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“You are a stripper.”
I laugh. I can’t help myself. I’ve never met anyone more matter of fact in my life. If I wasn’t so angry, I might find it refreshing.
“What’s funny?”
“I’m not a stripper, Tom. Just a girl who likes to have a little fun.”
“Show me,” he says. And then I do.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said. I could see from the moment we met he wanted me to show him what I was made of. And that’s just what I intended when I’d invited him to my hotel room under the guise that I wanted to know more about his church. This and the job he’d hinted at down in the hotel bar. Mostly, it was him I want to know more about.
“Show me.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I could see that he wasn’t completely sure of his next move. I didn’t think this was something he normally did, but then, you can never be certain.
“Yeah, well. About that—you’re married,” I reminded him. Sometimes it’s good to get to the heart of a matter. “And by being here, you’re asking for trouble.” Bait with the promise of reward. It’s an important key to winning.
His brows rose like a challenge. “I’m aware.”
“Why are you here then, Tom?” Using his name was supposed to make it real for him. It was important to know what I was dealing with. Only then could I decide which route to take.
I made a move to remove his suit jacket. He did the work for me.
“To talk about New Hope.”
“Don’t lie, Tom.”
“I’m not. Like I said, I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“And your wife?”
“I can assure you she isn’t thinking about you at all.”
“So matter of fact. Such a dry sense of humor. I like that about you.”
He leaned back against the dresser and crossed his arms. “How many men have you been with?”
“Excuse me?” I sat back on the bed and crossed my legs.
“Your sexual history. If we are going to do this, I need to know.”
“Whoa. Wait just a minute.” I held up my hands. “You’re very presumptuous, aren’t you?” It was a rhetorical question, so I didn’t stop there. “I only invited you for a drink. And, to learn more about your religion.”
“I don’t drink,” he said. “I’m sure I mentioned that. In fact, I’m certain I did.”
“So?”
“So— we could have conversed down in the bar. So—unless, I’m mistaken, which this is your chance to clear that up, you invited me here for sex.”
I leaned back, propping myself on my hands. His eyes drifted to my tits. No doubt about it, I told myself. This was happening. “How many women have you been with?” I apprised him carefully
“Two.”
“What? Seriously? No way.” I can see by looking at him that this could be true. Nevertheless, it astounds me.
“Seriously.”
“And men?”
