But she also saw what she needed to see.
It’d take something to get through him to get to her.
And they both knew the man behind that letter didn’t havedick (maybe literally).
Then she surprised him again.
She showed him vulnerability.
Oh yeah.
This was going to be a challenge.
“Don’t leave me again, Mo,” she said softly.“Please.”
And oh yeah.
That letter had freaked her.
Fuck yeah.
Mo wanted to lay waste to something.
“I won’t…” he trailed off because it was on the tip of histongue to call herbaby.He finished with, “I promise.”
She stared into his eyes a beat.
After she did that, she nodded and moved to her mirror.
“So what do you do the other four hours?”
Mo was fully clothed on his back on her couch that was adecent-sized couch, but it wasn’t long enough for him.
No surprise.Most couches weren’t.
His eyes were on the dark ceiling.
It was nearing on two.
Lottie went on at nine thirty, eleven and one.
She danced for ten to twelve minutes each set.Customersweren’t allowed to touch her to tip, but even if they could, they wouldn’t beable to reach her with the way she worked the stage.The other girls ran outand gathered the bills that drifted onto the stage for her.
The rest of the time, she sipped watermelon Perrier out oflittle cans from a pink paper straw with white chevrons on it, got ready forher next set and gabbed with whatever dancer was in the room with her.
And if there weren’t any, she gabbed with Mo.
She was a talker.
This was Mo’s lot in life.Being surrounded by women whowere talkers.
“What?”he asked.
“You said you sleep for four hours a night.What do you dofor the other four?”
He wanted her to go to sleep.
He wanted her to go to sleep so maybe he could go to sleep(though he didn’t hold a ton of hope for that) and therefore stop thinkingabout her in that tiny, green satin nightie with all the cream lace she’d comeout of her bathroom wearing.
