My Next Mistake

Inspired by Taylor Swift’s ‘Blank Space’ but as you read along, this bible scripture ends up being more accurate in Gage and Taylor’s case. Yeah. I said I was inspired. :)

And as I am revising it, Just Pretend by Bad Omens is also EXTREMEMLY ACCURATE. The feels man. This book blew me away.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no records of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protect, always trusts, always hopes and always perseveres.

1 Corinthians 13: 4-7 (NIV)

I LOVED WRITING THIS BOOK. As I reread over it, I still love it. It’s tragic, dark, edgy, and Gage is so swoony.

Blurb

THE RULES ARE SIMPLE.

*ARRANGEMENT IS TEMPORARY.

*PAYMENT UP FRONT.

*MARRIED MEN ONLY.

*DO NOT GET ATTACHED.

*DO NOT FALL IN LOVE.

CAN’T FOLLOW THE RULES?

THEN THERE IS NO ARRANGEMENT.

GAME. OVER.

DO NOT PASS GO.

DO NOT COLLECT $200 DOLLARS.

UNTIL HIM.

HE DOESN’T UNDERSTAND I’M NOT THE MARRYING KIND, BUT HE DOESN’T GIVE A DAMN. HE’S THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE OF THE LIST OF CONDITIONS STATED ABOVE.

HE’S MAKING ME BREAK EVERY F*CKING RULE I’VE EVER MADE. I SHOULD HATE IT, BUT ALL I WANT IS MORE.

Table of Contents

Note

1: Taylor

2: Taylor

3: Taylor

4: Taylor

5: Gage

6: Gage

7: Taylor

8: Taylor

9: Taylor

10: Taylor

11: Taylor

12: Taylor

13: Taylor

14: Taylor

15: Taylor

16: Lily

17: Jake

18: Taylor

19: Taylor

20: Gage

21: Taylor

22: Taylor

23: Gage

24: Gage

25: Taylor

26: Taylor

27: Taylor

28: Taylor

29: Gage

30: Lily

31: Gage

32: Taylor

33: Taylor

34: Taylor

35: Taylor

36: Gage

37: Taylor

38: Taylor

Epilogue: Taylor

Playlist

Back of Book Shit

About the Author

1: Taylor

Taylor, don’t you think it’s time to pick only one man? You’re spreading yourself too thin by screwing as many men as you can. One man can set you up. Then he can set you up for life when you get pregnant.

My mother, in all her glorious, elegant splendor, walked around my apartment as if she owned it. Her pant suit was starched to perfection. Her heels click-clacked around my apartment, taking stock of everything I had. She didn’t know shit. The designer clothes she wore made her feel like she was someone of great importance. Hell, she was the same as me. Or…well, it’s better to say I was the same as her. Just like she was the same as her mother.

I come from a long line of sugar babies. The best in the business. Only problem was, I never wanted this life, but it was all I knew and I did it very well. So I did. I played the game.

I guess you can say it was the family business. My mother didn’t know who her father was and I didn’t know who mine was. My grandmother was the matriarch and we all lived in one house ever since I was born. I was bred into this life from birth. My grandmother moved from New York to California and when I was born, they settled here in Clear-Lake Houston. My mother said they moved around because when grandmother had mom, she wanted a fresh start, and when she got to California, she had enough money to retire. Until she made mom become a sugar baby herself.

However, in my case, I had several. I had a client list. Having one man dictate to me didn’t sound that appealing, so I made a business out of it. Almost like an escort. Ha. Yeah, right. I was more of a fuck-specialist. Yeah. That title sounds true enough. I fucked men for the right amount of money. I’d say prostitute, but that sounds tacky.

First a little bit about why I am the way I am. It isn’t pretty, but it’s the life I’ve led so far. There’s no turning back for me. Not anymore.

