Page 15 of Give In

He’d taken one closer to the stage, giving me a clear view of him as I stepped onto it.

Only he wasn’t alone.

My steps almost stopped—my heart definitely did—when I saw Brittany sitting on the side of his chair. Her hand was on his knee as she laughed.

I knew Brittany thought he was sexy—which wasn’t a surprise, there were probably ninety-year-old women who thought he was. But Brittany had been vocal about her feelings, complaining loudly and often that she never got to dance for him.

Based on the way they were chatting, I had a feeling her luck was about to change.

I blanked my expression and unfocused my eyes, though it took more effort than usual. Every so often, my vision refocused on Professor Caine. And each time, I saw the same thing.

Him and Brittany, chatting and laughing.

For the first time since he’d started coming in, he wasn’t watching me.

I should’ve been relieved. Happy. Thrilled, even. But I wasn’t. I was disconcerted. Confused. I didn’t want him to look at me, but I also didn’t want him paying attention someone else.

Halfway through my second song, movement caught my eye. I tried to ignore it but couldn’t. My gaze tracked Brittany leading him by the hand toward the private rooms.

It was like a punch to the stomach.

No, this is good.

He’s here being a guy. It’s not about me or his power trip.

No more awkward. No more uncomfortable. No more wondering and analyzing.

At my thoughts, my forced smile became a little more real.

No more accidental touches that tingle my skin and make me feel higher than any drug ever could.

My steps faltered, and my insides tangled into a tight knot.

Getting back on track, I finished my dance, more emotionally numb than usual. When I came out from the back, there was a private dance waiting.

Bubbles erupted in my chest, an almost morbid anticipation filling me.

I whipped the curtain open, and the bubbles turned to lead, heavy and crushing they sank in my gut.

It wasn’t Professor Caine.

A talkative man who smelled like he’d bathed in cheap tobacco and cheaper beer was waiting.

I’m so fucked-up.

The rest of the night was uneventful for me, though Brittany seemed to be floating.

After our shifts ended, she was in heaven, gloating to anyone who’d listen.

While one of the girls complained about a skeezy customer, she gleefully interrupted. “Notmyguy. He wasn’t sad or pathetic like the rest of them.”

“He was so friendly and talkative, I didn’t even dance,” she repeated a handful of times, because of fucking course he talked to her.

“My tips tonight were so good, thanks to the fifty the hottie gave me,” she said as she packed the bills into her purse.

“I can’t wait until he comes back,” she whispered, as though she were surrounded by her girlfriends and not her coworkers.

After my makeup was removed, and I’d changed into street clothes, I headed for the exit only for Brittany to slip in and block the door.

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