“I walked home,” I say, leaning back against the wall and shrugging.
“You walked home,” he repeats, saying each word slowly.
“Yes,” I say, dragging out the word.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snaps, standing up and starting to pace.
“Oh, so what, now that you know I’m a stripper it’s okay to talk to me like that?” I ask, gritting my teeth.
“What?” he asks, looking at me as if he hasn’t seen me before. “Do you not know me at all?”
I have no idea what to say, so I stay silent. He doesn’t.
“I was worried. I didn’t want you to walk home alone; it isn’t safe. A few minutes after you left, it hit me; you don’t have your car, and I drove around looking for you,” he says, running his hands through his hair in agitation.
“My phone was on silent. I didn’t even check it,” I say, looking down at my hands. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to worry you.” To be honest, I didn’t think he would be worried about me ever again. I guess I underestimated what a nice guy he is. Or maybe he just feels sorry for me? Great. Grayson curses and walks over to me, standing close but not touching.
“Such beauty…” he says, lifting my chin up with his fingers. “Such a shame it was shared with everyone.”
What? I ignore the pain in my chest and the tears threatening to surface.
“Get out,” I say. My voice is calm and collected.
“Paris…”
“I have a huge debt. It’s not even my debt, but I need to pay it nonetheless. But for you, I quit stripping, not even caring how I was going to pay it off. Putting my sister in danger. I only have one night left, and then I’m done.” I pause and take a deep breath. “I know I was wrong to lie to you about it, and it’s probably unforgiveable, but I don’t deserve to be spoken to like that. Please leave,” I say, my voice cracking. I drop my gaze.
“You could have come to me,” he says, his voice small. I risk a glance at him. He’s not looking at me; he’s standing there lost in thought. “I have more money than I know what to do with. And my woman is fucking stripping to pay shit off? Fuck,” he says, turning his back to me. He threads his hands behind his neck, looking down. “Do you think so little of me?” he asks, shaking his head.
I gape. “This has nothing to do with you! The world doesn’t revolve around you, Grayson! I stripped before I met you, and I continued to strip after. These problems are mine, and I’m going to solve them. Alone.”
He scoffs. “Well, you’ve made sure of that, haven’t you?” With that parting shot, he finally leaves.
And then I fall to the floor, finally letting go and breaking down.
Chapter Sixteen
I apply my fake lashes, wait for them to dry, and then stand up. The white lace material of my dress gets caught on my ring.
“Shit,” I mutter, trying to pull the ring out without ripping the dress.
“Let me help you,” Diamond says, crouching and untangling it for me.
“Thanks,” I say, looking down at my leather thigh high boots.
“How do you feel?” she asks, standing up and putting her arms on my shoulders.
I smile. “I feel good. I’m going to miss you though,” I say.
She grins. “I’m going to miss you too. But, Paris...”
“Yeah?”
“I hope I don’t see you here again,” she says, winking at me.
I laugh. “Me too.”
I wait until Treasure comes off the stage, and then I walk on. I’m greeted by cheers, mainly by the regulars. This is the last time I will ever be doing something like this. Unless it’s in the privacy of my own home for my man, but that’s a completely different story. I work the pole to “xo” by Beyoncé, before the song turns more upbeat, and I face the crowd. When I see him sitting there, his jaw set in steel, I freeze. Our eyes connect, and for a moment, it feels like we’re the only people in the room. His expression is blank, but I don’t miss the tight line of his lips and his clenching fists. He hates this. So why is he here? Why did he want to torture the both of us? He knows tonight is my last night; there is no reason for him to see this part of my life because I’m leaving it behind. I turn my face from him and lean back onto the pole. I lift my dress up and over my head, shimmying sexily as I do so. I stand there in a white lace bra, panties, and my boots. I don’t want to look at him. I really don’t, but my eyes dart in his direction of their own accord. His face is now down, hidden in shadows, but he looks tense. His posture is rigid and unforgiving, and I see him stare at one of the men catcalling the loudest. I gulp, spinning around so the men get a nice view of my ass. Tonight was meant to be the easiest performance, my final; instead, it’s the worst one I’ve ever had to do. Grayson is cutting me open by being here tonight, making me bleed all over the stage in front of him. I wish I knew what was going on in that head of his right now.
My bra comes off next, and as it falls to the floor, Grayson stands and walks over to the stage. His face is a mask of rage and anger. He makes toward me but is stopped by a bouncer. Fuck. I’m standing there in the middle of the stage like an idiot, until Diamond comes out and grips me by my hips. It looks like she’s putting on a little show, but really it’s to distract the men as she says into my ear, “Go, I’ll handle it.”
She starts to dance and I gracefully leave the stage. I cover my breasts with my hands as I head straight to the changing rooms, and throw on a white corset and red shorts. I’d love to dress in my jeans and t-shirt but my night isn’t over yet. I walk out toward where Grayson was last seated but he isn’t there anymore; he must have left. He probably thinks so lowly of me now. I know he will never look at me the same. The manager on tonight, Henry, points toward the private rooms, and I cringe. I was hoping no one would request me tonight, but I guess I’m not that lucky. I square my shoulders and walk into the dimmed room. When I see Grayson sitting there staring up at me, my eyes widen.
“Hey,” I say breathlessly, gripping onto the door handle for support.
“Close the door,” he demands, and I do as I’m told. He’s wearing worn jeans and a black V-neck sweater, rolled up to his elbows.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, fiddling with the hem of my short shorts.
He tenses. “I’m a paying customer.”
“What?”
“Dance, Paris. Or should I say, Snow,” he says, leaning back in the chair and eyeing me patiently. He wants a dance? He will get a fucking dance.
And then I hope I never see him again.
I start to move to the music, swaying my hips. I stand just out of his reach as I dance with sensual rhythm, grinding my hips in a circle. My head falls back as I roll my stomach like a belly dancer would. I avoid Grayson’s heated gaze, but I can actually feel his eyes on me. They burn. His hand comes out to try and grab me, but I take a step back. I raise my eyes to his, and a muscle ticks in his jaw as he watches me with unconcealed desire. My hands start on my stomach and work their way up and over my breasts, then my neck. I spin and put my hands on the wall, sticking my ass out and moving seductively. I reach back and undo the zip on my top, letting it fall to the floor, my breasts spilling forth. I turn slowly and let him take me in, his eyes on my naked breasts. He licks his bottom lip.
“Come here,” he demands, eyes lifting to mine. He shifts his hips, and I can see his arousal straining against his jeans.
He wants me.
But I’m enjoying torturing him.
“No,” I tell him, continuing my dance. He grits his teeth together. I flash him a smug grin as I slide down onto my knees, spreading them apart. I watch as his lips mouth ‘fuck,’ as I run my hands over my breasts as I watch him. He gets up and lifts me so I’m standing, his fingers on my hips. I walk back with him and push him so he’s back to his seated position.