NEVER GIVE YOUR HEART TO A HOOKUP

  LAUREN LANDISH

  EDITED BY

  VALORIE CLIFTON

  EDITED BY

  STACI ETHERIDGE

  CONTENTS

  Also by Lauren Landish

  1. Samantha

  2. Samantha

  3. Chance

  4. Samantha

  5. Chance

  6. Samantha

  7. Chance

  8. Samantha

  9. Samantha

  10. Chance

  11. Samantha

  12. Chance

  13. Chance

  14. Samantha

  15. Samantha

  16. Chance

  17. Samantha

  18. Chance

  19. Samantha

  20. Chance

  21. Samantha

  22. Chance

  23. Samantha

  24. Chance

  25. Samantha

  26. Samantha

  27. Chance

  28. Chance

  29. Samantha

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  ALSO BY LAUREN LANDISH

  Big Fat Fake Series:

  My Big Fat Fake Wedding || My Big Fat Fake Engagement || My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

  Standalones:

  The French Kiss || One Day Fiance || Drop Dead Gorgeous || The Blind Date || Risky Business

  Truth Or Dare:

  The Dare || The Truth

  Bennett Boys Ranch:

  Buck Wild || Riding Hard || Racing Hearts

  The Tannen Boys:

  Rough Love || Rough Edge || Rough Country

  Dirty Fairy Tales:

  Beauty and the Billionaire || Not So Prince Charming || Happily Never After

  Pushing Boundaries:

  Dirty Talk || Dirty Laundry || Dirty Deeds || Dirty Secrets

  CHAPTER 1

  SAMANTHA

  “So, I only need to sell fifty dildos to become a Gold Star representative of Bedroom Heaven?” The young blonde girl several seats down from me asks the question with a completely straight face, making it sound like that should be a ridiculously easy thing to do.

  Of course, she did say that she’s the entertainment chair for her on-campus sorority, so maybe Trixleigh can slam out that many sales in her living room under the guise of a buzzy good night social. I can see it now . . . Trixleigh’s Tricks and Treats. Maybe with a ‘XXX’ substituted in for good measure.

  Because of course her name is Trixleigh, which she spelled for us cheerleader-style with a bonus of mentioning she’s definitely ‘not for kids’ like the cereal, ending with a tee-hee laugh I’m sure she does every time she introduces herself with the bunny ear fingers she popped to the top of her head.

  But while she might not think her question is that out there, my head whips around so fast I look like the possessed chick from The Exorcist, only to see Jaxx Reynolds, the dark-haired girl in goth makeup sitting next to me, cover her mouth and giggle, along with several other girls around the room. Jaxx is the one who got me into this.

  This being a pseudo-business presentation with a healthy dose of sexual innuendo being led by a suburban mom who’s currently standing in the middle of her living room wielding a butt plug big enough to make King Kong cringe.

  Please tell me why I’m doing this again? I ask myself for the umpteenth time. But the truth is, I already know the answer. I need the damn money.

  I’m buried under a mountain of student loan debt, and with the interest rates being sky high, I’ll be battling with that mountain well into the next couple of decades.

  And with only one semester left in my graduate program, I’m looking down the barrel of the day those loan payments are going to come due, right as I’m trying to figure out my post-college plans. But I’m like most people, and at some point in my life, I’d like to be able to afford luxuries like a house or a decent car . . . or cheese on a sandwich.

  So you know what they say, desperate times call for desperate measures. Though I never dreamed it’d mean selling big, fat cocks from the trunk of my car.

  A nudge in my side breaks me out of my reverie, and I blink to refocus on Jaxx, who has a devious smirk on her face. I wonder how many dildos she’s sold. Or maybe she sticks to leather restraints? Of course, with her style, she could sell those as fashion accessories.

  I take a closer look at the cuff bracelet she’s currently wearing, noting the silver loops that could definitely be used for restraint purposes. It’s paired with black fishnet stockings, black shorts, and a black rock band shirt that’s been rough-cut at the belly button.

  It could be a harsh, off-putting look, but on her, it’s enchanting, and the dry humor she stoically spews makes her all the more bewitching. Some might say she’s inspired by Wednesday Addams, but the truth is, I think Jenna Ortega might’ve done a secret character study on Jaxx.

  It was Jaxx who got me to grudgingly agree to try out being a sex toy rep for extra cash to help pay the bills. She’s already been doing it for months and swears it’s easy money, and it does make some sense for me to have sexual aids in my repertoire for my future practice as a licensed therapist focusing on intimate relationships. Some people call it a ‘sex therapist’, but it’s so much more than that.

  Then again, Jaxx’s Aunt Kara doesn’t exactly look like the professional businesswoman I aspire to be considering she’s now holding up a dildo that’s swirling in a circle while vibrating intensely enough to make the rabbit ears on one side of it flop around wildly.

  “That’s right, Trixleigh. Fifty units and you’ll be Gold, and then the sky’s the limit. These babies virtually sell themselves.”

  Trixleigh squeals and goes back to looking at the catalog in her hands, pausing for an unreasonably long time on a double-ended, rainbow-striped, unicorn-horn-ribbed dildo called The Happiest Ride.

