My Type

At 21, James was an older man and thus out of my 17-year-old reach. Not like my arms could reach that far, anyway, given that he was a gorgeous print model and could have anyone he wanted. No way would he want anything to do with me. Right?
True, what he wanted was his college papers typed, but I was happy he wanted me on any level, no matter how far removed from actual girl/boy desire. I undercharged, but I considered his three-dimensional smile, directed only at me, unlike the two-dimensional smiles in his ads, the real payment anyway.