Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74291 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74291 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
There’s a monitor hanging over my booth. I’ve never really used it since I rarely make the time to come here. Tonight, however, I am using it. I’ve been using it the entire time. The men are going crazy for her, salivating and dreaming of taking her home tonight. They’re so lost in her body, they don’t even realize that she barely notices they’re there to worship her. Ice. It’s a name that fits her. It’s a name that begs an answer to the question: what could make her melt?
My eyes are continuously drawn to her hip. There’s a tattoo with the word: “survivor”. Just what has she survived? I wanted her from the moment I saw her, but given what’s going on with her brother, I couldn’t be sure what she was like in person. Now I know. Intriguing. I definitely want to taste her. Perhaps the most interesting thing is that I want to taste her more than once.
“What do you think, boss? I’m telling you, she doesn’t mean to give you trouble. She’s a good kid. I’d hate to see her get mixed up in bullshit and get hurt because her brother’s a dick-wad.”
“Bring her to the back. Shut down any other dancers for the room until I’m finished.”
“Boss, Ana doesn’t do private dances.”
“Don’t give her a choice. I’ll be waiting,” I tell him, leaving without further comment.
Chapter Six
Ana
“The boss is waiting for you in the backroom,” Big Joe tells me just as I cinch the belt of my robe.
I look up at him as if he were insane, trying to ignore the thrill that runs through me. “Why would Yoly want me back there?” I question him, referring to the lady who hired me, even if I know better. I know who’s waiting and I’m excited about it. I should be panicking.
“It’s not Yoly. It’s Mr. Anthes. He wants a private dance.”
Electricity sizzles through me at his words. I’ve been thinking about Roman ever since our kiss, so much so that it worries me. I had been beating myself up ever since my last encounter with Roman. When I showed up the following day and went through my sets and Roman wasn’t around, I felt a keen sense of disappointment when it should have been relief. Stupidly, I had this anticipation running through me about seeing him again. When he was nowhere to be found, it bothered me. After a few days, it became apparent that he lied. He wasn’t planning on seeing me soon. I didn’t play his game and he was gone. That pissed me off, even if it shouldn’t. He’s got my head all fucked up, and that’s dangerous.
It didn’t change the fact that I obsessed over it, and the more I thought about it, the more pissed I became. I’ll admit that a lot of it was because he awoke things in me I have spent years trying to forget. To put it plainly, I was horny. It’s been a long dry spell—three years, to be exact—and with one kiss, Roman brought things out in me that I’d buried deep. He succeeded so much that I’ve been having dreams about the man. The fact that he disappeared for two weeks and then just shows up out of the blue demanding a dance pisses me off. The bastard knows I don’t do private dances. He just expects me to fall in line, like he’s doing the stripper a favor and now she has to entertain him. That’s the feeling that smacks me across the face and I hate it. It’s a reminder of why I hate dancing.
“I don’t do private dances,” I insist, while in my head I’m busy trying to figure out what in the world I’m going to do. I can’t risk him getting rid of me.
“You explain that to the boss. I’m just the messenger,” Joe says, and it might be my imagination but I think the man is avoiding looking me in the eye. “Come on, Ana. It’s not like he’ll force you to do something against your will. You work for him. He’s entitled to make sure you can dance.”
“So he does this to all of the dancers?” I question, knowing he doesn’t.
Big Joe pulls the door open and waits for me to walk past him. “You’re the first dancer we’ve hired in a while.”
I can’t argue with that, but I think we both know what’s going on. In fact, I think the entire room knows what is going on. It’s not my imagination that the other dancers and people in the backstage area get quiet. I reach the door and glance behind me. Every dancer here who’s putting on makeup or just taking a cigarette break have stopped to stare at me. The room that was crazily busy just a minute before is now deathly still and quiet.