I was homeschooled since the age of twelve. I was smart enough to finish high school when I was sixteen and for two years, my mother took me to ‘how to be a lady’ classes. One thing that was drilled into me, was that ‘ladies are not born, they are made’. After two hard years, I have become exactly what I was taught. It wasn’t the school lessons that taught me how to do my job. Ha. No. Those lessons were taught in the privacy of our home; the big two story estate, by my grandmother. My mother for the most part ignored me. The things I’ve learned in that house would scare any normal person shitless.

Anyway, being a sugar baby, being sexy and not boring was how we made our living. To be these men’s confidante. To be their satisfaction when they don’t get it at home.

I learned at an early age, ‘men only want love if it’s torture. Married men are best because they already have ‘love’ at home.’

My mother had four sugar daddies in her career and the last one set her up for life. He was probably my father, but I never got his name, and mother never told me. She only said we were set and we didn’t have to worry about anything.

She loved telling me how foolish it was to have ‘clients’, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t stick with one guy. One old man for months, even years? My life wouldn’t be by own. No, thank you.

Not that it was now, but I had a system. They contacted me, and we made arrangements. I had a very detailed planner full of arrangements. Sometimes I thought I needed my own secretary. That would be an eye-opener. They’d probably freak and run the other way screaming.

Unlike my mother and grandmother, who wooed the men to their wiles, I made my shit into a business. Not a legit business because come on, really? How would I ever put that on my tax forms? Professional sugar baby? Yeah, no.

I didn’t trust men. None of them. My services weren’t cheap, and these men had no problem paying. Within reason and a set of rules, I gave them whatever they wanted. We set up a contract and set up dates in advance.

I don’t know how she did it but when I turned eighteen, and started in the business, my grandmother had given me an address of an expensive hotel and I met my first client. He was a dirty, old windbag that was old enough to be my grandfather, he was in his late fifties. He paid a hundred grand cash to take my virginity. My grandmother split it sixty-forty and that was my introduction into the family biz. Now, four years later, I make six figures easily annually.

I mostly live modestly. Of course I have to keep up appearances. I have to look the part. That’s all it was for me. A part I played. After that little episode, I moved out and got my own place.

Now, my mother came to my downtown apartment every Sunday to—wink—see how I was doing, but I knew she came to inspect my place. To make sure everything was in its place. Although she had no idea what I kept behind certain doors. My bedroom was explicitly off limits as was my office. Both were kept locked, one by several locks. The other, by a few. What could I say? I was a little paranoid and very private.

Oh, Taylor. Why don’t you ever look together? Her voice was like sugar. Saccharine until she shunted her venom at you.

Ugh.

The one day I keep to myself—aka holed up in my apartment and because I’m wearing sweats and a sports bra—I’m not put together. I keep up a regimen. I eat healthy. I work out every day in the apartment gym. I have a personal trainer. I was a size eight. Unlike her who was a size four. She trained hardcore when she was a sugar baby. I was happy where I was. I didn’t have fat on me. It was the way my body was made for fucks sake. Of course, it was never good enough for her. My grandmother had the same regimen my mother did. They were both petite. I was petite.

I was a size eight! Gasp! They acted as if I was twice that size.

Insert eye roll here.

Evidently my daddy had a body because I had a rounded ass that never seemed to shrink and my breasts were a bit bigger than your average C-cup. My mother thought my workout regimen was crap. I mean, I lifted weights, I exercised to keep that hour glass figure. I didn’t eat fatty foods. Hell, I look at a hamburger and I want to run away. I’ve never even had a hamburger. Chicken and seafood. Veggies. So many veggies I’m almost a vegetarian. Fruit of course but not too much, so it doesn’t rot out my teeth… blah blah blah.

I forced down seafood, although I hated it. I wasn’t allergic to it, so I should eat it, my mother always said. It’s healthy. Blech. I hated the smell and I didn’t care for the taste either.

Anyway. My mother was here looking around my apartment like she was estimating how much I was worth. I hated it. Why did she even come here? She never gave me anything but grief. She never came here to see how I was. If I had a good week. Whatever. She knew about my day job. I wasn’t only a call girl. I waitressed four days a week. She hated the way I lived my life. It wasn’t how she wanted me to live it. It wasn’t what a sugar baby’s life was like. Well, I wasn’t going to be a sugar baby and live off of one man when I could live off many.

