Laurel lives the life of a bored housewife and questions her husband's intentions when he starts staying away from home, doesn't have sex with her and doesn't have money for household expenses or new clothes.
A phone call from a stranger asking her to do cheesecake modeling throws her into the world of suburban call girls where she finds attention, excitement and money.
Just when she believes she can save her marriage, her husband is arrested for the murder of the manager of Interludes - her 'night job' business. She meets the detective assigned to the case and the two of them become partners in the search for the real killer.
Can Laurel save both her husband and her marriage? Or is her 'night job' more important to her than she thought?
Before returning to the hotel, I had the cab take me to a boutique. Tonight's dinner called for a special dress, something sexy. Dinner with a man: one that didn't anticipate my giving him sex.
On the way to my room, my mood remained up. I knew Dr. Arnold would be able to help Steve. Our marriage could be saved. But, he had stayed out last night and probably tonight. What if he screwed Cheryl again?
The doctor said not to sleep with other men to get back at Steve, but I had made the date with Brent before then. I should keep it, shouldn't I? Yes. Besides, Steve would never find out--if he even cared. He couldn't care if he screwed another woman last night. When I got back to Houston, I'd give up my night life, be true to Steve. That way, he'd have me for an example.
Dr. Arnold couldn't be right. My night job hadn't led to my needing sex from strangers. No. I wanted Steve, no one else.
* * * * * *
A knock sounded at my door. I put down my eyeliner and wondered if I should tell him to come back in fifteen minutes. No, my robe made me decent; he could wait while I slipped into the bathroom and put my dress on.
I opened the door and saw Brent, dressed in Levi's, cowboy boots and a western shirt, leaning against the wall. He kissed me on my cheek and held my hands out. “Hello, beautiful. Am I early?” he asked, looking at my state of undress.
“No. I'm running a little late. Come on in and have a drink from the mini bar while I finish dressing.”
“I thought you had decided to do away with the pretense and be yourself,” he said.
My mouth mused and I shut the door. “What do you mean?”
“Admit you're a call girl, be honest.”
How'd he know? He hadn't been a customer.
“What are you talking about? Yes, I'm married, but since when does having dinner with a man mean infidelity?”
“Hey, babe, you might be married, but I know call girls, their body language, and you are one.”
No, I never acted like one unless out on a job. He...he must be trying to make me mad, or playing a joke.
“Don't be silly,” I said and walked past him toward the bathroom. “I'll be ready in a sec.”
His hand came around my waist, slipped down and spread wide across my belly, pulling me against him. I felt his hard dick against my back and a hot shiver went through me. Electricity sparked between us. I looked to see if lightning shot about the room. No.