“Not near as clever as you,” he says as he tosses the toothpick thing and picks up a pair of what look like tongs. “You with your bachelor's in statistics and all. I barely graduated high school.”
“And yet I'm still working as a stripper,” I say, and I hate how bitter that sounds. I don't want to be that person, lamenting all of the awful things in their life. Yeah, sometimes life sucks, but it's just like the shadows in a painting: there are always highlights to offset all that darkness. “At least when I get my master's, I should be able to get my dream job.”
“Which is?” Zayden asks as he positions himself in front of me, his tongue sticking out slightly to the side as he concentrates on what he's doing. He massages my brow with his thumb and forefinger for a few seconds and then uses the tongs to pinch my skin so that it's sticking out.
“I want to work for the CDC,” I say and he makes an impressed sound in the back of his sexy throat. I study his tattoos, realizing that I've never taken note of the words under his right ear. In a fine black script, the phrase In Head and Heart is written out. I wonder what it means? “I don't really care where, but I'd like to analyze data on diseases that pose a risk to public health.”
“Sounds hella fancy,” he says as he smiles at me and I feel my heart flutter. Being this close to him is like a drug, like each breath we share in this small room brings us closer, drags me inexorably into this man's arms. Not good. I want to look away, but I can't because he's bringing a needle up to my face and pressing it against my skin. “And important, too. Instead of being a useless waste of life like yours truly, it sounds like you're going places, Brooke Overland. Now suck in a deep breath.”
I pull air into my lungs and then start to panic. Wow. This is actually happening, isn't it?
Before I can get myself together enough to protest, Zayden's telling me, “breathe out.”
I do, and then the pain of the needle is slicing through me, hot and sharp and sudden. It happens too quick for me to cry out, and then Zayden's standing up and grabbing the jewelry from its spot on the counter.
“See? Not so bad,” he coos and I feel myself smiling again. That voice must work on all his clients; it's definitely working on me.
“You're right. It wasn't bad at all. Maybe I should get my clit pierced next?” Zayden laughs as he pushes the silver metal bar through my skin and then tosses the needle into the trash, slipping a metal ball onto the opposite end. One more wipe with an antiseptic square and it's done.
“Clit piercings are actually pretty rare. What you're probably thinking of is a clitoral hood piercing.” He smiles as I stand up and pose in front of the mirror, leaning in close to examine my new piercing. It's barely red there at all, and it doesn't hurt, not even a little.
Zayden is good.
“Not everyone's a good candidate for it.” He spreads his fingers into a V shape in what I'm assuming is an imitation of a vagina. “You, you Brooke have the anatomy necessary. If you ever seriously consider it, check with me. I can give you a whole new orgasm with a properly placed piece of metal down there.”
I'm blushing even though I have no clue why, but I don't acknowledge it, spinning to face Zayden with a smile as I point up at my eyebrow. It really does look great on me, the perfect little accent for an otherwise plain face.
“Based on how good this looks, if I ever do decide to bite the bullet and get my V pierced, I'll make sure to fly down to Vegas just for the privilege.” Zayden smiles at me, clasping his hands together behind his neck as he looks me over. “Maybe you could show me around the city or something sometime?”
“I'd like that,” Zay says as he looks me over carefully, smiling when his gaze comes to rest on my eyebrow. “I bet the boys in the shop would like to meet you, too. They're all smarter than me, too. The owner, Jude, has a degree in veterinary medicine. You'd probably get along great.”
I laugh and pull my hair back into a ponytail at the base of my neck, brushing my bangs aside so I can see my new jewelry, turning this way and that as it winks in the light. I'm so focused on my reflection that I don't notice Zay moving up behind me, sliding his hands up my thighs and under my skirt.
The cool, waxy sensation of the gloves is so different that I gasp and fall forward, putting my hands against the sink to brace myself. When I look up, Zay's grinning mischievously at me in the mirror, sliding his fingers to my opening and using the slick wetness that's already there to tease me. Even though I can't see his hand, I can feel that glove, can imagine the darkness of it slicking over his hand as he plays with my folds.