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“I can help you move them.” Her voice is low and silky smooth as she leans against my table, her keen eyes on me. “You could sell more, faster.”
“I don’t think that’s what he wants.” I feel pretty sure of that, actually. Lorenzo strikes me as someone who values caution and quality over quantity—I don’t think it’s a matter of selling as much as I can, as fast as I can. That approach would make him nervous, I think. “He’s careful with his business. We have a timeline for selling these, and I think that’s what he wants to stick to.”
Jewel frowns. “I don’t think he’d turn down a profit.”
“I know him better than you do.” Which is not at all. The words come out sharp, more so than I meant for them to—the second time I’ve snapped at someone today who is meant to be a friend. I don’t have so many of those that I can be careless with them.
The look on her face isn’t slightly hurt, though, the way Rachelle’s was. She narrows her eyes. “I wouldn’t go getting intimate with your supplier, Angel. That never ends up well.”
It’s not a threat, exactly, in her voice—but there’s something sharp-edged to it that makes my stomach twist. I swallow, nodding, and go back to my makeup, hoping that she’ll take the hint and leave me alone. She does, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. That she’s upset at me for brushing her off, and I’ll pay for it later.
I’m making problems that don’t exist yet, I tell myself as I take my hair out of the ballerina’s bun I had it up in and start trying to coax it into curls with the iron. My grandmother used to call it borrowing trouble, and I have enough of that already.
I tell myself not to think about Lorenzo, as I go out onto the stage. He made it clear that there needs to be distance between us, and I know he’s not going to show up tonight, no matter how much I might want him to. I manage to push him out of my head while I’m on the stage, and force myself not to look towards the couches at the back of the room while I work the floor for twenty-dollar dances. But after an hour, I get a request for the back room, and my stomach tightens.
I can’t stop thinking about what Lorenzo and I did there—sometimes even more so than what happened in the studio, because it was the first moment I saw his control slip. The man I go into the back with is nothing like him—short and heavily muscled with blond hair and dark eyes—but his cologne is citrus, and it makes it harder not to imagine who I’d rather have on the couch instead.
“Offer anything besides just a dance?” The man’s voice is thick with lust already, sliding over my skin in a way that makes me want to rub my hands over my arms and rid myself of the feeling. I tuck the pills into the tissue box and turn to look at him, trying not to cringe at the way his dark gaze drifts leeringly over my red lingerie.
“Depends on what you want.” This is the segue into selling him a pill, if he’s interested. I’ve done it before, but tonight I feel so on edge that I almost wish I’d taken one myself, if only to make this all easier. It’s one of those nights when I start to wonder how long I can keep doing this—which is just another reason to keep working for Lorenzo, and not let anything get in the way of that. If I lose that, I’ll have to double down on my shifts here.
“Come on, just give me the menu.” He sits down on the couch, legs spread, clearly wanting to draw my attention to the growing bulge between them. “How much to grind on me and make me come, how much to use your hand, how much to put on a show for me while I jerk off. Or maybe your mouth? I’d pay double for those pretty lips around my dick.” He winks at me, and revulsion crawls over my skin.
“I don’t offer those services.” I keep my voice as cool and mild as I can manage. “But I can give you something to heighten the experience, if you want. No touching, still.”
He knows what I’m talking about—I can see the recognition on his face. “How much?” he asks, and when I name the price, he nods.
“Give it here, sweetheart. With a vodka.”
I wince at the request—there are few liquors I detest as much as vodka, and I’ll have to smell it on his breath while I dance for him. But I pour him the shot, fishing out a pill and carrying both to him.
He hands me the cash, and when I reach for it, he pulls it back, giving me another lewd grin.
“Bend over, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and I want to recoil. But instead, I arch my back, letting his fingers brush over the curve of my breast just long enough to push the money into my bra.
His thick fingertips graze my nipple, just for a moment, and I close my eyes to keep from letting him see how much I hate it. He takes it as a gesture of arousal, of course, and lets out a low grunt as he leans back on the couch.
“Here we go,” he says with a grin, putting the pill on his tongue and chasing it with vodka. “Put the music on, baby.”
I want to slap him. But he’s already paid, and I have a job to do.
The music fills the room, and I start to dance. The man licks his lips, watching me, and I can see the signs as the pill begins to affect his senses. His gaze roves over me languidly, looking at me as if he’s seeing colors he never knew existed, as if I’m some sort of goddess swaying and grinding in front of me.
“Look at those tits,” he murmurs thickly. “Like round peaches. I bet they taste just as sweet. Come on, baby, get in my lap.”
I hope desperately that he’s not going to become one of those guys who talks incessantly while he’s high. But the words start to trail off as the drug kicks in, and I straddle him, grinding to the music while not actually touching him. It feels like it’s going to be another rote dance—until the man’s hand lands on my hip and squeezes, pulling me down into his lap.
“No touching!” I start to pull back, away from the heat of his hand pressing against my skin, away from the hard ridge of his erection, pressing uncomfortably against my thigh. I want to be away from all of this, to detach from it and go through the motions the way I always do—but then he reaches into his pocket, pulling out three crumpled hundred-dollar bills and throwing them onto the table.
“I won’t take it out, sweetheart, I promise.” His voice is thick with the drug, both of his hands on my hips now. “Just ride me so I can imagine it, and you can have all of that.”
With the ecstasy in his system, me grinding on his lap probably feels as good as actual sex, or close to it. I look at the bills—and feel one more of my boundaries slipping away.
I need everything I can get. Just because I do it once doesn’t mean I have to do it again. But I can hear myself making excuses even as I settle into the man’s lap, letting his hands roam as I start to pretend to ride him in time to the music.
It feels miserable. Impossible. I want to scream—and if I do, I know the bouncer will come in here and put a stop to this. But I doubt I’ll get to keep the money. More than that, I have a feeling Dick will probably find out that I’m selling the customers at his club drugs. If he doesn’t throw me out on my ass for it, he’ll demand a cut—the latter being the more likely option. All because I can’t stand being groped a little, and a few minutes of wriggling on a stranger’s lap.
But it makes me feel sick. The reminder of how good this can all feel from Lorenzo makes it even worse?—
