego much?” She stopped her machine and hopped off.

  “Hey, you’ve got me all wrong.” I stepped off and followed her closely.

  “Prove me wrong, Luca. Buy me a drink. I’ll be at the coffee bar in ten minutes.” She disappeared into the women’s locker room before I could reply.

  Shit. I had the time, but what was the point? The point was, I wanted a distraction from my life, and she was hotter than hell. I raced to the locker room and showered. I ran in the direction of the coffee bar with my tie in my hand. Nine minutes had passed, and I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to get to know the brown-haired girl who had gemstones for eyes.

  Dressed in an off-the-shoulder white tunic and black yoga pants—God, I loved yoga pants—she sat at the counter and watched me cross the floor toward her. I slid onto the stool beside her.

  “What can I get you?” I waved the barista over and waited while Mim decided what she wanted.

  “Chai tea with honey, please.” She was all sweetness and sunshine to the tired-looking barista.

  She was vinegar and hot sauce to me, but I liked flavor in my life. Mim intrigued me. “Double shot latte, please.” I pulled my tie over my head and proceeded to finish dressing.

  “That much caffeine will keep you up all night.”

  “Would seem that I’ll need it. I have a project to finish three weeks early.” I pulled a napkin from the dispenser and folded it in half.

  Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, but her lips twisted in a satisfied grin. “That’s a shame.”

  The barista placed our drinks on the counter in front of us.

  “Definitely.”

  “Will that cut into your social life?” She pulled the cup to her mouth and blew on the steaming liquid. I could smell the spice in her tea waft through the air.

  “Are you asking out of interest?” What was her game? I was so out of the dating scene. I had no idea how women my age behaved.

  “Possibly.”

  “I thought my ego offended you.” I wasn’t used to people casting me aside and pulling me back. She was playing me well.

  “Your ego arouses my curiosity. I’d love to see what holds that up.”

  ‘Arouse’ was an interesting word to use when talking about my self-esteem. “I’m told it’s my incredible traps.” I flexed my muscles to make a point.

  She tried to suppress her laugh but ended up bursting out loud. “No wonder you work out. It must take a lot of muscles to hold up your head.”

  “Now you’re just being mean, but I’ll forgive you if you have dinner with me.” What the hell was I doing?

  She pulled my folded napkin from under my cup, took a pen from her backpack and wrote her address on it. “I’m free next Thursday. Seven works for me. I like Italian.” She checked me out again before she rose from her seat and walked away.

  I sat there, dumbfounded. I had a Thursday date with a frustrating woman who apparently liked Italian. That was one area in which I could deliver. A slow smile spread across my face.

  * * *

  The Saturday night crazies were swarming Times Square by the time the cab dropped me off at the hotel. I was never late to an appointment, although I’d come close yesterday when an accident in the subway delayed me by an hour. Today, I’d started out early. I picked up the key to Claire’s hotel room with plenty of time to spare.

  I'd let myself into the room decorated in various shades of white. The purity of the color contrasted with the darkness of my soul. Life had become blurred. The only difference between a porn star and me was a porn star got paid to get laid on camera. I got paid to satisfy women. I didn't allow cameras. Voyeurism wasn’t my thing.

  After a glance around the suite, I knew Claire would want to be had on every surface in this room. The bed, the sofa, the tub, and the damn granite counter of the bar. My dick would be on fire before the evening was over.

  The windows beckoned with the bright light of Times Square flashing before me. I yanked the curtains closed, shutting out the real world around me while I produced one client’s fantasy.

  After a call to room service, I set about earning my pay. Claire had specifics she liked ready when she arrived. The tub had to be filled with hot water and bubbles. The champagne chilled in a silver bucket by the bed. I started the bath, lit the candles, and prepared the items she’d had delivered. When I took the lid off the box left behind, I wanted to scream. I hated this stupid fetish of hers. There were cuffs and a flogger, a handful of hundreds, and a brand new package of condoms.

  I knew how this would play out. I'd answer the door in my thousand-dollar suit, and she'd pretend she was the escort. She'd show up in a trench coat with little or nothing beneath it. I'd sweet talk her into taking a bath where she would make me watch her masturbate. Priming herself was what she called it, but all it did was make the second orgasm much harder for her to reach. It lengthened the game I wanted to shorten.

  I'd pretend to pay her, and she would tie me up and have her way. In any other setting it could be considered rape, but in this setting it was prostitution. I would sell myself once again to reach my goals: success, financial freedom, and respect.

  When the knock came, I checked myself in the mirror. I ran my fingers through my hair, giving it what Claire would call a mussed up, sexy look. Making her wait was part of the game, so I straightened my tie and picked lint off my collar until the second knock sounded. It would annoy her to have to wait, but she got off on pent-up frustration. I rubbed the exhaustion from my eyes and prepped for the long night ahead. I tucked my self-loathing away and put on my Ken doll smile. Showtime.

  I opened the door in a coat and dagger fashion, a sliver at a time. It added to her excitement. "Are you the girl?" I deepened my voice because she loved it. A baritone voice would earn me a sizable tip.

  "Yes, I'm what you wanted," her words breathy and soft. So unlike the powerhouse of a woman I knew her to be. She was a CEO at Evictus Financial Group, a large firm specializing in penny stocks. I always gave Claire what she wanted because she had what I needed—money and a foot in the door at her company.
/>   "You are indeed what I ordered." I ran my hand down her cheek. "Stunning." I pulled her into the room and peeked out the door as if someone could be watching. I had to play my part to perfection.

  I'd been screwing my way into the door of Evictus for eighteen months now. A year and a half was a long time to be with the same client. She was one of my first, and we had this date every Saturday night like clockwork. Different hotel. Same situation. I'd pound her flesh so she'd be sore until our next date. She'd pay me and often press a generous tip in my pocket. In turn, I'd pay my rent, buy my groceries, and chip at my student loans. It was a living, but hardly a life.

  For a second, I thought of Mim and locked the thought away behind my smile. She wasn’t part of this world, and I wouldn’t dirty her by thinking about her while I was on the job.

  "Don't forget,” said Claire. “I get paid up front." Yep, she always did, and she'd turn around later and hand over the cash for a night well spent.

  I pulled out the bills I’d put in my wallet. Two circular divots marred the inside pocket. One came from the MBA coin my favorite professor gave me when I was struggling to pass my classes. "Keep your eye on the prize," he told me, and I've kept the talisman in my pocket ever since. The second circle used to contain my Saint Christopher, but now the space was empty. I had taken it out and put it in my drawer. I didn’t need a daily reminder of how far I’d fallen.

  I fanned the bills in front of her. "This should take care of it." I folded the wad of bills and placed them in her coat pocket. Let the games begin. With a firm tug, I pulled the belt of the coat loose and let it fall open. Hmm, black lingerie tonight. She must have had a terrible week. Anxiety slithered up my spine, wrapped around my neck and threatened to choke me. If her mood was dark, she'd want it rough and hard, which meant she'd give my body no mercy.