He stays silent.
I throw my hands up in disgust. “Is that it? Is that all you’ve got to say? I’m begging to see you, and you can’t say a single fucking word?”
His eyes hold mine.
“You know what?” I shake my head. “Forget what I said. I beg for nobody. Don’t bother coming.”
More silence.
“You’re not the only one who’s disappointed,” I snap at him.
He frowns. “Meaning?”
“You’re not who I thought you were either.”
“Who did you think I was?”
I look around at the people surrounding us, so lost in their routines that they don’t even notice us. I turn back to him and shrug. “Someone who was worth it.” I smile sadly. “Guess not.”
Turning and walking back out onto the street in a daze, a car blares its horn at me when I nearly walk in front of it.
I march back into the café.
That’s it. It’s done.
I stare at the reflection of the girl in the mirror with her full face of makeup and her black lace strapless dress.
The buzz in the air is electric. The Escape Girls are excited for tonight. It’s showtime.
The thought of entertaining a man tonight turns my stomach.
I’m not sleeping with anyone. I don’t want to even talk to a man, let alone have sex.
Mr. Garcia well and truly tamed the tiger that was my libido. After taking in the size of him, I was sore for days. But it was my ego that took the biggest hit. I’m still licking my wounds and to make it worse, I begged this morning when I saw him.
Pathetic.
I hear the excited squeal of one of the girls. She peers around the curtain that hides a one-way window that shows the catwalk area. The girl has long dark hair and is drop dead gorgeous.
“He’s here. He hasn’t been here for months.” She dances back to her makeup chair. “I’m so excited, I could die.”
“Who’s here?” someone else asks.
“Mr. Smith.”
“Garcia?” someone else asks.
“You aren’t supposed to know his real name,” another girl says.
He’s here.
The girls all break into excited chatter, and my heart drops.
Fuck… he has a fan club.
5
April
The makeup artist applies my blush, and I feel my face heat with frustration. Or is that excitement, or just sheer terror. I can’t even tell anymore.
“Curtain time, girls!” Porsha calls. “Line up in your order.” Her eyes glance over to me. “Cartier, darling, you will be choosing third tonight.”
I nod.
“You will work your choosing order number backwards to number ten, and then for the next two weeks after that, you will choose last. This is how we keep it fair.”
“Okay, sure.” I fake a smile. I won’t be here then, anyway.
“Can I choose first?” The girl with the long dark hair asks. “I know it’s not my turn, but I really want a certain person. I’ve been waiting for him to come back for months.”
Sebastian.
I look her up and down, she's beautiful with thick, long dark hair and a small tight and toned figure. She has the most attractive face of anyone I’ve ever seen. She’s wearing a short red dress that shows all of her curves. Her large breasts are peeking out of her top, and her legs go on for miles.
Sebastian’s slept with her before; I know it. I get a vision of her with him, and my stomach twists with disgust.
“No.” Porsha looks through her printed schedule. “You are…”
I hold my breath, waiting for Porsha to finish. I don’t know if I want to choose before or after the girl. What if I pick him and he really wants her?
Damn it, I’m now regretting asking him to come at all.
“You are second tonight, Luna,” Porsha finishes.
“Yes,” Luna smiles and punches the air.
Shit…She’s before me.
I drop my head. I just want to get the hell out of here.
“Line up, girls.” Porsha smiles. “Game faces on. Our gentlemen pay a lot of money for your company.”
The girls laugh and chatter as they line up, while I close my eyes and try to brace myself to be brave.
The first girl makes her way out onto the catwalk. She walks up and back, and then she spins and walks back out to the end. She performs a sexy twirl to the sounds of quiet excitement from the men, before she stands to the side of the catwalk and places her hand on her hip.
Luna is next, and I watch on as she does the same. My heart is literally in my throat.
Fuck this, I’m never coming back here. This is beyond stressful.
The song changes to Sexual Healing by Marvin Gaye, and I exhale heavily. This music is slower, sexier… tantric even. And now it’s my turn.
I walk out to the seductive beat. When I make it to the end of the catwalk, I glance around at the gorgeous men before me.
But not the one I’m after.
I walk to the back, twirl, and then I strut back to the front, placing my hand on my hip just in time to look up into the hungry stare of Mr. Garcia.
He’s sitting at a table at the back with a glass of amber fluid in one hand and a cigar in the other. His legs are spread wide, his appearance dominant.
Our eyes lock, and he slowly brings the cigar to his lips and sucks hard. He inhales, and a thin stream of smoke disappears into his mouth.
Fuck me, this man is sex on legs.
My insides begin to pulse as I imagine him naked and over the top of me.
I remember the way he gripped my face the last time we were together. The way he licked my lips. The way he bit my neck. The way he went down on me midway through sex and licked the mess he’d made.
My nipples harden at the memory. No wonder he has a fucking fan club.
I’m the damn president.
I can pretend all I want that there is something between us, but when I see him here, like this, reality hits home. I want to be dominated by him. I want him to use me, and damn it, I want to be fucked.
His eyes are dark, and I nearly forget what I’m supposed to be doing.
I slowly turn and take my place at the side of the stage.
I watch the rest of the parade, concentrating on not looking up, but I can feel the heat of his gaze.
Is he always this sexual? Or does this club bring something out in him?
The parade ends, and Porsha walks out with the microphone in hand.
“Gentlemen, may I introduce Eleonore.”
The men fall in to silence.
“State your intentions!” Porsha calls.
The men line up in front of Eleonore and, one by one, they introduce themselves. “Who will you choose, Eleonore?”
“Mr. Parker.” She smiles.
A good-looking man steps up and takes her hand. He walks her from the stage. He looks like an athlete or something. Young and virile.
Good choice.
“Gentlemen, may I introduce Luna,” Porsha says, holding Luna’s hand up. “State your intentions.”
The men line up again. All except one.
Mr. Garcia remains seated as he sips his scotch. He looks every bit like the powerful, walking orgasm that he is.
“Who will you choose Luna?” Porsha asks.