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“Getting to know you.”
“Why?”
“Because I figure a woman who’s resorting to stripping must need a friend.” He says the words plain and flat.
“I have friends. I don’t need you.”
He laughs under his breath. “You obviously have no real friends.”
I realize this is bait, but I take it anyway. “And why’s that?”
“A real friend would’ve told you what a horrible idea this is.”
“Is that right? Well, thank you…real friend. I’ll keep that in mind when I’m collectingthousandsof dollars this weekend.”
He takes another bite. “What happened with you and your ex?”
I can’t believe I’m really going to answer his question, but the words start spilling from my mouth before I can stop them. “If you think it’s because of the stripping thing, you’re wrong. My ex cheated on me with his assistant. Apparently, she doesa lotof things better than me.”
“He’s an asshole.” Atlas’ tone is rough but the way he says the words is genuine. “You didn’t deserve that. What’s your dream?”
“What?Seriously, what’s happening right now.”
He sighs as though he’s annoyed. “Is it that weird for a person to ask what another person’s dream is?”
I shake my head. “What’syourdream?”
“Dreams are for women.”
My eyes roll to the side. “Everyone has dreams. What’s yours?”
He sighs and takes another bite of pie. “Why are you making this difficult?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Mydream,” he sighs, “is to know what your dream is.”
I laugh though I’m not sure if it’s because this is funny or if my brain needs a release from the confusion. “I have a strict policy about sharing my dreams with strangers.”
“Am I a stranger? I’m eating pie in your kitchen, I’m on your roof every day, and I know your secrets. I’d say we know each other.”
“In the same way Jeffrey Dahmer knew the women he talked to. Sure, we know each other.”
To this, he laughs. “You’re a smart ass. I like that. You have so much to offer. Why strip for those filthy fucks down at that club?”
“Look, my ex is in town. I need to keep this quiet. So if you could keep your mouth from running, that’d be great!”
He nods, stands from the table, and walks toward me slowly.
I know deep down I should move. I don’t know this man very well. He could be a total weirdo. I mean, he kind of is. Who shows up at someone’s house and presumes to know better than them?No one.No one except my mother is allowed that advantage. Yet, instead of moving, I stay perfectly still, thighs aching, clit throbbing, heart pounding, desperate for him to teach me the lesson I need.
“You’re not stripping.” His tone is low and warm on my ear. “You’re going to relax this weekend and I’m going to fix that roof free of charge.”
I push away from the corner he has me in. “Not a chance. I told you I don’t do handouts.”
“But you do strip for strangers?”
Blood boils under my skin. “I’m a performer!”
