6
Carver
“She said yes,” announces Evan. “The girls have gone to talk to Charity, and they’ve both told her that they want to stay.”
I nod.
“That’s good. I mean, Ava and I have already gotten up to no good.”
Evan chuckles deep in his throat and slaps me on the back.
“You serious buddy? You didn’t go slow? I thought the girls we selected this time were innocent ones. You know, young and sweet with pink-lipped smiles.”
I shrug.
“Yeah, we picked innocent ones this time around, but trust me, mine isn’t that innocent. I caught her doing the you-know-what.”
Evan’s blue eyes practically bug out of his head.
“You’re shitting me,” he says in a low drawl before whistling. “Right after they arrived? That soon? Damn.”
I shrug.
“Yeah. The girls were supposed to be getting unpacked before dinner, but mine was doing the badump-a-dump with her big pink friend. And let me tell you, she was able to go deep. I was surprised because I thought for sure I was going to need to warm her up, but my little lady had that friend absolutely buried inside.”
Evan lets out a whistle, and I nod. I feel a little bad even telling Evan this much because what happened between Ava and I was private. It was nasty and dirty, but also meant only for the two of us, and somehow, I feel like I’m betraying her a bit by even saying this much.
Meanwhile, my buddy whistles again, sizing me up with an appreciative gaze.
“Holy shit, my man. You are in for the ride of your life.”
He claps me on the back, chortling and then pours another glass for each of us.
“More vino, buddy? You look like you need it.”
The truth is that I do, and I take the wine and quaff it like a dying man.
“Hold on!” my friend says with sipping at his glass. “You’re acting like a mountain man downing a stein of lager. What’s going on? This shit is vintage stuff, so what’s with the two-gulps-and-it’s-gone?”
I shrug.
“My girl is gorgeous,” I mutter. “What can I say? I need to cool down a little.”
Evan giggles like a little girl then. It’s ridiculous because both of us are powerful alpha males. He’s probably six two to my six three, but we both have tall, athletic builds and piercing blue eyes. His are more sky blue while mine are an intense cobalt, but I’ve seen plenty of women throw themselves at my friend begging for attention.
And Evan likes it too. He lives to party pretty hard, which is why I’m surprised he selected Amelia this time around. It was unexpected, to be sure.
After all, we’ve gone through the selection process before. The Billionaires Club is an artificial Eden for men of means, and choosing a beautiful, ripe girl for your pleasure isn’t that uncommon. There are many ways you can purchase the rights to a woman, whether through auction; looking at her profile on-line; or being set up by an old-fashioned matchmaker. These are all services the Club provides.
But for our stay at Maruba, we decided to do it old school. We requested files from Human Resources, and were handed physical folders about an inch-thick each. They were literal dossiers on available girls, complete with photos, a short professional biography, health statistics, and even some candid snapshots taken when they were unawares.
The three of us, Evan, Brett and I, sat down at a table with a bottle of gin and began flipping through the folders. I figured Evan would go for someone hoochy and flirty because that’s what he usually likes. But instead, he’d been unusually thoughtful, paging through the files slowly. Then he’d happened upon one dossier, and carefully studied it before holding up a photo and announcing, “I got dibs.”
I’d rolled my eyes while our other friend Brett snorted.
“Are you in middle school? No dibs necessary,” said Brett.
Evan shrugged, totally unoffended.
“No, I’m just saying, this cute little chickadee has “virgin” written all over her. Is there some way we can verify that? Aren’t they examined before they come to the island?”
His question was good because the girls who are selected to work for us usually go through a battery of tests, including ones for mental and physical fitness, as well as a financial screen. We live in an exclusive world, and we want to keep the crazies out.
As a result, our ladies see the doctor first to make sure they’re in tip top shape and to prescribe birth control as necessary. After all, the girls are here to please actual billionaires, and we don’t necessarily want to be daddies by the end. We just want to have a good time and get some much-needed stress relief without worrying that she’ll be expecting in a matter of months.
But Evan’s choice had me intrigued. The girl in the photo had long brown ringlets, pink pouty lips and a generous figure.