  Jaxx whispers, “Got her.” She licks a black-painted fingertip and draws a tally mark in the air.

  Kara smiles, likely thinking the same thing. To help sell me on the idea of this side gig, Jaxx told me the story of how her aunt had been on the verge of a foreclosure after her hair salon burned down and her insurance refused to pay for the damage, citing a cold technicality that left them not fiscally responsible for helping her recover from the accident.

  Desperate and not knowing what to do, Kara had turned to becoming a sales representative for an adult company selling sex toys out of her living room.

  Now, after three years of throwing parties for Bedroom Heaven and recruiting women to work under her, she’s flourishing. According to Jaxx, her aunt is debt-free, living in a new home, and no longer doing hair because her toy business keeps her so busy.

  I have no intentions of becoming the next vibrator mogul, but looking at Kara’s home and the stress-free smile on her face, I have to admit, she does seem to be doing well. Financially, and I assume, orgasmically.

  “You’ll get used to it,” Jaxx says, her dark eyebrow arched so high in amusement a truck could pass under it. “What’s the saying? Life is like a bag of dicks. You’re always gonna get fucked, you just never know how hard. Or in what hole. Or holes, as the case may be.” She tilts her head as though considering . . . or counting.

  I can only shake my head as I whisper, “That is NOT the saying.”

  Before Jaxx can respond with another stoic retort, Kara laughs, merrily holding up four more vibrating dildos, two in each hand, which looks even more obscene than it sounds. She addresses Trixleigh, “You got it! The more dicks, the merrier! White dick, black dick, brown dick, purple dick! Big dick, small dick, ribbed dick, vibrating dick!”

  As she exclaims, her eyes dance around the room to the other women, reminding me of the scene in From Dusk ‘Till Dawn where the man outside the whore house screams about how there’s every flavor of pussy inside. “Get them all sold! Happy customers are repeat customers. We want them coming, and coming, and coming again.”

  Craziness has to run in Jaxx’s family. I laugh to myself, watching as Kara animatedly answers questions from around the room. She’s in her late forties, wears her long, platinum blonde hair in beachy waves, and has perfectly applied makeup accented with expertly tattooed brows and lash extensions.

  She talks with her hands, clicking her long acrylic nails together to emphasize words and making her rings and bracelets jingle as they move. Her cigarette-slim trousers showcase her ass, and though she has on a simple white T-shirt, I’d guess it’s an attempt at appearing approachable because the cotton is quality in that subtle way that speaks to money, and lots of it.

  All in all, she looks remarkably . . . normal. Except that she’s now seriously discussing the pros and cons of vibrating versus sucking clit massagers.

  On second thought, maybe this whole idea isn’t so crazy. I’ve learned in my classes and practice groups how important it is to be unflappable when patients say or do any number of seemingly odd things, so maybe I can learn something from Kara to add to my skills as a therapist.

  And get a few stress-relieving orgasms out of the deal myself because I intend on being my own first customer. After all, I can’t promote what I don’t believe in.

  "So, who’s our target audience?” I ask for everyone to hear.

  Kara turns and smiles, sensing she’s got me too. “Everyone. But I want to target college-age customers . . . like you.”

/>   “Really? I thought—”

  “That our customers would be mostly dick-starved, middle-aged horny housewives like me?” Kara finishes for me with a toothy bleached-white smile.

  “Oh, no,” I begin to say, shaking my head. “I didn’t mean it like that—”

  Kara cuts me off and dismisses me with a wave of her hand. “Honestly, honey, no offense taken. First rule of sales—start with what you know. I have an entire leg of my team made up with women who’ve seen it, done it, and been largely disappointed by it. We’ve got no shame in our game about getting what we know we like or exploring to figure that out.”

  She lifts a brow, daring me to have a problem with that. Which I don’t . . . at all. I support healthy sexual exploration at all ages. And I’ve done a lot of learning about what is and isn’t healthy sexuality, both from books and my own research.

  So when I stay silent, she continues, speaking to the room at large once more, “But it’s time for business to grow, and that’s where you come in. Younger women need that same empowerment to explore, learn their wants and needs, and satisfy them. And though you’re all here, by and large, they don’t want to talk to their moms“ —Kara flips her hair over her shoulder with a sassy smirk— “or their cool aunt about their sex lives. They want to talk to their girlfriends . . . their peers . . . their friends. They want to talk to you and become your customer.”

  Jaxx leans over and summarizes, “Fresh blood.”

  “I just don’t know,” I murmur to Jaxx as Kara continues to go around the room, easily switching from selling product to selling the opportunity of becoming a Bedroom Heaven representative. “There’s not a girl I know who has a problem getting a real dick.”

  Disgust curls Jaxx’s black-painted lips. “Are you serious? That’s even more reason. Guys our age suck, especially frat boys. Have you seen them in action? Three minutes, blow their load, couldn’t please a girl if their life depended on it.”