I know what those women were called. A call girl and I was my own boss. Of course, the money I got was tax free, so I worked as a waitress across town during the day. Had to pad taxes someway right? I was glad I was able to work Monday through Friday and my hours were like eleven to two-maybe three sometimes. Gave me enough time to get ready for the arrangements I had on certain evenings.

How the hell did she get it into her head that I had to be with one man for a time? I know that’s how she did in the past and my grandmother, but we’re in the twenty-first century. I mean come on, it’s not like the man was going to take me out and wine and dine me. We went to hotels. One of their choosing of course, but I was a business woman first and foremost. I got paid first every time. It didn’t matter to me where they got the money from. I got paid and they got what they wanted.

My pussy was a revolving door and I wasn’t about to give it to only one guy. I was no man’s mistress. That’s why I had clients. I wasn’t going to be dictated to. They got time slots. I was cheaper than a mistress, but I got paid enough that I didn’t have to be taken care of by a man. Men were pigs. Any and all of them. Every single one of them.

My age, older, younger. It didn’t matter. Once they learned what their dick was for, they used it however they could to get what they wanted. Mainly, pussy. I’ve never called for a guy my age because one. It wasn’t allowed. I couldn’t be what I was and have a guy my age. Two. He’d want things. The one time I did… sigh.

It didn’t turn out so hot. Naïve is the one word that comes to mind. Beside stupid. Very, very stupid.

I was nineteen. My client at the time, Clement York, was an investment broker that lived in New York. He had several business meetings and shit that I didn’t care about here in Houston and one of his buddies I had arrangements with told him about me. That if he was going to come down here often that he should contact me if he was looking for a little something on the side. I didn’t give a shit, it was more money for me.

Anyway, I was going to meet with a client at the St. Regis Hotel in the River Oaks area when I saw him. Or he, saw me. I was riding the elevator up to the room when he entered the small space with me. He looked like he was about twenty-two. I honestly thought he worked there at the hotel.

The whole time on the ride, we made easy conversation. He was good looking, nice, and he didn’t seem like he had any hidden motives. That and I was also naïve back then. So naïve.

Right when I got off the elevator, he gave me an easy smile and asked if we could have coffee sometime. I didn’t really drink coffee, but in my inexperience, I said yes. I was curious. You know what curiosity does, don’t you?

I thought, sure, why not right? What could it hurt? Ha. It could hurt… a whole hell of a lot

2: Taylor

His name was Roger Williams. He didn’t know what I did for a living and I kept it that way.

Or so I thought.

We met for coffee and things hit off. He was fun to talk to, had an easy smile. We went out on dates when I didn’t have arrangements.

He never questioned my ‘meetings’. I had to tell him something, didn’t I? I told him I was a consultant. He didn’t pry any further than that. Which to me felt like a relief. I didn’t ask what he did, but he had money. Wherever we went, he paid. He was truly the first gentleman I’ve ever met. He treated me like a princess. As if I was a real lady. Roger never asked for more.

Until that night. It was three months into our so-called relationship when he wanted to be intimate with me. I thought it wasn’t the right time. And it wasn’t.

I already had a prior engagement earlier that evening. He followed me without me knowing it.

I was meeting up at the Regis once again to see Clement York. Only five star hotels for my arrangements, of course. For the security and discreetness of the hotel managements. Trust me, I wasn’t the only one at this job, in this city, but I knew I was one of the best.

My clients talked to each other. Most of my clients came from word of mouth after I gotten a name for myself. Even recommended me after our arrangements ended. I didn’t mind, because hey, that was what made my business prosper. They didn’t tell me about their business, but they were worse than two old biddies at a bingo night when they got together and ‘talk shop’.

I come highly recommended. Back then though, I didn’t have as many clients as I did now. Back then I only had arrangements with three, tops four men.

