James: A College Girl Romance Read Online Free Page A

gambling—and I would get a no-strings-attached fuck. I didn’t fuck the single moms—too much baggage—but I did tip them enough on most nights to feed their kids for six months. Because I could.
    Most guys I came across who did strippers or prostitutes chose their bedmates because, deep down, they hated woman. Naturally, they couldn’t make a woman come if their lives depended on it—or they straight up didn’t give a fuck if the other parties involved enjoyed themselves. To me, there was no goddamned point if I wasn’t making a woman scream as her pussy tightened around my dick.
    The cocktail waitress from tonight? All I had wanted was to drag her into my lap, pull her panties to the side, and watch her face as she slipped onto my dick.
    Instead, I was leaning against the hood of the Tesla and watching as the big bouncer escorted her to her car. I had given the bartender a couple of bills to find out her full name. Cassia Flynn .
    Cass. Or Little Red to the bouncer.
    She sat down in the driver’s seat and looked down. She was opening the envelope I had left with the bartender. A few seconds later, her head popped up and she looked around with an expression of shock and suspicion. What I wasn’t expecting was for her to burst into tears. Within a minute, she had pulled herself together and was starting up the shit-box she was driving.
    There was definitely a story there.
    While I liked my fucking to be commitment-free, I also enjoyed a challenge—and Cassia Flynn was going to be a fucking challenge. I could feel it.
    A minute later, a dickhead in a monster truck pulled up and laid on the horn. The night’s main-stage entertainment came teetering out of the club in her stilettoes and climbed into the cab.
    That was another thing I avoided—cheating whores. Not my style. I had zero interest in monogamy, but I wasn’t going to be anyone’s back-door man. Bennett had once called monogamy my kryptonite, but just because Wonder Boy was desperate to settle into domestic bliss didn’t make it my fucking life’s goal.
    My rules were simple.
    One: Consenting adults.
    Two: No virgins, no attached broads. I’d made an exception for Bennett’s ex when they’d been together, but that had been to prove a point. Namely, that my friend had been about to marry a cheating whore. Gretchen. What a fucking harpy. He should have thanked me for fucking her.
    Three: Birth control.
    Four: Never get involved.
    Five: Never mix business with pleasure.
    Six: Clean bill of health, in writing.
    Of course, people did lie about their STD history, in which case it was very useful to have a competent hacker to rifle their health records. If they weren’t getting tested monthly, they were suspect. If they wouldn’t produce a clean STD report, which I was more than willing to provide, then they were a no-go.
    Papa McDevitt, health insurance company CEO and dickface extraordinaire, would publically frown upon such flagrant HIPAA violations—but the health insurance industry was all about ass fucking the general populace in the most painful ways possible to increase its bottom line, not to mention CEO bonuses.
    If I was an unrepentant prick, then Papa McDevitt was Satan in all his hoofed and horned glory.
    I texted Matt Irving. He wasn’t my business partner. He wasn’t my friend. He was more the younger brother I’d never had. He was also my bitch, for all intents and purposes, receiving calls and texts at all hours to hack whoever I needed him to hack. Not that Irving was poorly compensated for being on-call whenever I needed him to be.
    Tonight, I sent him the general details: full name, the university she most likely attended, general age bracket. All I wanted were any red flags. Then I got in the car and started driving back toward the house. Bennett had nearly shat himself upon hearing of my purchase. I had, years ago, accused him of settling into rural domesticity. That was before I had discovered this little college town had its