Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 74487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
* * *
I test the water with my hand and step under the spray, pulling the curtain closed, the rings rattling against the rod. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, putting my face under the water. If only he hadn’t been so beautiful. It’s easier to forget the ugly assholes that leer while adjusting their beer gut. This man … I come up for air, wiping the water out of my eyes, my fingertips black from the mascara. This man had been painful in his perfection, his intensity only enhancing his fierce good looks. He is probably married. A father. He probably has some perfect model in a mansion sleeping on thousand-dollar sheets and waiting for his return. No way a man makes it to his age without being snatched up.
* * *
Not that it matters. He didn’t come into Sammy’s looking for a wife. He came into Sammy’s looking for exactly what he got. I squeeze some face wash into my palm.
* * *
I think the issue is that I had liked it. I liked his cock in my mouth. I liked the look in his eyes when he watched me, the blatant need, as if I had been special. My body had responded to him, to his stare, to his touch. At one point he had tugged gently on my hair, had trailed his finger across my shoulder, and my body had ached at the contact. I had wanted—no, I want more. I want him to come back in. I want to feel his hands on my body; to do more than cum inside my mouth.
* * *
This is the first time I’ve ever been attracted to a patron. I don’t know if it’s the mystery, the money, the perfect features, or the cock, but I want him.
* * *
I close my eyes and push my head underneath the water, holding my breath. Maybe I just need to get laid. Scott would do it. I could call his cell and he’d be rolling out of bed as soon as I said the words. Seven months since our breakup, and he was still persistently around.
* * *
I lean forward and twist the knob, the water dying. Nah. Ten minutes with Scott wouldn’t solve anything. I’d still be thinking of this guy, and would have confused Scott even further.
* * *
I step from the shower and reach for my towel.
* * *
“Candy, you’re up.”
* * *
I look over my shoulder, raising an eyebrow at Dwayne, our bouncer. “Up?”
* * *
“That guy’s back. He’s asking for you again.”
* * *
He’s back. I bite my lip to hide my smile, turning back to my locker and stuffing my makeup bag inside.
* * *
“Good lord girl, you are lucky.” Jezebel hisses, leaning against her locker, her eyes on her phone. “There’s a number of things I’d like to do to that man.”
* * *
Tell me about it. I shrug, like he isn’t the best thing to walk through our doors in years, fighting the urge to bear my teeth and lay claim. “Can you take my spot? I’m supposed to dance after Mandi.” He asked for me. Just like before. Where had he gotten my name? Had one of my regulars referred him? I thank Jez and close my locker, my mind running through all of my clients who may have … it’s a dead end task. Strippers are like sports picks. Men love to brag about them, but when it comes to sharing details, they keep their mouths shut, uninterested in walking in and finding me grinding up against their friend.
* * *
I wind through tables and head to the VIP room, ducking through the velvet curtains, expecting to see him at his prior position, but the couches are empty and I am on full alert as I turn in a circle, searching the dim room. My shoulders relax silently when I see a group of men in the corner, Rick’s large mass present. They turn at my entrance, Rick’s face tinged with something akin to guilt. His hand moves quickly, and something disappears into his pocket. Cash? Drugs? Neither would surprise me. I fight to keep emotion off my face as my mind works hard at understanding what I am about to walk into.
* * *
“Candy,” Rick steps forward, clasping my hands in his sweaty palms. I stare at our hands, then shoot him a glare that causes him to drop the connection, a quick nervous motion that only raises my guard more. He takes a deep breath. “Candy, this gentleman has requested you to join him. Outside the club, I mean.” He flusters, wiping his sleeve across his forehead. “He wants you to go with him.”
* * *
The words don’t make sense. I take a moment, and look over Rick’s cheap polyester shoulder and at the stranger. Tonight, a different suit, paired with a tie, and the look is almost groom-like in its formality. He stands, feet apart, hands loose in his pants pockets, a confident stance that matches the level gaze he delivers. “Leave? Alone?” I can’t leave with him. It was bad enough what I did here, at the club. Leaving with a client … I swallow. Whatever I do in this building, at least I am safe, protected. Walk out the door with a client, and I might as well be a twenty-dollar Fort Walton hooker.