Page 60 of H E R

This …thisisexactlywhy I never allow feelings into the mix. I find a man, flirt, fuck, and then I’m done. I don’t want to let them in. For what? So they can stab me in the back like Noah? So they can flirt, fuck, and leave like I have for years since I lost my v-card? The route Dylan apparently wants to take things.Shit.

I lean against the pole, and the naked dancer reaches for my hand. I let her guide me in a dance where our hands roam one another’s bodies in a carefree yet gentle manner, almost romantic. The idiots in front of us are eating it up, but I’m not even paying attention to themoranything else. I’m using all of my strength to not look back.

I can’t. If I do and he isn’t there, I’m going to fucking blow. I can feel it.

A frantic lunatic searching for himas ifI have any sort of fucking claim.

What thefuckis wrong with me? Fuck, snap out of it!

He’s in my head and I need to get him out. Now.

As if the universe heard my idiotic and desperate plea, a man who was sitting next toel cerroapproaches me. I recognize him. He’s the silver fox with green eyes that handed me his card on my first night, requesting a private dance.

He’s as handsome as I remember, tall and lean. Muscular, but not too buff, and with salt and pepper hair. I don’t care if he’s twice my age. My heart is pumping in my ears and I can’t hear shit, but he hands me a card and I smile and signal to the nearest security guard and hand it to him.

He gestures to the man to follow, and I force my legs to move toward the bar.

“Give me a double,” I say, but hold up two fingers just in case. I chug it back and it tastes like fucking water.Shit.“Otro.” I don’t even know if the bartender speaks Spanish, but he does as I ask.

I need this. I can’t even look back to where Dylan was. Fucking ridiculous. Stressing about this rookie is no fun at all. A fling is exactly what I need. If the silver fox wants more after this private dance, I’m in. I haven’t had sex in over six months. Maybe that is why I’m acting crazy.

I slam the shot glass onto the bar and take two deep breaths before walking to the opposite end of the club. If you stand in the center on the first floor and look up, you can see all the way to the very top floor. I can’t look up right now, I’ll bust my shit. Instead, I focus on my steps, and I keep my spine straight, my head over my shoulders.

I don’t walk across; I don’t want to cross the path Dylan and the red-haired bimbo just stood at. So I take the long way, which ropes around the center of the club like a maze. I turn left and then right to a long and dark corridor with flickering lights hanging near each door like a candle would during ancient times.

The wallpaper is a luxurious black and gold with blue specs that shimmer in the dim lighting. Each room has a magnet that the card attaches to, notifying guests which room is occupied by whom. I stop in front of the room with a black and gray card with a small white fox on the front and adjust my own fox mask.

My insides twist, and I stare at the tiny onyx animal Dylan attached to my mother’s charm bracelet. Out of all the charms she added, this one stands out. Hers are a collection of sorts, a memorabilia of her life. Her horoscope: libra, a piano: her favorite instrument, a pink gem: her favorite color, a volleyball: her favorite sport. Dylan’s charm stands out like a bright light in an otherwise pitch dark room.

I pinch it between my fingers,my little fox.

My eyes blur, tears pool and threaten to leak past my lids, and I squeeze them shut.

These rooms are for private dances. The rooms for blue cards are on the opposite side, and they’re for exclusive clients that pay a ridiculous amount of money for discretion and a fucking bed. Literally.

All sorts of kinks are included.

Stop.I shut those thoughts out, forcing a wall between Dylan’s soft lips on mine, his nightshade stare, his overpowering presence, and calloused hands touchingmyskin.Fuck.

I can’t do this.

I canfeelhim. That same feeling that first made me realize he wasn’t just any other client. The magnetic force stitching our souls together with the thread of life, and it pulls at me now. I take one step back and stumble into a hard wall.

Suddenly, strong hands shove me back against whatever barrier I stepped into and hands grip my waist and twist me around.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going, little fox?”

His voice melts me the way a solid stick of butter on a sizzling skillet would. “Dylan?”

I’m too relieved to see him, but when I remember Dominica trailing her hands all over him and how he hadn’t even tried to stop her, I recover by shoving a finger at his masked face. “What the fuck areyoudoing here, Detective? Canvassing for clues?”

He grins and gently pushes me until my back touches the wall next to the door I’m supposed to enter. It’s cold against my shoulder blades, but Dylan’s heat warms me to my core.

“You go ahead and give him his little dance, but if he touches you,” he cups my chin and forces me to look at him, and his pupils disappear, “I’ll fucking kill him.”

I press against his chest, but he doesn’t move. I try a smidge harder. Nothing. I sigh in frustration. “Oh, so it’s okay for little Miss Jessica Rabbit to put her hands all over you and invite you to a fuck fest, but I’m not allowed to be touched?”

Dylan reaches into his custom-made Tom Ford suit jacket, and I swallow back a lump in my dry ass throat. I think a noise escapes me, something similar to a croak. He produces the vibrant blue card and a red heart glimmers and threatens to slice my cornea in three parts.

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