Say You’ll Stay Audiobook

Chapter One

If taking the train that promised a climax before coffee was the only way I could get to work in the morning, was it really such a bad thing?

It was the only train that would take me to the obscure location behind the dingy, hourly-rate motel. I had applied to so many jobs and been interviewed by so many hiring agents that I literally had no choice but to take the job. That is, if I wanted to continue paying my rent and avoid living on the streets.

The catch: I had to take the Iron Lincoln Railway, which, come to find out, was, apparently, widely known as ‘the sex train’. I had no idea such a thing even existed because apparently I had been living under a rock for the past year since it started.

There was no way I would be able to acquire a reliable car. Well, actually, that wasn’t the hard part. The hard part was obtaining my driver’s license after a terrible wreck. Yep, it was my fault. And it was so bad that I had lost my license for two full years.

On top of that, I had lost my job which was located just four short blocks from my apartment. Which meant I had nearly two years to go before I could get my license back. Talk about a sucky position to be in. The things you finally learn after suffering the consequences.

I had held out as long as I could for the boyfriend who would drive me places, and maybe let me move in with him to save on expenses, but when the only job I could get after the accident was located next door to the hookers’ corner on Seventh Avenue, all the way across town which was a good seven miles from my apartment, I had to spring for the most reliable—er, most realistic—option. Which was the train.

When I had inquired about reliable transportation to and from the job, the hiring agent had told me all about it. There was just one catch—I guess that makes it the second catch, but whatever—I had to fill out an application, for one, and I had to agree to on-site STD testing.

I had choked on my spit when he said it. “I’m sorry, what?” I had asked.

He shrugged. “Well, it’s a sex train,” he said like I should have automatically known what that meant. “It’s like a quickie on your commute. Every morning. Every evening.”

It had taken me a moment to realize my mouth was hanging open.

“It’s either that or pay for a cab, right?” he asked. “Who has the money to take a cab seven miles ten times a week? And you probably took a cab here today, so you’re going to be out a whole fifty bucks or more.”

“Right,” I said, nodding slowly as I ever-so-slowly recovered from my shock. The round-trip cab ride was making a serious dent in what little savings I had left.

“So, can you start next Monday?”

“Um,” I stammered. “I guess. If I can get approved by then, sure.”

“Great,” he said, standing up and reaching for my hand. “Congratulations and welcome aboard.”

Now, I know what you’re thinking. I had just agreed to work for someone who would know that I’m engaging in sexual intercourse before arriving at the office. Wouldn’t that be embarrassing? Ah, hell yeah. By the time I made it to the front door on Monday, I’d probably chicken out, unable to face anyone who knew I was taking that train.

And then a more serious question hit me: what if people from the office took the train as well? How could I face those people who knew what I was up to both before and after work?

Oh, but the whole idea was, admittedly, making me a little hot. I couldn’t help it. The fantasy of it all, sleeping with a stranger without the commitment, and not just anyone—someone who was subjected to daily STD tests—was causing my imagination to run wild. It was like the latest and greatest meet-up site, but without the risk.

It was one thing to daydream about it though, and it was completely another to live it. Would I actually follow through?

Well, that didn’t matter because either way I needed that train ride to get to work.

So, on my way home, I stopped by the train station’s office which was located a few blocks from my apartment building and filled out an application and subjected myself to a blood test. Within thirty minutes—the nurse insisted I stay for the results—I was in business with a special pass.

That was one thing I was really good at: keeping clean. I hadn’t had a boyfriend, or a lover, in three years. Any news of a disease would have been a shock to me since I kept up the habit of spreading my legs at the gyno’s office as often as recommended. Too often in my opinion.

The thing is, it turned out everyone but me knew about this train. Even my mother knew. And she freaked out the second I walked into my parents’ house and told her I was taking a train across town to Seventh Avenue.

“Are you kidding me?” she asked, her eyes wide as she stood in the kitchen doorway with her hands bracing the doorjamb. “Only the crazy people take that train, Claire. That isn’t for you.”

I wanted to dig a hole and bury myself in it. And if dirt could melt, I’d end up in a pool of it with how hot my face was burning. “Well, how else am I getting to the only company that will hire me? I can’t ask Dad to drive me. He has his wood shop and cooking classes three times a week. He won’t drop them just for me. And you don’t have a car either.”

She tapped her forehead with her palm. “What about your grandmother?” she asked. “We can call her up and ask her to drive down. At least for a few months.”

I scrunched up my shoulders. “And then what? Butter her up and then ask her to stay for twenty-one more months? That’s unlikely.”

She sighed. “So, you’re going through with this?”

“Well, yeah. I don’t have a choice now, do I?”

“You can live with us,” she said, her face brightening like she had just thought of the idea. “It’ll be rent-free, and you can stay as long as you like. You won’t need that job.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Sorry, Mom, but hell no. I’m not living with you guys ever again. Remember? We agreed after the last time I lived with you that it would never work out between us.”

“You’re too uptight,” she said, lifting her hand and waving it absentmindedly. Clearly she was dismissing me and what she considered were my issues. “Fine then. Suit yourself. Go get knocked up on the train.”

“Mom, they require birth control,” I said, following her into the kitchen. “Chances of pregnancy are extremely unlikely.” There was that word again. Unlikely.

“There’s still a one-percent chance…”

“Less than a one-percent chance. And besides, half the time is in the back anyway.” I cringed as soon as the words came tumbling out. Did I really just say that out loud to my mother? That piece of information had totally slipped out, but I had been on a roll.

Her eyes bugged out as she stared at the sink.

Quick, come up with a save. Come on, come on. Anything. The plea in my head came up dry.

“Well,” she said, sounding a little breathless.

Shit. Opportunity missed.

“I suppose that reduces the odds considerably.”

I cleared my throat. “Yes, by half.”

She narrowed her eyes at me as she pursed her lips. Then she lifted a trembling hand to her brow and asked, “So, different partners every time?”

Shrugging, I picked up an apple from the fruit bowl and took a bite. “Maybe,” I replied, munching on its crispy flesh. “The train attendant said it’s entirely up to me. Or whoever picks me.”

“Picks you?” she asked nervously.

I nodded. “They have these weekly giveaways where patrons sign up to be auctioned off.”

“I see.”

“Anyway, it’s basically a fundraiser. The contributor chooses the charity he wishes to support.”

“Uh huh.”

Her eyes were starting to glaze over. Apparently, the concept was a bit much for her. But I had to hand it to her; she was taking this new development fairly well. Nothing like hearing about her grown daughter engaging in sexual acts with multiple unknown men.

For me, I was just glad to have a ride to work. Anything to keep myself from living in her house. Well, no, living on the streets. Because I’d shoot myself before I ever moved my things back into my old bedroom. No way. No way in hell.

Ready to find out what happens next?