Tomorrow, I get to leave all of this behind, but I'm not quite sure how I feel about that.
“Zayden Roth.” A hiss comes from my right and I glance over quickly to find Brooke in a tight black midriff tee that says Top Hat across the front. Underneath it, she's got on a black mini and some leather boots. Without waiting for me to come to her, she storms across the carpet and snatches my arm, looking up at the bouncer and giving him a slight nod of her chin. “What the fuck are you doing here?” she growls as she drags me up and out of my chair, abandoning my beer as she tugs me towards a black curtain with a sign that says Executive Lounge.
Uh-oh.
We all know what happens back here.
“Who's watching the kids?” she asks when I find myself unable to answer. I can't talk right now, can't make any sounds move past my suddenly dry lips. Brooke's small hand on my arm is waking up all sorts of emotions that I wish I wasn't feeling.
Like love.
Like, I sort of feel like I'm in love with her.
Only I'm not though, right?
“Monica,” I choke out as she passes several doors covered in black tufted leather, pauses at the last one and uses a key that's on a green plastic cord around her wrist. She unlocks it and shoves me inside. “What are we doing in here?” I ask as I examine the leather couches, the mirrors, the pole in the center of the small room.
“You watched me. Without asking, you came and watched me.” Tears suddenly explode in her pale brown eyes and she dashes them away angrily as my jaw drops open and I feel a rush of crazy tenderness towards her. Damn it. My knight meter is pinging hardcore right now. “Why would you do that? Why would you come here?”
“You were fucking beautiful up there,” I say, but she's not having any of it, pulling away when I try to touch her and pacing to the opposite side of the room. I stand there for a minute and drop my hands to my sides as I try to breathe. Sweet baby Jesus, what have I gotten myself into here? This girl is young and damaged and shit, I can see that she's attached to me now. She's emotional and way too smart for her own good and she's got two inherited kids, but … damn it if I can't find fault with any of that. I like it all. All of it. Every single thing.
I lace my fingers together behind my neck.
“You were beautiful,” I repeat as she sits down hard on one of the sofas and looks up at me with weepy eyes. Those get me every goddamn time, those weepy eyes. I will do anything for a set of wet peepers. “I wanted to see you dance.”
“This … this isn't me dancing,” she says as she gestures at herself, pink glitter flaking off onto the black fabric of the t-shirt. “This isn't me at all. I'm not this.”
“Of course not,” I start, but Brooke's already shaking her head at me.
“You shouldn't have come here. Seriously. You shouldn't have. And I don't want you here, okay?” Brooke rubs the heels of her hands against her eyes and smears all of that dark liner and pretty pink eyeshadow.
I move over next to her and kneel down, trying to take solace in the fact that this room smells like bleach. At least I know it's reasonably clean, right? I fold my arms across the bare tops of Brooke's thighs, resting my chin on my arms.
“I'm sorry,” I say and I mean it. I had no idea she'd react to seeing me like this. I feel like I've cheated her somehow, stolen something that wasn't mine to take. “Do you want me to leave?”
Brooke sniffles and lifts her chin up in that defiant way of hers that I like so much.
“Why? You're already here? Why don't you just pay me for a lap dance and we can be done with all of this?” Brooke gestures loosely in my direction. “I didn't want you to see me like this,” she adds in a whisper, before I can say anything else. “This isn't how I wanted you to think of me.”
“And how's that?” I ask, my chin still propped on my arm as I stare up at those weepy eyes and try not to get all weirdly protective and shit. After all, who would I be protecting her from? Myself? “Because all I see is a tough ass chick who's willing to do whatever it takes to survive.”
“You don't see a whore?” she asks, like she finds that hard to believe.
“You're not a whore,” I say, and the words come out angrier than I intended. Whoa there, Zay, gettin' all deep and shit all of a sudden. This isn't me. I like to keep things light and fluffy and easy. This is all so fucking heavy. I'm finding it hard to breathe right now. “I didn't see anything up on that stage that was less than worthy, Brooke.”
She closes her eyes and tilts her head back against the couch, the matte black of the ceiling painted with fake stars. It reminds me of last night, of having her arching above me as I gazed up at Brooke's beautiful face silhouetted against the night sky.