Page 85 of Fang
I take a step back and look at her. I don’t know how I missed it at first, but something happened between the end of her dance and her coming back here.
“Come with me.”
I don’t give her time to object. I grab her hand and pull her toward my office.
“What the hell, Fang? I would have come with you if you would have asked nicely,” she snaps.
I lean back on my desk and cross my arms over my chest. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she lies.
“Wrong answer. Try again.”
Cami huffs as she drops into the chair in front of me. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”
“I do. Now answer the question.”
“I just think that maybe we should keep our relationship private, at least when we are here.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I…”
“No, cut the bullshit and tell me where this is coming from. Because you sure as hell didn’t think we should keep it private when you wore my jacket on stage and declared you were mine.”
Cami groans and slouches in the chair. “The other girls hate me.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
Cami shoots me a dirty look. “They think I slept my way to the top. That the only reason I get the best time slots is because I’m fucking you, and before you say anything, yes, I know that’s not true. I know I earned those spots on my own, but their accusations make me feel dirty.”
My stomach sinks to the floor. “Does my touch make you feel dirty?”
She shakes her head. “Absolutely not, but when we are here and they are watching…”
I rub my hands over my face to try and calm myself down.
This is bullshit.
“Cami, you might sell a part of yourself on stage every night, but that’s not what this is. I didn’t fall for you because you’re a stripper but because of who you are. When I touch you, it’s because I want you, not the woman you make those assholes out there believe you are. It’s my way of showing you that I care.
She squeezes her eyes shut. “I hate selling myself every time I get on that stage, but I have to, to survive. If I don’t, I can’t pay for school, my dorm, or, hell, food.”
Just hearing that she struggles to get by even though she makes bank every night kills me. I knew she was struggling, it’s not a secret, but that doesn’t make it any less painful to hear. Especially when she won’t let me do anything to help her.
I step forward and kneel in front of her, and I take her hands in mine. “I’ve told you more than once that I don’t want you to do something that makes you uncomfortable. I know you don’t want me to help you out, but you’re mine now. I can’t let you keep killing yourself in the name of pride. I love you, and I want to help you. So let me.”
Tears fill her eyes. “Y-you love me?”
I smile. “Baby, do you really question that? I let you on the back of my bike. I let you wear my jacket. Of course I fucking love you. I love you for you. The girl who’s been to hell and back, theone who works her ass off going to school and working full time. The woman who crawls into my bed and falls asleep with her head on my chest. Not the dancer.”
Tears fall down her cheeks. I can’t help but reach up and brush one away.
“I love you too, you know.”
“I do.”
She scoffs. “So arrogant.”
