The Heart System
Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19: CHAPTER 19
I smiled while looking at the screen. Richard left the store. Yes. Finally. The quest was completed, though it cost me my pride. But whatever. A win was a win, after all.
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Name: Evan Marlowe
Age: 21
Height: 179 cm
Weight: 73 kg
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Level: 2
EXP: 55 / 179
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"Good. Now, the shop."
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SHOP
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• Aphrodisiac Drink (10c)
• Silk Lingerie Set (25c)
• Sensual Massage Oil (15c)
• Mystery Pleasure Toy (30c)
• Flirt Potion (20c)
• Hypnotic Perfume (40c)
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Credits: 120c
Select item to purchase.
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Then, as if the universe was making fun of me, Jasmine entered the shop. Fuck, I could’ve flirted with her instead of making a fool of myself in front of Richard. Ugh, oh well.
She had on a tight cropped leather jacket over a barely-there mesh top, paired with skin-tight ripped jeans that hugged her ass like a second skin. Her boots clicked across the floor, and every movement made her curves sway just enough to make it impossible not to notice.
"Hey," I said, forcing a casual tone. "Welcome to my humble abode."
"Hi," she replied, flashing that warm smile. "My favorite gas station in the city."
"So, what will it be?" I asked, trying not to stare too blatantly.
"Nothing," she said, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "Thought I’d drop by. The girls and I are heading to the mall. By the way... Tessa won’t stop talking about you."
"Does she, now?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes," she said, shaking her head with a laugh. "She’s like... his fingers, that cock... the way he made me cum... the girl just won’t shut up."
"Well, I’m glad I left an unforgettable impression, then," I smirked.
"That you did," she said, leaning slightly on the counter, giving me a teasing glance before tapping it lightly. "So, what are you doing here? Just standing around all day?"
"Hey, I sometimes sit," I replied, shrugging. "And it’s not tiring. Pays well, though."
"You should work as a masseur," she said, voice playful, eyes flicking to my chest. "I bet you’d get loads of customers." She glanced at her phone. "The girls are calling—I gotta go. Take care, Evan."
"Hmm. Take care," I muttered, watching her leave the shop with a wave, her hips swaying with every step.
I exhaled, leaning back slightly. Wait... work as a masseur? Fuck... I could earn real money doing that. Like, a lot of money. But how would one even start at a place like that? I’d need to do some serious research. But first... this shift needed to be over.
—
I hopped onto my bed and started searching for masseur jobs. While flipping through a few tabs, I grabbed a pillow and propped it behind my back, leaning against it. This could actually work—since I had the Sensual Oil, basically a magic elixir that could make women cum in seconds, I could definitely use that to my advantage on clients.
There were plenty of openings, but most required licenses or certifications, which I obviously didn’t have. Maybe I could convince them I didn’t need any of that—after all, as Tessa put it, I had magic fingers.
"Mm... a high-end massage parlor," I murmured, reading the listing. "Got an opening... Shit—I’d bet they pay double what I earn slinging snacks and cigarettes."
I dialed the number listed and waited. After a couple of rings, someone picked up. The background was noisy, people chattering—probably the reception area.
"Hello," I began. "I’m calling about the masseur opening. If you haven’t—"
"Can you come in tomorrow morning?" she cut in abruptly.
Tomorrow was my evening shift, so no problem. "Yep, I can do that."
"Alright, eight o’clock," she said. "Your name?"
"Evan Marlowe."
"Okay, Mr. Marlowe. We’ll be waiting. Please bring your required documents and CV."
Well, shit. "Y-yes, I’ll do that. Thank you so much."
"We thank you for calling. Bye."
If, and that was a big if, I actually managed to get this job, I’d be saved. I could move to a better place, escape the morning stink, the car exhaust. Thank you, Sensual Oil. Thank you, floating boxes... and that blonde girl who ate my eyeball.
I got up with a grin and headed to the kitchen, cracking open a cold one. I sat on the couch and turned on the TV. Finally. Something in my life was actually working out.
"Eight o’clock," I muttered to myself. "Come on, Evan. You can do this."
Then I heard it—someone’s voice downstairs. Muting the TV, I realized it had to be Kim. She was yelling, though I couldn’t quite make out every word at first. Raising an eyebrow, I focused.
"...can’t even assemble a fucking table, you pathetic excuse for a boyfriend!"
I leaned back, sipping my beer, shaking my head. Damn, they were fighting over the table? I shrugged and turned the TV back on. I’d have to sleep early—couldn’t let their fight ruin my first day at a new job. Tomorrow mattered.
A lot.
—
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SHOP
-------------------------
• Aphrodisiac Drink (10c)
• Silk Lingerie Set (25c)
• Sensual Massage Oil (15c)
• Mystery Pleasure Toy (30c)
• Flirt Potion (20c)
• Hypnotic Perfume (40c)
-------------------------
Credits: 105c
Select item to purchase.
-------------------------
The bus hissed to a stop, and I stepped out onto the sidewalk. I looked straight ahead—and there it was.
The massage parlor stood out like a sore thumb compared to the gray little shops around it. Big glass windows, tinted so you couldn’t see much inside, with gold letters spelling the name across the front in an elegant, almost snobby font. The entrance had polished stone steps leading up to a set of spotless double doors. It screamed "high-end," and I suddenly felt way underdressed in my plain jeans and t-shirt.
I took a deep breath, rolled my shoulders back, and walked forward.
Inside, the reception area hit me with cool air that smelled faintly of lavender and something citrusy. The floor gleamed marble white, and to the left sat a couple of black leather couches where two women in business skirts were waiting, probably clients. A long counter stretched across the back, with a woman behind it typing away on a computer. Everything looked expensive—hell, even the potted plants looked like they had a better life than me.
I walked up to the desk, clearing my throat. "Uh, I’m here for the job interview?"
The receptionist glanced at me, her eyes sharp but professional, then nodded. "Second floor. Turn right. Waiting area."
"Thank you."
I headed for the elevator, the polished metal doors reflecting a warped version of my face back at me. Inside, I caught myself bouncing my leg the whole way up.
The doors slid open, and I stepped out, turning right. Sure enough, there was a waiting area packed with people—at least ten guys, all dressed better than me. Dress shirts, pressed pants, a few even had ties. I cursed myself silently for not at least ironing my shirt.
Since I was clearly the last one, I sat down at the far end and waited.
The process was brutal. One by one, a woman in a pencil skirt would open the office door, call the next name, and the poor bastard would walk in. Ten minutes later he’d come out looking like his soul had been vacuumed out—slouched shoulders, defeated eyes. Each guy looked worse than the last, like the room inside was chewing them up and spitting them out.
"Evan Marlowe." The woman opened the door. "Please come in."
When my name finally came, my pulse kicked into overdrive. I stood, tugged down my t-shirt to make it look halfway decent, and straightened my back.
"Here we go," I muttered, then stepped into the room.