The Blow Off (paperback)

ISBN Digital: 9781509201044
ISBN Print: 9781509201037
Page Count: 198
Word Count: 51577
Rating: Hot
MSRP: 12.99

Sometimes a girl has to take a guy for all he's got…

One long, hard night of working the streets is more than enough for twenty-five-year-old Shea O'Grady, a Boston-based grad student. She just doesn't have the stomach for it. Or the lips. So she comes up with a better way to use her youthful sexiness to pay off her debts. When she shares her plan to seduce and rob johns with her nasty tempered pimp, he agrees to fence her take for a generous cut. So Shea puts together a team of girls to work with her and convinces her downstairs neighbor, a hunky Rastafarian dealer dude, to help with the knockout drugs. But picking up rich guys and relieving them of their excess bling is not as easy as it seems. Sometimes it's even more dangerous than a job on the street.

The Blow Off is a cautionary tale, a romantic black comedy, and a satirical look at student debt, prostitution, woman on man crime, and the things we do for love.


After my ex-boyfriend went walkabout in Australia and failed to return, I’d kept his car keys, among other items he left behind. The Mini was fun—forest green with racecar stripes and a lot of pep. It was badder than it sounded. The little Britmobile got great gas mileage and was incredibly reliable. In fact, Mini and me got along better than Antoine and I ever had.

Angling out of the space, I poked my square nose into the bustle of evening commuter chaos. I was imagining what my girl gang would be like. We’d be smart vixens, a bunch of super-cool, daringly spicy, wildly tempting babes. Girls who could convince any guy in the toniest club to take them home for some one-on-one time, or some double-the-fun. Girls who would casually slip a man a tongue, a hand job, a mickey, then strip his room, his safe, his jewelry box. Take him on, then take him for all he was worth.

Boylston Street was more clogged than a fat man’s arteries. Before I got to the atrial congestion on Mass. Ave., I banged a left, taking the back route home by all the crummy Northeastern University student dorms. Those buildings were in my past now. I’d earn the doctorate in education eventually, but on my own terms. No more sleeping on an air mattress on the floor with the other poor grad students. But no more fifty dollar blowjobs, either. I was going to ride the wave of girl-on-man crime. A budding entrepreneur, I’d grow my stable of foxy cons until we’d taken over the city of Boston. One wealthy sucker at a time.

I was so excited I sang Happy Birthday in a breathy voice all the way up Huntington Ave. to the VA hospital, where the traffic finally unclotted with a bloody burst and thinned out to a healthy trickle. I’d given myself a gift, a new moniker, and it was a perfect fit. Heaven Scent was now the handler of a beautiful, ballsy, all-female crew. I laughed. What’s not to like about that job description?

While I waited at a red light in downbeat, trashy, but tree-lined Jamaica Plain, I was in the best mood I’d been in since my mother got married. I felt that same sense of freedom wash over me. I was fully independent, relieved of the burden of pleasing someone else. I had my own business! And soon, all my loan troubles would be behind me.

That was the dream, anyway.

Copyright © 2018 The Wild Rose Press, Inc.