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“What?” he asks, looking confused.
I laugh and go forward onto all fours. “Have you ever been to a gentleman’s club before?”
He shakes his head, swallowing as he stares at my tits, my nipples barely covered by scraps of red lace.
“Well, then I guess I’m your first,” I say, sliding my knees away from him, arching my back to keep my ass raised like an invitation. “Again.”
“You’re a stripper?” he asks incredulously, like he didn’t just watch me peel off my tight blazer and barely-there skirt, shake my hair from a no-nonsense bun into just-fucked waves to the sensuous beat of Ogi’s “Envy.” Like I’m not writhing on the stage in front of him in just a lace thong and garters.
“I’m a dancer,” I correct. “I always have been, haven’t I?”
Speechless, he watches my hands move over my curves as I take a sitting position in front of him. Even though I’ve been eating whatever the hell I want, the biggest change in my body since getting off Mom’s strict diet regimen is fuller breasts. The men who come in definitely haven’t been complaining. Plus,eating enough to fuel my body through the workout I get with every shift—an ungodly amount, it turns out—has also let me build muscle tone. I may not be a size two anymore, but I know I look better than I ever have. I hope after seeing me without clothes, Rylan goes home and cries himself to sleep.
“You know, you could come back,” he croaks.
I cock my head, toying with the lace thong. “Back where, Rylan? I’m still at Willow Heights. I just make a point of never seeing your loathsome face.”
He draws back, his eyes narrowing. “You can’t talk to guys that way. I paid good money to be here.”
“Oh, I know,” I say, giving him a smug smile and tapping my nail on the piercing through my panties.
His eyes widen, and he stares between my thighs like he can’t quite believe it.
“What are you going to do about it?” I taunt. “Call my manager?”
He twists around, looking around for someone to come to his rescue. He won’t approach the two bouncers, though. He’s too intimidated. He won’t go over their heads, either. He’s here on a fake ID, which is how I know he’s bluffing.
Even if he wasn’t, I know I’m safe. My bouncers may look like thugs with prison tats on their faces, but they treat the dancers with professional courtesy and utmost respect. Mr. North wouldn’t hire them if they didn’t. On top of that, they get a cut of the door too. The more people I bring into the Envy room, the bigger their paycheck. My body doesn’t just keep food on my own table, it feeds them and their families. I am their golden goose. They would never take a client’s side over mine.
“Just—can we talk somewhere?” Rylan asks, returning his attention to me.
“We’re talking here,” I say, standing.
“Somewhere alone?” he asks, his green eyes pleading.
“We are alone,” I point out. “This is a VIP room. You can have the room to yourself, but it’ll cost you.”
“And those guys will still be here,” he grumbles, nodding to the bouncers.
“They stand outside during private sessions,” I say, even though I’ve never done one. “But they won’t stop us from talking. So what exactly do you need privacy for?”
“Please?” he says. “I could get you back in your group at school. I miss you, Lo. I know you miss your friends, even if you don’t miss me.”
He looks at me like he’s waiting for me to contradict him, but I don’t. “I already turned down that offer,” I say. “What makes you think I’d change my mind now?”
“Because,” he says, gesturing around. “Look what you’ve become. You can’t even eat in the cafeteria at school. Everyone treats you like shit. You’re working as a fucking stripper, Lo.”
“And I love it,” I say, placing one of my feet, clad in black stilettos, on his chest.
He leans back in the chair, then slowly lifts his hands to my ankle. “This?” he asks, scoffing.
I shove the pointy heel into his sternum. “No touching,” I snap.
“Come on, Lo,” he says. “No one works at a strip club unless they’re desperate for money. Especially not you. I know you better than that. You’re all about appearances.”
“If you think that, then you don’t know me at all,” I say, pushing off his chest and walking away.
He leaps up, his chair toppling backwards, and rushes along the edge of the stage. “Just talk to me,” he begs.
