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Chase
I’dlostcountof how many texts I’d sent Ivy. I was steadily becoming a stalker. Pacing about and distracted, I couldn’t concentrate, despite having a deadline for a campaign for dog food. Bored to death by a career I hadn’t planned, I closed my laptop and grabbed my jacket. I needed a night out.
For some reason, I ended up at Rouge. Maybe on some subconscious impulse, I’d gone in the hope of seeing Ivy. Rouge was her favorite late-night haunt.
As I made my way to the bar, I ordered my drink and noticed a girl gyrating to “What’s New Pussycat?”
I wasn’t there for titillation. There were far more professional places for that. In any case, after having my own personal pole dancer in Ivy, I wasn’t into hanging out with a bunch of drunken dudes yelling and screaming at some poor underpaid girl with her legs splayed.
After I grabbed a drink, I found a dark corner, and much to my delight, I spied Ivy.
Only… holy fuck.Jack Whitman stood next to her, a little too close, whispering in her ear and making her laugh. Her beautiful face was all animated. She was having a good time. Hell.
Some of her friends pushed her toward the stage. At least Ivy wasn’t there alone with Jack, suggesting it wasn’t a date. The next minute, she was up on stage, doing what Ivy did best: being sexy.
The song “Fever” came on, and she started to lip-sync and dance. She was good. She could have made a career out of it. When she unzipped her dress, my earlier meal turned into a rock in my gut.
Wiggling down to her petticoat, she shimmied and batted her eyelashes amid whistles and cheers. I prayed she wouldn’t go down to her underwear.
With a mind of its own, my dick enjoyed the show as my jeans tightened.
As she writhed about, all I wanted to do was go up on stage and drag her off.
Her seductive performances were delightful when private—or even with strangers watching, because it was kind of sexy knowing that I would be the one to unclasp that tiny bra later that night—but not Jack Whitman undressing her.
Hell. Not him. Not anyone for that matter.
I felt sick. Jealously clawed at my skin.
Ivy with Jack? What a serious fucking kick in the balls.
When the song ended, she bowed like a seasoned performer and joined Jack, who put his arm around her and whispered in her ear.
Enough was enough.
I approached them, and Ivy stuck her nose up at me, while spiteful Jack smirked.
“You know each other?” I asked.
“We do now,” Ivy said, with a beaming, satisfied grin.
“Can I have a word?” I asked her.
“I have nothing to say to you.” Lifting her chin with pride, she was on a mission to hate me for life.
I opened my palms. “Ivy, please. Just a word.”
“You heard her,” Jack said.
“Stay out of this,” I snapped.
His face and mine were close to touching, and my fists tightened.
Ivy rolled her eyes. “What do you want?”
“Not here,” I said.
She followed me to a quiet corner.
