He huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “If you knew what you just did, who that was…”
“Who was it?” I ask conspiratorially. “Like, a politician? An actor?”
“You will never know,” he says. “But, despite all that…weirdness…he liked you.”
“He…liked me?” I ask.
“He said you were clearly out of your league, clearly untrained, but he liked you. He’s asked you to come back as his exclusive.”
“His exclusive?” I feel like a parrot. “His exclusive…what?”
“His private dancer.”
A hysterical laugh bubbles out of my chest. “Mister, I’m not a…I don’t…I’m just a college student. For real. This was a dare that got out of hand.”
“Stop sputtering,” he says as he reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulls out a neatly organized stack of cash. He hands it to me. “This is a fraction of what he’d be willing to pay. He wants you to come back every Friday. Midnight. He’ll always wear the mask. He’ll never see your face; you’ll never see his. You can set your rates if he asks you to do anything other than dance.”
My eyes probably look like they might bug out of my head. I start sputtering nonsense about all the reasons I can’t do this. But I look down at the wad of cash, and it must be at least a thousand dollars, and the thoughts are just rushing at me.
A thousand dollars to come on a man’s suit pants. It’s ridiculous.
He liked that?
Maybe he is a weirdo?
But…he didn’t feel like a weirdo. I’m pretty sure he was smoking hot. I was definitely, clearly very turned on by that whole thing.
And I kind of want to feel that again.
My dad would have a royal conniption if he found out. He might actually kill some people.
But he’ll never find out. No one needs to know.
“An hour a week?” I ask. “And…what about sex? Or all those contraptions in the room?”
“You can negotiate your limits as you go. He’ll never do anything you don’t consent to in advance.”
My face is absolutely burning. This is both unusual and embarrassing, yet intriguing and captivating.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll do it.”
4
NIK
By the timeI knock out the last pull-up, I’m sweating, but not just from the workout.
I can’t stop thinking abouther.
The girl who danced for me at the club on Friday.
All these damn days, she’s been lodged in the back of my mind like shrapnel I can’t dig out.
After she left, I just sat there like an idiot, hands wrapped tightly around my drink, staring at the space where she’d been. Ten minutes. Maybe more. Didn't say a word. Didn't move.
Didn’t chase.
I should’ve.
