Chapter 12
Abigail
WHEN THE BELL OVER THEdoor chimes as I watch Tanner’s broad back and trim waist as his long legs carry him from the cafe and away from me—possiblyforever—I am lost to the memories and I’m helpless to shake free from their shackles as the past sucks me under . . .
I hate dancing. I hate taking my clothes off for strangers who take liberties that they shouldn’t. But then again, I like to eat so . . .
The same men are here that are here every week . . . and then there’s him. Sitting in the back corner, is a man, too handsome to be here. He is wearing jeans and a button-down shirt. A black cowboy hat sits low on his head. Even in the dark, from behind the curtain, I can see his cool blue eyes glitter. And then the cut straight to me.
My dance on the stage was routine, it went like it does every night—music, dancing, take my bikini off, shimmy some more, and exit stage right—but tonight he’s here. I watched him watch me the whole time I danced, my eyes locked on his.
As soon as I was done dancing, I snuck back here to where I could watch him just a little longer. I see him wave one of the cocktail waitresses over and I’m flooded with jealousy. I’m never jealous, especially not of the attention that men in this club pay to other girls. I don’t want their attention I just need their money to survive. But something about his talking to Brandy stirs something not nice inside me. I push it back down. I’m not this person.
I head back into the dressing room to re-don my sort-of outfit. I pull the sting bikini back on and then toss a torn, off the shoulder crop top on over it. I bend over to rub my feet when Ben, the club owner comes in.
“Grease up, kid,” he says to me. “You have a private dance. Room two.”
I drag my feet as I head down the hall towards the private dance room where one of my regulars is waiting. The worst part about private dances are the liberties the men are allowed to take . . . and then usually leave shitty tips after an even worse grope before they head home to their wives.
Not ready to look at who was sitting in the chair, I close the door and take a deep breath before turning around. The music starts, and I spin on my feet delicately—seductively—until I face him.
I dance my way towards the man I couldn’t keep my eyes off of and enjoy the way he watches my body move. I turn my back to him and cock my hip as I slip my shirt over my head, tossing it to the floor before I look over my shoulder at him and wink.
I shimmy my way over to him and climb in his lap for the more intimate portion of the show. The look on his face screams hungry. For me!
“You can touch me if you like,” I whisper my lips a breath away from his.
“Honey, I’m going to do way more than that.”
After my dance was over, the handsome stranger helped me redress and then led me from the club to his home where he made love to me, promising me all the fairytales he would give me all night long.
One week later I was his wife . . . but it was whole other week after that before he struck my face for the first time.