Anyway, I met with Clement and our session was short, two hours, and I must say four grand for two hours of my time was well worth it. Once we concluded our meeting, he told me he was happy with our arrangement, but he was finished with his business here. He asked how I felt about flying to New York, but I immediately reminded him about the rules of my services. I didn’t fly anywhere for anyone. If it wasn’t here in Houston at one of the listed hotels, then we would have to conclude our time together. He got it. He was a businessman. He was disappointed, but he understood.

I told him if he was ever in Houston again, then he could feel free to email me and see if I was available. That was it.

I left the hotel room and made it to the elevator doors when I felt eyes on me. I looked around but there was no one there. Not thinking anything about it, I got in the elevator and rode it down. I waited a while at the front lounge while a bellhop went to call a cab for me. I still felt eyes on me. I was ready to get home and into my blah-clothes.

What are blah-clothes? Think about your period panties for a second. You know you wear a different kind of panties when you’re on your period, but they are comfy as hell. You feel blah, yet you’re comfortable. I look homeless in my blah clothes, but I loved them because they aren’t starchy and clingy. At least, that’s my reasoning. I was put together every day of the week. For my day job, for my real job and whenever I’m out of the apartment. When I was home, I wore blah clothes. Leggings, baggy shirts, thick, fuzzy socks. Anyway.

Back to where I was going with this. I got in the cab that was called for me and made it to the parking lot where I parked my then Honda Accord. I was practical. That and I took cabs. That got expensive after a while but it kept me safe. No one could follow me.

I gave the cabbie his fair, got out and almost made it to my car when I heard someone yell out my name.

SARAH!

That’s my call girl name. No one knew my real name. I played a part. Double life? Maybe. I went to great lengths to keep my real name away from this part of my life. To everyone outside my family and the restaurant I worked at, I was Sarah Troy of Services by Sarah. So legit, right?

That voice though? I recognized it immediately. I turned and there Roger was, jogging towards me. My heart stuttered then pounded furiously. He knew. He followed me and now he knew. Especially with the way he was looking at me right now. Hard as ice.

Roger?

Oh, Sarah. I thought what we had would make you stop all this silliness.

That took me aback. I’m sorry?

Haven’t I been good to you? Haven’t I shown you what a real relationship could be like?

I reached into my purse, and grabbed a hold of my keys, ready to defend myself if I had to although I didn’t know how to in the first place. What I wouldn’t give for some mace right about now.

The look in Roger’s eyes were wild, but I could see the bitterness boiling in his dark gaze. He was angry. Furious. His hands were clenched tight at his sides and he was standing at the ready, as if he was planning on charging. Double gulp.

I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Yes, you’ve been a perfect gentlemen. And I told you, I didn’t do relationships. We were just friends.

"I thought we had something. You’re still fucking them. You still come when they call you."

How the fuck did he find out? Unless he was following me all a long. And that shit, I wasn’t standing for.

Roger. I’m sorry if you think what we had was more than friendship, but I can’t. Not right now. Not anytime soon. Probably not ever.

I didn’t see it coming and the next thing I knew, I was breaking my fall with my hands as I fell to the gravelly cement of the small parking lot. My case with my money and things slid under my car. Luckily I still had my purse. When I felt the harsh asphalt scrape across my arm, the burning sensation overrode everything else. My skin felt like hot coal, and my belongings were forgotten. My face stung where he slapped the shit of out me.

My mother and grandmother were the only ones who ever hit me. That hadn’t happened since before I was eighteen. I got hit enough that I learned how to be exactly what I was born to be. Well, mostly.

You stupid, little bitch. You’ll fuck my father, yet I’m not good enough?

That caught me by surprise. I looked back at him to see... tears? Oh, God. What is this guy’s issue?

Your father? What are you talking about?

Clement York is my father. I’ve been watching him for a while now. He bent down and grabbed a chuck full of my hair yanking me upward before he shoved me to the ground. Hard.

Breathe. Just breathe.

