Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 74122 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74122 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
His nostrils flared in his attempt to keep from yelling at her for being stupid and not listening to him in the first place. “What the fuck’s wrong with you now? You got what you wanted.”
“I know,” she blubbered, fresh tears leaking out of her damn eyes.
Ah, fuck. He couldn’t handle crying women.
“I was horrible up there, wasn’t I?”
No point in lying and letting her think she had a shot at this. “Yeah, you fuckin’ suck, baby girl.”
Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open. “You couldn’t be nice and lie about it?”
“Fuck no. Gotta hear the truth.”
She reached into the robe pocket and pulled out a few balled-up dollar bills. “Two dances!”
“Yeah?”
“Two dances!” she yelled again.
Where the fuck was she going with this?
“Two dances and that’s all I made!” She whipped the balled-up money at him. It bounced off his chest and onto the bathroom floor. “At that rate, I’ll never get the money I need!”
Her body hiccuped and she let out a low wail that almost made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
Holy fuck.
Emotional women sucked! That was the worst part of working with a whole shitload of them. Especially when they were all PMSing, which they all seemed to do at the same fucking time. Those where the days he needed to wear a Kevlar vest, a cup, and a riot helmet, while arming himself with pepper spray, chocolate and ear plugs.
He bent down and scooped the money off the floor. He unraveled the singles and smoothed them out.
He groaned. Eleven bucks. “This what you got outta both dances?”
“Yes!”
She was not going to like what he had to say next. “Owe me twenty-nine bucks.”
“What?”
Once again her mouth was hanging open like a fish out of water. “Yeah, discounted your stage fee to only twenty bucks a dance. You’re in the red, baby girl.”
“What?”
Maybe she needed her ears cleaned out. “Runnin’ a business here. Can’t afford to—”
Suddenly he was knocked backward. He grunted as his back slammed into the bathroom door and a spitfire was on him, pounding on his chest with her fists as she screamed nonsense, spit raining everywhere.
“What the fuck!” he shouted, trying to snag her swinging arms before she knocked him a good one or kneed him in the nuts. Finally, he captured her wrists and pulled her arms behind her back, holding her still. “Quit it!”
Then her body sagged against him and she began to cry uncontrollably, pressing her wet, snotty face between the opening of his cut and into his shirt.
“Fuck, baby girl,” he murmured as he released her arms and held her tightly against him, otherwise she’d probably collapse to the floor. Her body heaved with each sob and her tears seemed endless.
But he stood there and held her until she was all cried out and became quiet, except for an occasional hiccup. Her arms slipped under his cut, wrapped around his waist and she squeezed him tight. “I’m sorry,” came muffled from his now damp chest.
He combed his fingers through her hair and remained silent as she sniffled a few more times. He had a feeling she was using his Sturgis tee as a tissue.
Finally, she lifted her face. She looked like a complete fucking wreck, but she still made his chest pull tight and thoughts run through his head that had no business being there.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked shakily.
“No,” he grunted, continuing to soothe her by stroking her long hair. He wanted to feel that silkiness all over his bare chest again.
“I don’t know what came over me.” Her shaking voice was thin, and it killed him. Twisted his fucking guts.
“Frustration. Desperation. Maybe even a feelin’ of failure, baby girl. Don’t know what’s goin’ on, but you’re gonna fuckin’ tell me.”
She nuzzled deeper into his chest and didn’t say anything for a long while.
“It’s not your fault, and I took it out on you.”
“I’m a big guy. Can handle it.”
“Still...”
He leaned back and peered down into her face. “Go gather your shit. We’re goin’ up to my place where there’s privacy an’ you’re gonna spill it. Got me?”
“Dawson...”
Dawg closed his eyes and blew out an impatient breath. “Haven’t been Dawson for a long time... Go get your shit.” He gently pushed her away and reached behind him to open the door. Then, with a hand to her back, he nudged her out into the dressing room and waited as she gathered her clothes.
“I need to get dressed and wash my face.”
“Upstairs.”
She fingered the robe she wore. “But this isn’t my robe.”
“I’ll bring it back down.”
“But—”
“Seriously, woman, you’re tryin’ my patience. Get your shit an’ let’s go.”
She grabbed her belongings and held her street clothes in a ball against her chest. “I can just go home. You were right. I’m not cut out for this. I’ll send you the twenty-nine dollars when I get it. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”