AllFreeNovel
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Chapter
Thirteen
“Tell me something I don't know about you.” Bentley says, taking a bite of his sandwich as we sit across from each other in the middle of the living room floor.
After three hours I finally caved and insisted if the man didn't feed me I was going to die. As such, he ordered us sandwiches and surprisingly, it isn't completely awkward sitting here with him like this, considering awkward kind of comes with the territory when you are just getting to know a person. But with Bentley, it feels more natural. Like I have known him for months rather than a few short days.
“You mean, you don't already know everything?” I tease, picking at my croissant and popping a piece of the buttery goodness in my mouth.
“Seriously. Tell me something.” He says, smiling his dimple filled smile at me. I wish that smile didn't make my heart jump slightly but the truth is, it does.
“What do you want to know?” I ask, not really sure what to say. I have never been a person to talk about myself. That's why I have always loved dance so much. It allows me to tell the world what I'm feeling without ever having to speak a word.
“Tell me what happened?” It's a question not a statement, as his hand reaches between us and settles on my scarred knee.
“Not much to tell outside of what you already know.” I shrug, trying to play it off like it's no big deal. I can tell by the way he's looking at me that he knows better than that but even still, I refuse to give him the emotion I know he's looking for.
“I was rehearsing and came down on it wrong. After a couple of surgeries the doctors determined that my knee would never be strong enough to dance again, at least not professionally. Of course, that didn't stop me from trying and I ended up pushing myself too hard and only made the injury worse.”
“And now? Does it not bother you to dance at the club?” He asks, seeming genuinely interested.
“Not really. I know what my leg can take and what it can't. Besides, dancing at the club does not require near the physical strain that dancing for real does.” I take a drink of my water before glancing in his direction to see him studying me curiously. “What?” I ask, coughing slightly when my water gets stuck in my throat.
“Is dancing at the club not dancingfor real?” He asks, putting air quotations around the for real part.
“I mean yeah, I guess. But it's not the type of dancing that blew my knee out. I danced more Contemporary and Ballet, both of which require a lot of leg strength and stability. Most of my routines included a lot of jumps and tricks and after the injury, my knee wasn't strong enough to support the amount of strain I put on it. What about you?” I ask, wanting desperately to change the subject from me.
“Me?” He questions, seeming confused which in turn confuses me. Reaching across the small space that separates us to his outstretched leg, I push up his pant leg and run my hand along the scar that stretches from his knee to just a few inches above his ankle.
“Did you think I didn't know?” I ask, unsure as to why he's looking at me the way he is.
“I didn't really think about it honestly.” He admits, adjusting his pant leg back down over the scar. “It was a long time ago.” He says on a shrug, not meeting my gaze.
“I see.” I say, nodding my head in understanding. “So it's okay to dig up the scars of my past but not okay when the tables are turned.”
“It's not like that.” He protests. “It's just.... I just don't want to talk about it.” He says, his voice taking on a hardness I have never heard before.
“Fair enough.” I say, more than a little frustrated that when it really boils down to it, he won't give me the same trust that I have given him. Deciding not to push the topic any further, I try a different angle just trying to find out more information about him. I don't even know why but deep down I want to know every little detail about him.
“What about now? How many clubs do you own?” I ask, seeing him visibly relax at the change of subject.
“Six.” He answers. “Chicago, New York, Philadelphia, Boston, Cleveland, and Detroit.” He rambles off without a thought.
“Are they all likeAllure?” I ask.
“For the most part. Obviously each one is in a different location so they don't all look exactly the same but they have the same atmosphere and are all operated the exact same way.”
“Can I ask what made you want to get into this type of business?” I ask, hoping the question doesn't come out offensive as it is not my intention.
“I saw a need in the market and I filled it.” He answers simply and then laughs when he catches the annoyed expression on my face. “Growing up, my father was in politics. Late in his career he was involved in a rather large scandal involving a gentleman's club. Seeing everything he went through, it just made me realize how important discretion is within that and many other types of careers. I opened the first in Chicago and then expanded out when the business really took off.”
“And what does your father think of all of this?” I ask, collecting my food containers and sitting them off the side.
“No idea. He died beforeAllurereally took off.” He says, not meeting my gaze.
“I'm so sorry.” I blurt, immediately feeling horrible for my question.
“Don't be.” He says, giving me a small smile. “We weren't that close.”
