AllFreeNovel
Share Us
All the lights dimmed. We found a spot near the stage where we could stand and not obstruct anyone’s view. The music kicked up a notch, and the first pole dancer took the stage, commanding all the eyes in the room with her stunningly tall physique, her muscular legs stomping down the runway in heels that resembled something from an Alexander McQueen fashion show. Her black thong had been set with what appeared like diamonds all along the waistband, glittering underneath the spotlight as she wrapped a leg around the pole, grabbing with one hand and spinning around, gaining momentum, her grace making it look effortless, even as she let go and held herself parallel to the stage with her legs alone, her hands swirling in the air, her hair tumbling down in a silky waterfall of gold.
She continued to impress us, a shower of dollars appearing as she let go of the pole and landed in a split that left everyone’s jaws on the floor.
When she was finished, another dancer took the stage and showed off her gymnastic skills with some impressive and mesmerizing stunts. She was as beautiful as the last woman, with short hair and sharp features, as muscular and graceful, too.
I could hear Sam’s “oohs” and “ahhs” as he watched. I could feel him jump up ever so slightly whenever something crazy happened. He’d look back up at me on a couple occasions, almost as if he were checking if I were still there, as if I’d be anywhere else.
As I held on to Sam, watching this Cirque du Soleil strip show, I was hit by a wave of shock and realization.
I was letting Sam in. My walls were quickly crumbling, and it was all because of the man I held in my arms, his body fitting against mine, his breath matching mine. I could smell the strawberry and lavender in his hair, a scent I felt like I could never grow tired of.
Something else quickly followed behind the realization.
Fear. I felt fear. For the first time in years, I felt a visceral hit of panic slash into my chest. The same kind of fear Sam must have felt when he looked over the edge of the restaurant. A chilling kind of fear that made your hair stand on end.
I had already learned my lesson about attachment. I knew it could only bring pain. Death. The kind of pain that suffocates you over and over again, and when you finally are able to catch your breath, it just gets knocked out of you again with a force greater than the last. That’s what happens when I let someone in. Sure, there could be moments of levity and bliss, but, inevitably, the pain would always come.
Always.
I took in a deep breath, my lungs filling with Sam. My heart doing the same.
I couldn’t allow this. I was falling too fucking hard, way too fucking fast. With his scent still tickling my nose, I separated from him, stepping back. I still watched the show, but my head was somewhere else. In an endless field of questions.
Was I ever going to be able to get over the trauma that still made its home inside my chest? Could I ever allow Sam to see that dead, scarred part of me? And if I did, what would happen? Would he accept me, or would he push me away, only accelerating the pain I was sure would come eventually.
17
Sam Clark
Rocky started acting weird the second the show finished. It had been such an incredible time. Not only were the strippers mind-blowing and the stunts jaw-dropping, but at one point, Rocky had wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into him, and I’d never felt safer. It was a hard feeling to describe. It wasn’t the kind of safe you feel when you lock a door or when you shut a window. It wasn’t the safe you felt when you clicked in a seat belt or you followed the speed limits.
It was a different kind of safe. One that went down to the deepest part of me. Like nothing, absolutely nothing, could have hurt us in that moment.
And then he separated from me, and I drifted back into the dark waters, pulled by a riptide of doubt and fear. When the show finished and we left for the now empty valet, my fears were further validated. Rocky was barely looking at me, and the words he’d shared were of the one- or two-syllable variety. Something had happened, and I had no idea what.
Did I do something? Was I not “holdable” enough for him? Did he feel that I didn’t have a six-pack or bulging biceps underneath my clothes? Insecurities began to spread through me like a poison dust carried by strong winds.
“So, what was your favorite part?” I asked him as we waited for his car.
