CHAPTER Sixteen
I apply my fake lashes, wait for them to dry, and then stand up. The white lace material of my dress gets caught on my ring.
“Shit,” I mutter, trying to pull the ring out without ripping the dress.
“Let me help you,” Diamond says, crouching and untangling it for me.
“Thanks,” I say, looking down at my leather thigh high boots.
“How do you feel?” she asks, standing up and putting her arms on my shoulders.
I smile. “I feel good. I’m going to miss you though,” I say.
She grins. “I’m going to miss you too. But, Paris...”
“Yeah?”
“I hope I don’t see you here again,” she says, winking at me.
I laugh. “Me too.”
I wait until Treasure comes off the stage, and then I walk on. I’m greeted by cheers, mainly by the regulars. This is the last time I will ever be doing something like this. Unless it’s in the privacy of my own home for my man, but that’s a completely different story. I work the pole to “xo” by Beyoncé, before the song turns more upbeat, and I face the crowd. When I see him sitting there, his jaw set in steel, I freeze. Our eyes connect, and for a moment, it feels like we’re the only people in the room. His expression is blank, but I don’t miss the tight line of his lips and his clenching fists. He hates this. So why is he here? Why did he want to torture the both of us? He knows tonight is my last night; there is no reason for him to see this part of my life because I’m leaving it behind. I turn my face from him and lean back onto the pole. I lift my dress up and over my head, shimmying sexily as I do so. I stand there in a white lace bra, panties, and my boots. I don’t want to look at him. I really don’t, but my eyes dart in his direction of their own accord. His face is now down, hidden in shadows, but he looks tense. His posture is rigid and unforgiving, and I see him stare at one of the men catcalling the loudest. I gulp, spinning around so the men get a nice view of my ass. Tonight was meant to be the easiest performance, my final; instead, it’s the worst one I’ve ever had to do. Grayson is cutting me open by being here tonight, making me bleed all over the stage in front of him. I wish I knew what was going on in that head of his right now.
My bra comes off next, and as it falls to the floor, Grayson stands and walks over to the stage. His face is a mask of rage and anger. He makes toward me but is stopped by a bouncer. F*ck. I’m standing there in the middle of the stage like an idiot, until Diamond comes out and grips me by my hips. It looks like she’s putting on a little show, but really it’s to distract the men as she says into my ear, “Go, I’ll handle it.”
She starts to dance and I gracefully leave the stage. I cover my breasts with my hands as I head straight to the changing rooms, and throw on a white corset and red shorts. I’d love to dress in my jeans and t-shirt but my night isn’t over yet. I walk out toward where Grayson was last seated but he isn’t there anymore; he must have left. He probably thinks so lowly of me now. I know he will never look at me the same. The manager on tonight, Henry, points toward the private rooms, and I cringe. I was hoping no one would request me tonight, but I guess I’m not that lucky. I square my shoulders and walk into the dimmed room. When I see Grayson sitting there staring up at me, my eyes widen.
“Hey,” I say breathlessly, gripping onto the door handle for support.
“Close the door,” he demands, and I do as I’m told. He’s wearing worn jeans and a black V-neck sweater, rolled up to his elbows.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, fiddling with the hem of my short shorts.
He tenses. “I’m a paying customer.”
“What?”
“Dance, Paris. Or should I say, Snow,” he says, leaning back in the chair and eyeing me patiently. He wants a dance? He will get a f*cking dance.
And then I hope I never see him again.
I start to move to the music, swaying my hips. I stand just out of his reach as I dance with sensual rhythm, grinding my hips in a circle. My head falls back as I roll my stomach like a belly dancer would. I avoid Grayson’s heated gaze, but I can actually feel his eyes on me. They burn. His hand comes out to try and grab me, but I take a step back. I raise my eyes to his, and a muscle ticks in his jaw as he watches me with unconcealed desire. My hands start on my stomach and work their way up and over my breasts, then my neck. I spin and put my hands on the wall, sticking my ass out and moving seductively. I reach back and undo the zip on my top, letting it fall to the floor, my breasts spilling forth. I turn slowly and let him take me in, his eyes on my naked breasts. He licks his bottom lip.
“Come here,” he demands, eyes lifting to mine. He shifts his hips, and I can see his arousal straining against his jeans.
He wants me.
But I’m enjoying torturing him.
“No,” I tell him, continuing my dance. He grits his teeth together. I flash him a smug grin as I slide down onto my knees, spreading them apart. I watch as his lips mouth ‘f*ck,’ as I run my hands over my breasts as I watch him. He gets up and lifts me so I’m standing, his fingers on my hips. I walk back with him and push him so he’s back to his seated position.
“Paris,” he says, his tone pleading. When he rubs down the front of his jeans, a moan escapes my lips. My anger toward him turns to need, and unable to stop myself, I walk toward him and straddle his hips. His hands instantly come to my hips, holding me down so I can’t move away. His chest rises and falls with his deep breaths, as I slowly start to grind down on his cock. He’s hard as a rock, and I bite my bottom lip as I fall against his chest, and then stick my face in the crook of his neck as I push up on my knees. I’ve never given a dance like this before, and I hope he doesn’t think it’s like this for all my customers. Because it isn’t. It’s just for him.
