“What experience do you have?” he asked, not noticing my approach.
“I took a year of pole classes back in Colorado, but only for exercise,” she answered, fingering a white piece of paper…an application. Fuck that. “I’d be a quick study at the bar, too.”
“Very nice,” the manager drawled, his eyes lingering on Sam’s cleavage, where her shirt was unbuttoned. “Let me give this a once-over and see what I can do.” He reached across to take her application, and she leaned back before he could brush up against her. He shot her a sick smile, then headed back behind the stage.
Something dark twisted in my stomach and threatened to erupt. Sam turned in her seat, offering me her profile as she watched the girl on stage. Her strong, sure facade slipped, and her swollen eyes turned dim. She looked like I’d felt the morning after…yeah, not going there.
I slid onto the barstool next to her, and her shoulders dropped. “What do you want, Grayson?”
“To get you out of here.”
“I’m on an interview.” Her spine straightened.
“This is your dream job?” What the hell was she thinking?
She threw me a look that clearly said I was an idiot. What? Like I was the one about to audition as a stripper?
“You know what I realized the last couple weeks? I have no money. My savings account can cover one last month of my cell phone bill. I have no job to make money. No college degree to get the job. Even the jobs that don’t need a degree? All full. I’ve spent three weeks searching out every job in Enterprise, Daleville, and Dothan. No one is hiring. I’m not going to freeload off of you guys while I figure out what the hell to do.”
“So this is what you want to do in the meantime? Work here?”
Her gaze hit the floor. “It’s the last thing I want. But these girls make a lot of money, and it beats the alternative of moving back in with my mother.”
“Well, as much as I’d love to see what that pole class taught you, this is not where you belong, Sam.” Shit. That is not what I meant to say. Not the first part, at least. The girl on stage hooked her leg around the pole and spun.
She raised her eyebrow and smirked, sending a jolt of electricity through me that settled in my dick. I shifted my weight. “Well, there’s no one here harping on me to put on more clothes.” She toyed with the buttons on her blouse.
It would have been hot as hell, if she was doing it out of genuine interest in me. But she was proving a point, and I knew it. “Samantha.”
She flicked a button open, enough to glimpse the lacy white material of her bra contrasting beautifully against the light mocha of her skin, but I kept my eyes locked on hers. “What’s wrong? Don’t think I have what it takes? Just because you’re immovable doesn’t mean I can’t turn on at least one of those guys.” She nodded her head toward the guys hovering at the stage.
Immovable? Good thing she didn’t have a clue.
“You could turn on a statue, Samantha, and I’m not immovable, no matter how much I wish otherwise.” Shut the hell up before you say something else that’s going to get you in trouble.
Her lips parted and her eyes widened slightly, enough to see her defenses slide down a little. “Why do you do that? Call me Samantha?”
The music shifted to Porn Star Dancing, and the manager whistled at Sam like she was a Labrador retriever. My fist clenched. Sam looked from me to him and back again, clearly torn.
“I call you Samantha to remind myself that you’re not just a roommate but a woman, and to make sure I don’t jump to the wrong conclusions about you like the first time we met.” When I assumed you were sleeping with my roommates. “Don’t do this.”