AllFreeNovel
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“Give me the honor of eating with a pretty girl, yeah? A meal.” He says it so naturally, I almost forget where we are, who I am.
There was a time when this was a compliment.
A wealthy man who wanted to take me to dinner, to learn more about me.
But my life has changed, and I'm not that person anymore.
“I’m a stripper.”
“And?”
“And . . . you wear $400 shoes.” Despite the dim light, I know his face is cloaked with confusion.
“What do my shoes have to do with going to dinner?” he asks, and I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of those ideas side by side.
My mind instantly moves to some obscure other world where both of our work shoes are sitting on an entryway mat at the front door—my tall stripper heels next to his fine Italian loafers.
God. It’s insanity.
Because he’s right. One has nothing to do with the other.
We shouldn’t have anything to do with each other. I think that just now, I knocked myself out of the pretty little picture I had painted myself, stepping back until I could see reality better.
“Have a meal with me, Delilah,” he says again.
I stare at him and give him a small, sad smile.
Part pity because I’ve heard of this—men coming in and becoming enamored with the girls, wanting the idea of them outside of the club.
And part sadness because one of the few things I don’t hate about this job has to end.
“We can’t, Dante. I work here. You . . . don’t.” In the shadows, I can almost see the confusion on his face.
God, I’ve never even really seen his face. This has gone too far.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Uh, everything? You pay me to dance for you.”
“I pay you to spend time with me.”
The world very well might stop spinning for a millisecond as mine rocks.
“What?”
“You’re gorgeous. I like spending this time with you. I pay for your time.”
“You pay for my time?”
"Of course," he says, like it's obvious.
"Of course?!" I'm pretty sure my voice ratchets up a notch.
“Think about it, Delilah. If I told you to come in this room on day one, sit in a chair, and just talk with me, would you have been comfortable?” I don’t answer. “If I just came up to you after your shift, told you I wanted to take you out to dinner because you're fucking beautiful and for six weeks, you’re all I can think about, would you agree?” Again, no response. “For one, I hope to fuck not, because that wouldn’t be wise.”
I raise an eyebrow and see his smile widen.
“I spent time with you. I got to know you. Realized I’m not just drawn by your looks, but by you—”
