I shrug. “I get a lot of pussy. Guess you didn’t stick out.” The second it’s out of my mouth, I know it’s the cruelest thing I could have said. Which is why I said it.
Her face goes completely blank. She stands abruptly, turns away, unzips her bag. Doesn’t look at me when she speaks again.
“That’s fine. Forget I said anything. It didn’t mean a damn thing anyway.” Her voice is dismissive as hell. “Hell, it wasn’t even that good.”
The words cut deeper than I expect. My jaw tightens, heat crawling up my neck. Hypocrite that I am, it still stings.
Fuck this.
Without another word, I leave the dressing room before I do something stupid, like admit I remember every second of the night we spent together.
9
NINA
How is this my life?
Alessio is my new boss. The father of my child. And the son of a bitch doesn’t even remember me.
Of course he doesn’t. I’m probably one of dozens of women he’s “helped” over the years. Seven years of thinking about that night, seven years of wondering what might have been different if we’d met under other circumstances, and to him I’m just another Tuesday he can’t be bothered to recall.
Well, fine. Clearly that night didn't leave the same impression on him that it did on me.
I wait until the dressing room door shuts behind him before pulling out my next outfit. Whatever his problem is, I’m not letting it cost me this job.
Starla told me during my audition that I’ll be expected to strip every sixty minutes, which gives me time to actually think about my routine instead of dwelling on Alessio’s selective amnesia. If there’s one good thing about finding out Alessio is my boss,it’s that it’s completely distracted me from overthinking about stripping.
Dancing around on stage and flashing my tits at some strangers doesn’t seem like such a big deal after that tense exchange with him.
Hell, it’s not even the most unpleasant part of the job anymore. That's going to be seeing him every night I work, acting like we're complete strangers.
But it changes nothing about my situation. Austin needs his meds and treatment. Nothing else matters, not even his father’s sudden reappearance in my life.
The rest of my shift passes in a blur of stage lights and dollar bills. I perform three more times, and it gets easier each time. I embrace the power I felt during that first routine and focus on the music, on the way my body moves with it. It’s actually a hell of a workout.
By the end of the night, I’ve made about three hundred dollars without even doing lap dances. Not bad for a Wednesday. Though I could’ve done without Alessio glaring at me from his seat at the bar every time I took the stage. For someone who doesn’t remember me, he sure seems interested in watching my performances.
“Mommy! Wake up. I’m bored.”
I groan and roll over to find Austin’s face inches from mine, his amber eyes—so much like his father’s—bright with morning energy.
“Why are you awake?” I mumble, squinting at the clock. 7:43 a.m.
He shrugs with the kind of logic only six-year-olds possess, and I know I asked a stupid question.
“I’m hungry,” he announces, bouncing slightly on the bed.
“Let me guess, pancakes?”
His grin could power the Vegas Strip. “You know me so well!”
“Lucky me,” I say, but I’m smiling as I drag myself out of bed. My leg muscles are protesting from last night’s pole work, but it’s worth it. Austin’s happiness is always worth it.
While I start the coffee pot (because God knows I need caffeine to function on four hours of sleep) Austin settles in at the kitchen table with his coloring books. He’s working on a detailed superhero scene, tongue poking out in concentration.
“Can we go to the park today?” he asks between bites of pancakes.
I freeze with my coffee mug halfway to my lips. “The park?”
