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Room 305
Private Dance
My heart takes off at a galloping speed and my skin prickles with excitement. He’s back.
“Someone did a good job,” Stacy sidles up next to me, speaking low. “I’m happy for you, sweetie. You’re not meant to be downstairs with the rest of us.”
“Why do you say that?” I ask, looking over at her. The thin strap of my shirt falls, and it’s hard for me not to fix it, but I don’t move. Instead, I keep my eyes on hers, begging her to give me an answer that makes sense. “Please give me something.”
Our last conversation became weird toward the end, and the way she left, odd.
Suddenly, my strap is fixed and another shoulder bumps into mine. “You are too innocent for this kind of a job, sweetie. We like what we do, love sex, while you look afraid of your own shadow.”
Turning my face, I scrunch up my nose. “I do not…do I?”
She nods, a hint of warmth in her stare. “Sorry, kid.”
“Yes, you do, London.” Stacy interjects, pulling my attention toward her. “And don’t take offense, but Sila is right. You’re a virgin…” she arches an eyebrow for confirmation, which I give with a nod “…then take this as the best thing that can ever happen to you and keep him happy. Come in, dance, and feel at ease that he’s the look-but-don’t-touch type of client. That you can still walk out of here when you are ready with that V-card intact.”
But he does touch me. He kissed me.
Why am I so different? “I’m in way over my head,” I mutter low, but not low enough as they both hear and laugh. “Not funny, jerks.”
“A little,” they answer in unison, and this time I join them in giggles. The world I’m suddenly in the middle of is out of my depth, should send me screaming, but instead, I am full of butterflies in my stomach. A nervous excitement that I can barely hide from them.
And while they are right about everything they say; it doesn’t quell my curiosity. The yo-yoing emotion dominating my body and mind.
I want. I don’t.
Stay. Or run like hell.
Malcolm is like a roller-coaster ride. The kind that go up really high with a massive drop, and even though I’m scared of the unknown, getting on is all I find myself thinking about. Even when I know it’s bad for me, that rush still flutters and tempts.
Confuses me.
“Your outfit for tonight is hanging next to your vanity, London,” Sila says, bringing me back to the present. “It’s per Mr. Asher’s request.” The look she’s giving me—her grin—hints at something that I’m just not getting.
“Ummm, okay?” I shrug, not sure what this can mean.
“It’s time to get ready.”
“Still feel as if I am missing something.”
“What Sila means to say…” Stacy rolls her eyes while also grinning “…is that you have a rack of clothing with dates for each beside your dressing area. All from him.”
“All from him?” Are they messing with me?
Trust me.
Trust me.
Trust me.
“London, you only dance for him. Take a look at that schedule again.”
My eyes shift to the wall and the piece of paper hanging on a corkboard. Finding my name doesn’t take long, and neither does seeing what room I’ll be in. Every night I’m scheduled says the same; he will own me every Friday through Sunday for the foreseeable future.
Throwing an arm over my shoulders, Stacy gives me a squeeze. “At least with him you’ll be away from the craziness…no one will bother you.”
