I’ve known for a long time.
I like him too. And that’s the reason why I need to talk myself into staying away from him. He’s going to throw a hitch in my plan.
I have a specific job to do and I can’t let my little crush on him get in the way.
* * *
When I stepoff the stage I’m drenched in sweat. Tonight the lights were harsh and unforgiving toward the end.
Back in the dressing room I pat myself down with a towel and yank all the money out of my outfit. I can’t wait to take a shower; during my last Bumslide to Split I got glitter where no fucking glitter should be.
I do a little make-up touch-up then head back out to the floor. I also want to get into Tony’s office and have a talk with him. I don’t ever want to be dragged to one of those card parties again. If it weren’t for Corrado…a shiver crawls down my spine just thinking about it. Jesus, Franco’s hairy old ballswouldhave been slapping up against my ass.
In the hallway there’s a handful of girls crowding around some drunk guy. There’s glass all over the floor and it shines wet in the light. “Mop in aisle two,” Candy laughs up to me.
“No problem, you stand him up and I’ll get you a mop,” I say, as I watch her slip a hand nonchalantly into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. I pretend not to see. Candy doesn’t have kids, but she’s got a shopping problem and a guy she’s trying to impress with designer clothes and slutty lingerie. My face heats at the thought. It’s Franco. He’s old enough to be her father, but she’s been sleeping with him for so long she thinks she’s in love. She thinks he’s going to save her.
I’m sure Franco’s wife would disagree.
I jog down the hall and open the door to one of the back offices and grab the mop that hangs on the wall and hand it to one of the girls.
Standing in the doorway, I notice a dim light coming from one of the back rooms and look down the hall to count the girls. I know who’s on the stage and who’s on the floor tonight. The rest of the girls are robbing the drunk behind me and mopping up his spilled drink.
So who is in the lounge?
I step in and walk quietly to the back and freeze as my blood instantly rushes past my ears.
Corrado bolts up from one of the back couches.
My eyes travel down his body and stop on his unbuckled pants, his hands desperately trying to keep them up.
I look around for a girl. My heart is racing, because whoever it is I want to cunt punch. I’m breathless with jealousy. “Who are you here with?” I ask. My tone isn’t nice and I want to just crawl into a hole and die.
I’m so embarrassed that I walked in on him and someone else. Tears sting at my eyes. “Shit,” I breathe. “I…I’m so sorry—” I try to form words. I try to pretend that rage and hurt aren’t coursing through my insides. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything, I…” Again I glance around to see which bitch I will envy for the rest of my life.
“I’m alone.” His voice is hoarse and raspy like he just got out of bed. “Watching you dance, I needed to…”
I open my mouth to say something, but words fail me.
He sits back down slowly, his eyes still locked on mine.
“I should go,” I whisper, but I don’t want to. I want him to ask me to—
“Stay.” His voice is rough and demanding.
“Stay?” I whisper.
“Take off your vest,” he says.
Slowly, I unhook the leather and let it slip over my shoulders and fall down my arms. I hold the vest with my pinky for a minute then let it drop to the floor.
He rakes a hand over his face, “Goddamn,” he breathes.
The ache between my legs pulses again. It’s the way he looks at me. Like he could devour me and still want more.
Without thinking, I slip my hand under the small patch of material under the front of my thong. I waxed a few days ago and my skin feels smooth and slippery.
I can’t help myself, I need to feed that ache.
