My Gigolo Read Online Free

that I’d gladly turn the hose on.”
    Another laugh escaped him. If this woman’s sister were even half as fun, tumbling her would be all sorts of entertaining.
    “All right, then. You have a deal. I do charge by the hour, but I’m a nice guy, so I give discounts for clustered hours. A hundred dollars for the first and eighty for each thereafter. I’ll take you up on the offer of a hotel if I can’t drive back here that night for some reason. Add probably fifty bucks for gas there and back and we’ll consider it done.”
    A long pause.
    “Miss?”
    “I’m calculating. I can do an hour and gas if you want a hotel room. I can’t imagine a decent room being under forty dollars, even in a smaller city like Joplin. But if you don’t need a room, I can cover two hours and gas.”
    She sounded hesitant. He abruptly wondered if she were on a budget. She’d said she was married with kids, after all. How hard would it be to squeeze out an extra almost three hundred dollars for a kid sister’s birthday present? He didn’t imagine that this kind of thing came up often.
    Sighing, he wondered why he’d gotten into this business if he were always going to be such a nice guy. If he didn’t watch it, he’d be handing out freebies.
    “Look, I’ll take two-fifty and give her two hours she’ll never forget. If I don’t drive back, the hotel will be on my own dime. It’s my decision to drive back or not.”
    “You know, you’re a pretty decent guy.”
    “I try. Do we have a deal?”
    “I think we do. How do I pay you?”
    “Do you have cash?”
    “Oh, yeah.”
    He smiled at her tone. “Good. Just put it in a blank envelope and leave it with Regina. She’ll see that I get it. Can I get some directions to your sister’s house? I’ve only been to Joplin once. It’s no Kansas City, but it’s a little bigger than a one-horse town.”
    “I’ll lead you right to her door.”
    “Great. And miss?”
    “Yeah?”
    “What’s her name?”
    The woman chuckled. “Well, that’s kind of a funny story.”
    Grinning, he settled back against the bench, preparing for the worst.

Chapter Three
Trial Run
    February
    How had her office friends talked her into catering her own birthday party?
    Trying to scowl, Gabe tipped half a cup of shredded coconut into the bowl. Cheryl had demanded her famous peanut butter bonbons. Worse, the accounting pool lobbied for the infamous walnut chocolate chip cookies, and the lawyers posited that no one could buy a cake better than she could make herself.
    God, she loved baking.
    She put the butter and peanut butter on the stove to melt together, and her doorbell chimed. Frowning, she wondered who on earth would drop by on a baking Saturday without calling first. Everyone who mattered knew better.
    A salesman? Great. Just what she needed, a lengthy sales pitch for something she didn’t need while her butter mix scalded on the bottom of the pan. Sighing, she turned off the flame and hoped the interrupted melting didn’t do anything weird to the recipe.
    Brushing at the powdered sugar dusting her old T-shirt, she crossed her dining and living rooms and bit back her annoyance. It wasn’t some salesman’s fault that he was interrupting. Well, it was, but the poor guy probably hadn’t intentionally picked the absolute worst time to grace her porch.
    Thus, when she opened the front door and saw a winsomely handsome, tall man in jeans, hiking boots, and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, she didn’t quite know what to say. What on earth could this guy be selling? Tick repellant? Camping gear? In February?
    “Happy birthday, Gabe. Your sister sent me.”
    She blinked. Part of her mind recognized that the man seemed fairly well-spoken with a pleasantly rough, low voice and that he somehow knew her name. The rest couldn’t seem to tell if he was speaking English or some strange pidgin, beyond the greeting.
    “Can I come in?”
    She forced her mouth to work when she recognized actual