I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, a feeling of unwelcome guilt settling in my mind. I remember when my dad started the company. I was in high school. And I remember thinking how cool he was.
Until it became more than an app, and I learned that my dad was a deviant, pervert, and creep—as my mother put it.
The irony is not lost on me. Maggie was raised in a purity culture and I was raised in…almost the opposite, and yet, we ended up in similar situations. All of the lies they fed her, my mother was feeding me the same.
“You weren’t ever embarrassed?” I ask. “To own a sex club.”
Her hand rests on my chest as she lets out a sigh. “No. I felt like I was taking back something that was stolen from me. And I wasn’t going to let them shame me anymore.”
Like the way I shamed him.
I don’t react, staring at the ceiling. And before long, she picks up on my thought process.
“What are you thinking about?”
“People judge what they don’t understand,” I say. “And that’s not an excuse. It’s just a fact.”
She nods before reaching up and pulling my face toward her. “Do you understand now?”
As I stare into her blue eyes, I realize that what started as a dare between us has changed into something more. It’s not just the best sex of my life, but the deepest connection I’ve ever felt too. But do I really understand? No. There is still so much I can’t grasp.
“I’m getting there.”
She gives me a small smile before leaning forward and pressing her lips to mine.
“Me too,” she replies, before resting her head on my chest again.
Rule #22: If he wants to worship you, let him.
Maggie
“You didn’t sleep with him, did you?” my mother harps from the front seat of the car.
“No!” I snap in response, immediately cowering when I feel her harsh glare on my face through the rearview mirror. “We’re just friends. I lost track of time!” Which is a lie.
I know what my mother saw when she caught me climbing out of the passenger seat of the quarterback’s car after the football game, where his hand was under my skirt, feeling me up through my underwear. He was begging me to touch him, but I was too shy to do anything more than rub the hard bulge through his football pants.
He’s two grades above me and easily the most handsome boy I’ve ever known. I wish we were more than friends, but after tonight, when my mother came looking for me, screaming through the parking lot because I didn’t come home on time, I’m pretty sure he’ll never call me again.
I can still feel his forbidden touch between my legs, and I’m choking on my shame as she pulls over on the side of the road. She looks exasperated, fighting between angry and scared. Flipping on the light on the roof of the car, she grabs a piece of paper from the passenger seat and turns to show it to me.
“What’s that?” I ask meekly.
“This is your heart,” she replies, and my brows knit together. Then, she violently rips off a large corner of the paper. “This is your heart after you’ve had sex. You give a little piece away every time.” When she rips it again, I flinch. And again and again and again until there’s nothing left but a shred of white, crinkled paper.
“Save yourself, Maggie. Save yourself for someone who truly matters.”
I’m standing in Salacious’s small sex shop as the memory of that night replays in my head, realizing now how long I let those lies infiltrate my mind. And just how warped my views on sex are because of it. I doubt Eden or Mia had to listen to that or grow up believing that sex would do nothing but ruin them. No wonder I can’t walk around the club without feeling embarrassed or ashamed.