  She sounds more than a little bit bitter, and I wonder if Jaxx has first-hand knowledge about a particular frat boy on campus. “They don’t even wash properly. Have you seen that nurse lady on TikTok talk about how guys come in and when they get up from the exam table, there’s a skid mark? Ugh . . . can’t even wipe their ass or give themselves a scrub, they certainly can’t come near my sensitive—and clean—penis flytrap.”

  Her vehemence, and rare animation, is surprising. She’s right about one thing, though. I’ve unfortunately had a couple of regrets with guys who thought that going down on me was as impossible as hell freezing over.

  I consider those encounters lessons learned, though, the steps that got me to where I am now—comfortable in my own body, aware of what I need, and willing to explore under the right circumstances.

  But I know that’s rare. More common is a sense of shame where sex is concerned, or women who are people pleasers taking that mindset into the bedroom, or worst of all, women who’ve been brainwashed into thinking that porn-type, overly dramatic acting is real and what they’re supposed to enjoy.

  So I guess Jaxx has a point.

  For the next half hour, Kara goes down a list of products from the catalog, holding up each one from her display table. I watch with rapt fascination as I see sex toys that I’ve heard about before and some I haven’t, which is actually a pretty rare thing considering my studies.

  Some look oversized, or studded, or like torture devices that are designed to hurt, which incidentally, Jaxx loves. Others look more friendly and cute, like little round balls and colorful eggs that vibrate.

  The room oohs and ahhs as Kara gives demonstrations of some of the devices, explaining how they work and how they’re best used.

  I’m having such a good time learning all these new gadgets that before I know it, the business aspect is all but forgotten. Except to Kara, who knows she’s got us all right where she wants us.

  She reminds us about the rules and expectations of being a Bedroom Heaven representative, finishing with the prizes at stake for being a top seller.

  “So if you sell 100 Bedroom Heaven gift boxes, you’ll be eligible for a $2,000 bonus,” she tells the room so dramatically she might as well be dangling a carrot-shaped dildo over us. Which the company sells, in a cheeky appeal to vegans. Everyone’s eyes light up, and girls begin excitedly chattering among each other.

  Trixleigh narrows shrewd eyes on the rest of the room, warning, “The girls of Gamma Lambda Kappa are mine. Don’t mess with me.”

  I’d laugh, but 2,000 dollars? That’s worth a bit of dirty play and understandable possessiveness of potential customers.

  2,000 dollars? I think to myself, quickly doing the math in my head. On top of the money I make off each individual sale, that would be quite the haul. The question is, how many dicks can I sell?

  Even though I’m pretty outgoing, I still can’t see myself going to my college buddies and asking them, “So . . . interested in buying a big vibrating weenie, and maybe combo it up with some strawberry flavored lube for when you’re getting the real thing?”

  “But there’s a caveat for you ladies who are just joining in with us,” Kara says, raising a manicured finger, silencing everyone around the room. “We’re at the end of the sales quarter, and to qualify for any bonus, you have to sell the minimum amount during the current quarter.”

  “How much time do we have left?” I ask. Deadlines are important. And motivational.

  Kara licks her finger and presses it to her curvy derriere, making a hissing sound. “Put a fire under your booty, ladies. Bedroom Heaven’s quarterly party is in two weeks to be eligible! You need to sell at least 100 gift boxes in two weeks, so get to getting!”

  A sense of urgency sweeps through the room, exactly as she intended, and she points to a table where a large stack of folders with embossed logos sit, ready for us.

  “Also, for those of you who are new, if you’ve decided you want to represent Bedroom Heaven, you’re gonna need to sign a contract that includes the percentage you’ll make from every sale, what you can and can’t do as a representative, and an ironclad NDA agreement. I’d advise you to look over it very carefully. If you need help reading and understanding it, me or my niece, Jaxx, would be happy to help.”

  “Two weeks,” I mutter as the room begins chattering again excitedly, crowding around the contract table. “Guess I won’t have a chance at that bonus.”

  I mean for it to be quiet, just to keep myself from getting my hopes up like the other women already spending the bonus on various things from school tuition to rent.

  “Nonsense,” Kara says, grabbing a folder off the top for me. “I’ll help you look over the contract. There’s really nothing to it, just the usual to cover their bases. And as far as making a sales goal, you’ll have me to help you, and I can sell ice to a polar bear. Just follow my lead, and you’ll be a Gold Star seller in no time.” She chucks me in the elbow and winks at me. “Now grab a bag of dicks, and get out there and start making some money.”

  I think it’s the first time I’ve ever heard the term ‘bag of dicks’ used in a positive light.

  CHAPTER 2

  SAMANTHA

  “Can I talk about something?” I ask slowly, not sure I want to do this. I sit back on my yoga mat and look at my study group buddies. Sara, Katie, Natasha, and Daphne are also sitting on mats in the rec room we use for our study sessions.

  They’re also psychology graduate students, but our future focuses are as different as we are. Katie has plans for family counseling, Natasha for behavioral therapy. Sara specializes in PTSD, and Daphne hopes to be a school therapist. Somehow, our differences have never held us back from practicing a little therapy with each other, though we tend to drift off-topic and rant more than is standard in professional sessions. That’s what makes us friends, not just colleagues.