“Code pink!”
Every stripper, no matter what they’re doing, freezes when those two words are shouted. It’s the universal warning that a child is nearby.
I turn my head, and my heart launches into my throat. Camille is standing outside the dressing room, wearing soccer cleats and a bright yellow uniform. Her hair is pulled out of her face in a messy bun, and her shoes and knees are scuffed with dirt.
Suddenly, Dante’s scent before we altered it with a quick, dirty fuck makes sense. He was at Camille’s soccer game…which he left because of me.
Guilt engulfs me. How could I have beenso selfish?
I’m desperate for space, and luckily, Dante is too. He immediately inches back as his hand shoots down to fix his zipper back in place.
As his daughter’s blown-wide eyes take in the glittering costumes in the props room, his jaw muscle twitches.He doesn’t want this life for her, just as I wish I had another option.
I need money, and I need it fast.
Some think stripping is unethical, but it’s legal, so it is the logical choice.
Dante’s once-lusty eyes dart to Camille, who’s too busy admiring the dancers’ props to notice our gawk. Then he shifts them back to me.
Embarrassment washes over me when he drapes a towel used to wipe off body oil over my body. There’s no desire in his eyes now. No longing. He appears ashamed, and it prompts my feet to move before I can answer a single plea of my heart to spend time with Camille again.
Before I can slip out the back door of the dressing room unnoticed, someone says, “I’m sorry,signor.She bolted before I could stop her. She wanted to see the ballerinas.”
Despite the frantic throbs of the veins in his neck, Dante’s clipped timbre is low and controlled. “It’s fine, Agnese. I’m done here anyway.”
His eyes lower to mine, and the message in them is unmistakable.
We’re not done.
Not even close.
Then he turns, gathers Camille in his arms, and walks away.
