Page 44 of Church Girl
Jesus, if this is what being sexually attracted does to a person, I need to be raptured like yesterday.
“I can see it.”
I jack my gaze from the depths of my cranberry and vodka and back to him. “See what?”
He nods his head, and I don’t flinch from his close scrutiny. “See the resemblance to Jade. The same shape of the face and eyes. No dimples—” he brushes his fingers over my cheeks “—no freckles,” he murmurs, tracing the constellation of marks scattered across my cheekbones and the bridge of my nose. “But the mouth and—” his scrutiny lowers and his teeth sink into his bottom lip “—and that body. Yeah, you and she are definitely family.”
“Bull.” The word explodes from me without my permission. When that silver stare returns to me, my face burns with embarrassment. But I don’t mitigate what I’ve said with excuses. Maybe sitting here in a strip club with loud music, half-dressed women and people who won’t be sitting with me in a church sanctuary tomorrow grants me courage. Or maybe it’s the vodka. Either way, I meet his eyes and say, “You don’t have to lie to me. I’m not so insecure that I need false compliments.”
“One thing I thought you learned about me, Liyah,” he murmurs, using that nickname again. I really,reallyhate that I like it. Despite that it makes me feel special to him when I know I’m not. “I’m not a liar. Don’t need to be. Now, if you don’t see that those perfect titties, pretty hips, thick thighs and gorgeous ass would have every person in here throwing money if you got up on that stage, then you’re the one with a truth problem, not me.” He leans close to me, so close our noses almost bump. I taste the hint of alcohol on his breath, and my stomach caves in with the need to suck that flavor right off his tongue. “Let me clue you in, ma. Confidence is sexy as fuck on a woman. The only thing a man is going to do with a woman who doesn’t know her worth is dog her out so he can keep her where she’s at. Get that head up, lil’ mama, and act like you know who the fuck you are.”
I stare at him, blinking against the sudden sting of tears. He just praised my body and read me for being insecure at the same time. And that’s why I’m fighting back, keeping the moisture from rolling down my face.
Get that head up, lil’ mama, and act like you know who the fuck you are.
Tamara had said something similar not too long ago. Do I really come across so...weak? So timid and self-doubting? My stomach sours at the thought. And sadness coated in shame gels into a hard pebble in my chest.
“You still haven’t answered my question. What was wrong with you?” he asks like he didn’t just strip me uncomfortably bare with his brutally honest words.
“Did it occur to you that the reason I keep dodging the question is because I don’t want to talk to you about it?” I snap.
He cocks his head. “If that’s what it is, then stop playing word games and just come out your mouth and say that.”
“Fine.” I ball up my fists. “I don’t want to talk to you about my personal business because it’s just that—personal. Please and thank you.”
He slowly nods. “There she is,” he murmurs. “Been waiting on her to make an appearance.” I frown. Who is thissheandher? Before I can ask, he says, “Good. Glad you got that out. Now tell me what was wrong. Aye, church girl, roll those eyes again, and I’ma hand them to you. Go ahead and talk.”
“You are irritating as hell,” I snap.
A smile—slow and just a little bit sinister—spreads across his face. The sight of it has another flood drenching my panties. His lip piercing only adds to the picture. At this point, they’re going to need to sanitize this couch when I leave.
“Is that the way you speak to your employer?”
“We’re off the clock, remember.”
He smirks and leans forward again. This time, his nose does bump mine. “Not much about you I forget, ma. Now do you start talking, or do I take that as an invitation to do something else with that mouth?”
We trade breaths, mine faster, softer than his. I know what my answer should be. Easily. But my trembling thighs and clenching sex are throwing in their votes.
“You’re a bully,” I whisper.
“Only when it comes to bullying that pussy.” He straightens, his gray eyes refusing to let me go. Stealing my will, my choice. “Talk, Liyah.”
That damn nickname. It’s as bad as thema’sandlil’ mama’s. No, it’s worse. I bet he’s called other women the same. But Liyah? It’s all mine.
Huffing out a sigh, I fall back against the couch. Mistake. His fingers graze my nape. Instead of moving his hand, though, he cuffs my neck, his fingertips pressing into the side of my throat.
Oh God. Ican’t...
How does he expect me to talk while he touches me? But his squeezing hand informs me he expects that very thing.
“I was just...” I close my eyes, lift my drink for a sip. “I’m not on good terms with my parents because I’m here. In Chicago. Not the strip club. But if they knew about me beinghere, they’d be angry about that, too.”
A beat of silence, probably to wade through all that babbling.
“You miss them.”
Do I? I lift my lashes, meet his piercing, unwavering stare. “Yes,” I admit and wait for the sadness to slip in. But looking into his beautiful eyes, only calm wraps around me. It makes no sense. “Not enough to give them what they want, but yes.”