"No one noticed his absence until he came home one time in a lighter, happier mood. Everyone noticed the difference. I mean, what man goes out of town for business and comes home happy as if he’s walking on air? He said business went well and that he thought Houston was a good investment for the company. That once a month trip began to become more frequent. Twice a month and then the last three months he came once a week. I wanted to know what made him leave home so often. Low and behold, little Miss Sarah comes running when master calls. Well, I wanted to put a stop to it. Then you didn’t seem so sterile when we met. I thought maybe I could change you. That maybe you’d stop selling yourself to the highest bidder and become a lady. Not spread your legs for every packed pocket you could get your clutches on. No. You still went after them. Still, you never once let me touch you like you let them touch you."

Roger. Please. You’re hurting me.

I haven’t even begun to hurt you like you hurt me. You should have stopped. You should have stayed mine. I would have given you anything. You’ll never be anything except filthy, white trash in a skimpy dress looking for her next score. Her next dollar. Well, here’s your asking price you dirty little cunt and now I’m going to get what I want.

Oh, God. I tried fighting him but it was no use. He pulled me up by my hair and slammed me against my car.

I tried reaching into my purse for my keys once more, but he grabbed my purse and threw it out of reach.

Please don’t do this. Roger, you don’t want to do this. You’re a gentleman.

Yeah, well if I can’t be yours, I’m going to show you how gentleman take care of business. I paid you, I don’t need to be a gentleman anymore. I’m just another paying customer.

He dragged me across the side of the car until he pushed me down onto the hood. I tried elbowing him, but he caught it before it hit him and held it to my back. Holding me with his pelvis and thighs, he took my other arm and forced it behind my back with the other.

Where the hell was everyone? Shouldn’t someone be going home right now? There were plenty of cars here. It was still early for fucks sake!

Roger, please, don’t.

Shut up, whore.

I felt him reach between my legs and render the thong I was wearing useless than it already was. I didn’t like them really but some men liked looking a girl’s ass jiggle and wiggle as if it was for them to fondle and fuck. Fucking sick fucks. The way they pulled on the string and let it snap against my skin like some kind of whip.

Ugh.

Thankfully, I kept that shit out of the contracts. Half of them liked it. Popping the string against my skin.

I tried to look around me, to see if anyone else was out here. It was only eight in the evening and I tried calling out once, but Roger held my arms back with one hand and wrapped his other around my mouth.

I wouldn’t do that if I were you. No one is going to hear you. Now, take your punishment like a good little slut and we’ll be done. I know my father is finished with his business here and I know you won’t travel up to New York for him, so this will be my last chance. I’m not going to miss the hot piece of ass you should have given up before now. Now, stay quiet or else this is going to be harder than it has to be, pretty Sarah. You dirty little bitch. Did you like the way he fucked you? The way his dick got hard for your young, little cunt? I bet he loved it. Like I’m about to right now. Now shut the fuck up and take it like the little whore you are.

And I did. I buried the pain. I hid my fear. And I didn’t cry. Not once. I let the hate take over. He could take me and break me like I was glass, but I wasn’t going to let it rule over me. He could try taking me down as much as he wanted. I’d get back up and move on from this like everything else I did. Move forward. He was only a man. A weak, pathetic man. Useless. Worthless. Disgusting fucking pig. Didn’t I say that’s what they all were?

Then I felt something wrap around my wrists. The fuck?

Gotta keep you still, don’t I? You’re wiggling too fucking much. My belt ought to keep you in place.

I heard a zipper and his pants loosening then I heard something ripping. Condom. Oh, thank fuck for small favors.

I was on birth control but at least he wasn’t psychotic enough to rape me without protection. Even though I was dry, it didn’t matter. He lifted my short dress that I was going to fucking burn later and then he was pushing himself inside of me. Ripping through me like a rusty nail. Tears threatened, but I pushed them back. No way was I letting him get the best of me.

His crude words didn’t stop as he told me how long he’s waited for me. How long he’s wanted me. How he watched me… stalked me was more like it. He never got the real me. He still didn’t know my real name. He didn’t know where I lived or what I did in my off time. He only came when his father was here. Ha. Figured.