“F*ck, Paris,” he growls into my ear.
“I want you,” I pant back.
“F*ck. Not here,” he says, and I sit back and realize just where we are and what’s going on. I move to get off his lap but he keeps me in place with his grip.
“I’m glad this is your last night here,” he says. I stare into his dark eyes and sigh.
“What are we doing, Gray?” I ask, panting slightly.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I’m taking you home.”
“Okay,” I murmur as I stand up. He picks my top up off the floor and helps me put it on. He asks me to give him a minute to calm down before we walk out. As we leave, Justin walks up toward the private booths, smiling at me. F*cking hell. Grayson tenses, then walks up to Justin and punches him right in the face. No hesitation, no thought, just hits him square in the jaw. Lucky today is my last shift or I would have gotten fired. Justin falls back against the bar, holding his jaw. Grayson walks up to him and says something to him, before he returns to me, takes me by the hand, and drags me out.
“Why did you do that?” I ask, feeling a little dazed.
“That’s Jake’s dad,” he says, putting me in the car and closing the door. Justin is Jake’s dad? Holy crap. So he’s the one who took pictures of me? I shudder at the thought and put on my seat belt. Grayson slides into the driver’s seat and looks over at me.
“Let’s get you home,” he says gently.
*****
“How does it feel to be unemployed?” Anaya asks around a mouthful of cereal the next morning.
I groan. “Thanks for reminding me.”
“You could get a real job in a bar. You know, instead of the one you made up,” she says, giggling. A lock of her red hair falls on her face, and she blows it away, and then continues to eat.
“Don’t make me throw something at you,” I sulk. Last night, Grayson drove me home, walked me to the door and said bye. Then he left. The drive itself was quiet and uneventful, leaving me confused and wondering where exactly we stand right now. Paul walks out of Anaya’s room wearing nothing but boxer shorts so I avert my eyes. He plops down on the chair next to my roommate and pulls her bowl of cereal closer to him, stealing her spoon and taking a bite.
“What’s new?” he asks, giving me a friendly nod.
I sigh, leaning back in my chair and folding my arms. “You know, the usual. Quit a strip club, now need to find a new job to pay off a debt before the man my sister owes money to comes looking for one of the two of us.”
Paul blinks, and then looks at Anaya. “Your place has way more action than mine. Why don’t we stay here more often?”
Anaya rolls her eyes. “Because I don’t want to scare Paris with all of your sex noises.”
I blush and pretend to stare at something on the other side of the room that has suddenly become interesting.
“Leave her alone. You’re making her blush,” Paul adds dryly, and then lifts up the bowl to drink the milk. A knock on the door has me perking up.
“I’ll get it,” Paul says standing up. “Because I’m such a gentleman.”
“If you have to tell people you’re a gentleman, then you’re probably not,” Anaya says, grinning. These two. When Grayson walks back in with Paul a few seconds later, I can’t hide my surprise.
“Good morning,” he says, flashing us all a charming smile. “What have I missed?” he asks, sitting down at the table with us as if he does it every day.
“What have you missed? Paul thinks he’s a gentleman; that’s about it,” Anaya says, darting her gaze from Grayson to me and back again. Paul bends down and places a kiss on Anaya’s mouth. She mock pushes him away, and then the two start getting grabby.
“What about you, Grayson? Are you a gentleman?” she asks when Paul lets her go.
“Of course,” Grayson replies instantly. He turns to look at me. “Except in the bedroom.”
Anaya’s eyes widen. “I bet Paris can attest to that.” There my face goes, red again. Grayson smiles at me knowingly.
“Can we talk?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say, standing up and walking to my room as he trails behind. I sit on my bed as he closes the door, and then comes to sit down next to me.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry if I was an a*shole last night. Seeing you up there… I was angry and jealous that other men got to see what’s mine. And pretty f*cking angry,” he says, running his hand along his jaw.
“So you were angry?” I ask dryly, lightening the mood a little.
He scoffs. “Just a little. I’m still angry, but—”
I cut him off. “You realise that you ended it with me, so you have no right to go around saying that I’m yours,” I tell him. My phone rings, “Say Something” by A Great Big World and Christina Aguilera plays, my new ringtone. The song fills the room between us. I ignore the call.
“I had just found out the love of my life was a stripper,” he says dryly, shrugging in a ‘what do you expect’ kind of way.
I grit my teeth. “You’re too young to have found the love of your life.”
He stills. “I’m twenty-one—old enough to know what I want. I’ve been with my fair share of girls and…”
“Don’t remind me,” I mutter, rubbing my hands down my face. I’m tired. So bloody tired.
“You look tired,” he says, brows furrowing. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I am tired,” I say. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Us,” he says.
“There is no us,” I remind him, crossing my arms over my chest. Do I want him back? Of course I do. But I know that things between us will be different. I can already sense it in what he says, and the way he says it. He’s going to use this against me.
“There will always be an ‘us’,” he says. “Even though you were leading a double life I had no idea about.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Case in point. I stand up. “If that’s all you have to say, then please leave.”
He opens his mouth to argue but then closes it. “You need to rest. We can talk later,” he says. He kisses me once on my forehead, his lips searing my skin with the simple touch.
Then he leaves.