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“Not at all,” he says innocently. “I can’t help if you’re reading into it.”
He’s got me there. The low timbre of his deep voice on the line has my blood buzzing. “At least give me one other thing that’s on this imaginary list of yours.”
“Cooking dinner together.”
“Deal. Anything else?”
“Why is it all down to me to plan our dates?”
“Okay, okay, good point.” I switch my phone to the other side, and even though I’m starting to get stiff, I don’t want to hang up yet. It’s getting later, almost time to close up shop, and there’s no one around. I could put my phone on speaker, but there’s something special about having his voice in my ear. “We could … go out in Springfield …”
“Ooh, will I get to see those dance moves in action?”
“If you play your cards right.”
“Now who’s heavy on the innuendo?”
I laugh, loud and easy. “Dance moves, Ford. No innuendo there.”
“I think you underestimate how hot I find you, in general. Seeing you dance might be all the sexy I can stand.”
Something red-hot and consuming grows in my gut. I tug the string at the back of my apron and peel it off, feeling like it’s getting hard to breathe in here. “So a night out is on the list.”
“Can I add a lap dance to this imaginary list?”
“Eh. Not like I haven’t given them to men before.”
The smart-ass response I’m expecting never comes.
“Ford?”
“Sorry, I think I just swallowed my tongue.”
I laugh. Again. And kind of hate how easily he makes me do that. “Don’t get too excited. It was my job.”
“Was it uncomfortable for you?” The rare serious tone makes me actually stop and consider the question.
“No, but … I’ve never been weird about that. Even in high school, I couldn’t understand the shit this gay guy in our grade was given. I wish I’d done more to stand up for him, but there was a lot I didn’t know back then. Some of the guys I worked with in the strip club refused to give dudes lap dances, but it was just another tip, you know?”
“Tell me if this is crossing a line. I’m gonna ask because I’m curious, but totally respect your right to tell me to fuck off. I know when I’ve had lap dances before, it’s made me hard as a fire hydrant and about as ready to blow as one too. And most of those guys have nothing on you. So surely you’ve sat on a boner or two in your day …”
“Way more than two. It was weird. Never made me hard. Hence …straight.” I shrug, even though he can’t see me. “It wouldn’t have worried me if I was queer. Maybe that’s why it didn’t occur to me to say no.”
“And with the women you gave lap dances to …”
“Hmm.” That’s a bit harder to answer. “It was work, you know? A good ninety percent of them I wasn’t attracted to, and it’s not like you sit around getting to know the person you’re about to grind on for the next ten to twenty minutes. Some of them were hot. I even sneakily let some of them grope me, but I could maybe count on one hand the number of times I got hard from it. I didn’t view it as anything sexual. Just a paycheck.”
“I still can’t believe you used to be a stripper. Wish I’d known. I would have been front row for all of your dances.”
“You pervy bastard.”
Ford chuckles. “Back to the list. There is one thing we could, uh, maybe do? If you don’t have plans tonight, but if you do, it’s not important.”
The uncertainty piques my interest. “What is it?”
“I’d rather show you.”
“It’s your dick, isn’t it?”
