Truth is, he’s not wrong. That tattoo always meant exactly what he’s thinking. Endless and forever. The part of me that keeps giving when I shouldn’t, loving like it’s a competition I refuse to lose.
Call it toxic, call it stubborn—but I call it me. And I’m realizing that’s one of my problems.
He grins wider. “Fair enough.” Then, like flipping a switch, his tone evens out. “What kind of music you want me to put you on with?”
“Slow,” I say without hesitation. “Something sensual and slow. That’s more my lane.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, scribbling something on a notepad. “I can see that. You move too easy to be innocent though. I know that kind of pull gets people hurt if they don’t know what they’re playing with.”
“Sounds about right,” I reply, my tone dry. “Should I put that on my résumé too?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Keep that attitude. It’ll get you the big tips.”
I grin. “Good to know.”
“The club’s open until 3 a.m. every night,” he says, leaning forward again. “Come and go as you please, but when you do come in, I except at least three hours out of you. No exceptions.”
“That works for me,” I say, tightening the sash of my robe like punctuation.
“Good.” His gaze lingers for a beat longer than it should. “You can stay tonight if you want, or go home and come back later tonight. Up to you. Either way—you’re in now, Lolli. And a little advice,” he says. “Don’t let the other girls scare you out of making good money.”
It’s the girls he mentions, not the men, not the crowd—and that tells me a lot. People don’t warn you unless there’s a cost, and he doesn’t seem like the type that gives out advice like that unless they’ve watched someone ignore it. I don’t feel scared, but I do feel awake.
And that might be the risk here, for anyone who confuses my calm with compliance. I’m not here to make friends, especially not with grimy-ass strippers. I can smile in their faces and play nice when it benefits me, but I have no interest in their friendship. Guess that’s one thing my mom and fake ass friends taught me well; wear whatever face the moment requires.
I linger in the locker room, robe tied tight, money sticking out my bag. Despite my mangers warning, part ofme wants to stay, to feel that rush all over again. But the weight of it all presses too heavy on my chest.
Ineedto tell someone.
I know Arina will scream with excitement, probably pull me into a hug and tell me how proud she is. But a glance at the time reminds me that she’s still at work. And the last thing I want is to blow up her phone while she’s working.
Saint’s face flashes in my mind. His question from earlier echoing back—Can I see you later?Before I can second-guess myself, I pull out my phone and type fast.
Me: What you doing right now? Or should I say who?
The minutes stretch until my screen lights up.
Saint: Finishing up something. What? You want to see me now or something?
I smirk at the screen, my thumbs hovering.
Me: Of course I do. The real question is—where do you want me, and how fast do you want me there?
I hit send before the nerves can catch up, the words staring back at me the way Lolli would say them.
Saint: Where do I want you? Hell, anywhere I can get my hands on your pretty ass.
I swallow, feeling the heat flush my cheeks as the his next message comes through.
Saint: Meet me at my spot. I’ll text you the address. And I want you ready for me and none of that robe shit. I want the Jainey I saw earlier.
Heat rushes to my entire face, and I bite my lip as I type back. Little does he know, he’s getting Lolli, not Jainey.
Me: Okay daddy. Send the address before I change my mind and you regret it later.
The ping comes seconds later, his location lighting up my screen.
I clutch the phone to my chest, a grin breaking across my face. I gather my things quickly, stuffing the cash into mybag. My heels click against the floor as I hurry toward the door, still in my lingerie and robe, my heart pounding a little too hard.
