told myself. You got this.
“So,” he said. “You want to dance here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I tried to think of an appropriate response. “Because I think it would be fun. I love meeting new people.” It was all lies. The real reason I wanted to dance there was because she had no other choice. I needed money. A lot of money. Money you couldn’t get just from working at Burger King or CVS.
“Right.” Colt chuckled and then leaned back in his chair. His dark eyes bore into me, so intense I expected to hear a crackle of electricity echo through the room. Couldn’t he have been fat? Or old? Or just… not so devastatingly gorgeous. “Can you stand up for me?” he asked.
I stood up.
“Turn around.”
I spun around in a slow circle, letting him get a good long look at my body. My face reddened as I turned back around to face him. It was weird, the way he was making no bones about the fact that he was looking at me. The weirder thing was that I kind of liked it.
He was just so beautiful. Stop, I told myself. So what if he’s good-looking? He’s obviously a complete pervert.
“Do you have a job right now?” Colt asked.
“A stripping job?”
“Any kind of job. Somewhere I can get a reference.”
I shook my head. “No.” It was pretty much impossible to get a job when you were homeless. I still hadn’t figured out what I was going to do when they asked for my address, but I was thinking I could just give the shelter’s, then change it once I found a place to live. I was hoping strip clubs weren’t too picky about things like that.
Colt’s eyes slid down my body again, and this time, they landed on my wrist. “What are the scars from?”
“Oh. Um…” My sleeve had slid up, and I yanked it down. Shit. I’d worked so hard to make sure they’d been covered. But that was the problem with scars – they never really went away, never really stayed hiding. They forced you to live your life constantly on the edge, constantly scared of being exposed.
“We don’t allow drugs here,” Colt said. There was no judgment in his tone. In fact, he sounded completely matter-of-fact.
“I don’t do drugs.”
“Then what are the scars from?” He reached out and took my wrist, turning it over so he could get a better look. His touch sent fire roaring through my body and I snatched my wrist back.
Colt’s mouth snaked up into a cocky grin, almost like he was enjoying the fact that he had me squirming. I pushed my chin into the air and met his gaze, refusing to back down. “I don’t do drugs.”
He raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. The air crackled with tension and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. His eyes flashed so dark it seemed like I was falling into them. He was looking at me from under lowered lids, his gaze so penetrating I shivered.
Only one other man had ever had that effect on me. Declan. The thought of him flooded my body with guilt. Declan. I’d made him a promise. And even though I was nowhere near close to breaking it, I made myself look away from Colt.
Colt leaned back in his chair.
“Dance,” he commanded.
“What?”
“This is an audition. I have to see if you can dance.”
Of course it was an audition. Of course I knew that at some point I was going to have to take off my clothes. But when I’d imagined this moment, it had been much different. I’d thought I’d be standing here in front of a middle-aged man, not a guy only a few years older than me who was so sexy I could hardly look at him.
I’d imagined it would be easy, taking my clothes off. All I’d have to do was disassociate, let my mind wander while I took my clothes off for whatever disgusting old pervert was sitting in front of me. I was no stranger to pretending I was somewhere else. I’d been doing it my whole life. It was called survival. Anytime I’d had to do something unpleasant, or been hurt by someone, I’d disassociated. Later, when the feelings would inevitably resurface, I’d cut my wrists to let the pain out.
I rolled my shoulders and tried to relax.
“You don’t have to be nervous,” Colt said. He reached over and picked up his phone. He pushed a few buttons, and after a second, a slow beat began to