Page 10 of After Midnight

Suddenly, I find myself sliding out of his lap, his hands dropping away from my hips.

Usually, I’d keep a client in a private room for as long as possible. Last summer, one of our girls was back here for eight hours with a client—the longest in Caliber’s history. But something pushes me away from him.

Maybe it’s the way he looks at me, or the curiosity I feel in his tone.

Giving him a quick smile, I bend to pick up my top, then slip it back on.

“Time’s up, Sebastian.”

He frowns, and I swear, those big brown eyes are more tempting than a puppy’s eyes. Then he stands, nodding once. “Okay.” He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a wallet. “What do I owe you?”

Usually, I’m one hundred an hour. But Sebastian has only been back here for two songs.

Still, I know he’s got money, and I’m here to make money, not fall for pretty eyes and dimples.

“Three hundred,” I say.

And he doesn’t even hesitate. He pulls three crisp hundred-dollar bills from his wallet, then pauses briefly before pulling out a fourth.

I try not to react as he offers me the money.

Four hundred dollars for two dances? That’s the most I’ve ever made for such a small amount of work. And I already feel guilty about lying to him; I wasn’t sure he’d actually go for it. Maybe I was trying to bait him into getting upset, into showing teeth under his pretty smile, as if to prove to myself that he’s nothing special, just another client who thinks they’re entitled to me, my body, my attention.

But I guess I’m wrong.

“Thank you,” he says, sliding his hands into his pockets. The movement flexes his biceps, and I catch sight of that tattoo again.

My time with him is over. I should turn and walk out, then immediately go drink cold water and try to get my head on straight before finishing what’s left of my shift.

But I find myself asking, “What’s your tattoo of?”

His eyes widen a bit. “Oh, this?” Turning, he shows me the tattoo inked into his upper arm.

It’s hard to make out under the red lights, and I dare to step a little closer. I can see now that it’s a compass, but it’s pointing east.

“Don’t compasses always point north?” I ask, touching the needle with one fingertip, feeling the heat of his skin against mine.

Sebastian gives me a small smile. His dimples don’t show this time. Then his shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “Sometimes you’ve gotta wander in circles for a while before finding your true north.”

Looking up at him, I get that feeling again: the desire to step closer, rise onto the toes of my platform heels, and taste his lips.

But he leans around me to reach for the door. And as soon as it swings open behind me, the thump of music from the club creeps in, reminding me of who I am.

Mirage.

Not Remi.

And I need to get away from this guy before I forget it.

He makes that easy, stepping around me, careful not to touch my body with his, even though my skin tingles for another taste.

“Bye, Mirage,” he says as he eases out into the hall. Then that same small smile flickers across his lips. “See you in the desert.”

Then he’s gone, and I’m standing there with cash in my hand, but for some reason, I don’t feel good about it.

And I have no fucking idea why.

chapter 4