Besides that one time he came for coffee, he had only been here when his father was in town. I’d see him the next day or two after I saw Clement York. Why didn’t I know? I should have known something was off about Roger. I mean, he didn’t even use the name York. That’s when it hit me. He never let me see his license, or his checkbook or anything that would refer to his name.

Stupid. I was so fucking stupid. And now I was paying for it.

I guess this was my penance. I deserved this for not figuring it out sooner. I know that’s what my mother would say. What my grandmother would say. So I let him fuck me. I let him rape me because there was nothing else I could do about it. He was stronger than me. Had me at a disadvantage. And I was fucking tied up.

I let him take what he wanted and luckily for me it didn’t take long. I mean honestly…like father like son. He was finished before it even started and he shoved me off him and while it hurt, I didn’t move. I clenched my jaw and dealt with the pain.

My body slipped down towards the ground, my bare ass burning on the warm gravel. I felt the blood trickle down my head now that I was in a sitting position. My head hurt like a bitch. I felt something inside me tear as he pounded into me without remorse. It hurt like fucking hell between my legs.

I still had his fucking belt on my wrists, but I only sat there. Not moving. Then a wad of cash was thrown in my face. Smacking against my nose and cheek before drifting over my thighs.

"There. For services rendered, you dirty little slut. You should watch who you pick for your job. I sure as hell hope I’m not the last guy who does this to you. Bye, Sarah Troy. Oh, keep my belt for a souvenir, please. Or not, it’s worth a lot of money if you need to pawn it for cash. He knelt down and gripped my chin hard in his hand. Such a pretty face. All you’ll ever be good at is this. You’ll never be good at anything unless it’s on your back."

Then he shoved me back, my head hitting the front of the car. Hopefully it wasn’t hard enough that my head bled but then I watched as he stood, fixed himself and snickered as he walked away.

I closed my eyes for a second. Took a deep breath and opened them to find myself a brand new woman.

He tried to tear me down, but he had no idea how strong my will was. He tried making me feel like I was nothing. What he didn’t know, was I already felt like that. This was my life. I was good at it. Hell, I was the best. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to ever let something like this ever happen again.

Because like I said before. Men were pigs. Sick, twisted, disgusting fucking pigs. Since then, I made sure I took them for every penny they could give me. This was after all, just a game. We were all players and I had my part to play.

3: Taylor

Memory lane sure does get a girl down sometimes. I could feel myself wanting to cry every time I thought about it. At least some part of me did. That had been a moment of enlightenment. No one knew about what Roger did to me. What would that serve? In all honesty, I knew what mother would have said, and what my grandmother would have told me.

I remembered going home, cleaning myself the best I could, then going to my doctor to get checked out. Who knew what that dirtbag was carrying? Luckily he hadn’t had anything and I didn’t get an STD. Although I was dry when he pushed into me, nothing tore that could damage me. Thank God.

Not that I ever thought about having kids because come on. Why the hell would I ever subject my kids to the likes of me?

Doctor Tuttle checked me over, and had said something to the effect of going to a hospital and then going to the cops about the incident to try and get something done about it. Ha.

Really? What would that serve? It’s not like the guy would serve time jail. His father was wealthy. I mean, like filthy rich. There’s no way he’d ever see a court room if I was to pursue something like that.

No. I had told her to check me and finish, so I could go about my business. Maybe if there had been an STD or something like that involved, then maybe yes. Since I was physically fine, I moved on. Emotional? Well, even three years later my mind was set the same way. Men were only good for one thing. Money.

You’re not even listening to me are you, Taylor?

Ugh. What was she even doing here? Shouldn’t she be at her own home, being miserable? Why does she have to bother me?

When my mother got too old, she took the man who got her pregnant for everything she could and moved us here from California. Old meant her late twenties to be a sugar baby herself. She moved to the heart of Houston and she became a secretary. I don’t know how she got a job as a secretary at one of the most prestigious law firms in Houston but there you have it.

She made a decent living along with the sugar baby money she’s received and saved. Things nowadays were a lot different and more expensive than they were back then. She liked her job though. It gave her something to do during the day. All she did was answer phones and direct the calls. I didn’t want to