Liberty Begins (The Liberty Series) by Leigh James Read Free Book Online

you’re trying to do it, but I admire you for it.”
    This was all too much to take in. I had to get away from him and get ready for my next shift. I let out a deep breath and willed myself to stop shaking from adrenaline based on the combination of fear, confusion and lust. “John,” I said, as calmly as I could muster. I took a step back. He looked slightly hurt at that, but not at all surprised. “You seem like a nice guy. Mostly. But I don’t need your help. I’m fine taking care of myself.”
    I turn on my pink suede spike heel and head to the safety of the locker room. “It was nice to meet you,” I call out and wave, but I don’t look back.

 
     
    I woke up mad the next morning. The one guy I meet who I think is cute is either (a) trying to recruit me as his escort, (b) trying to drag me to North Dakota to strip for sex-deprived oil workers, or (c) is just plain old crazy. His timing sucked, too. I had finally been in Vegas long enough, been alone long enough, that I had stopped hurting a little. I was getting used to being alone. Then John had to come here and look me in the eye and start trying to get in my business.
    I didn’t like the fact that I liked him. He made my heart race. That was exciting to me, and I didn’t want to be excited. I wanted to be alone and not get hurt. Because that’s what people did, I had learned, they worked really hard at disappointing you. They got creative about it. That’s what John had just done to me. He had let me down. Telling me he cared about me, acting like he knew I was a good person, sending me the glasses to help — he was trying to see inside of me, get a piece of me, connect with me, make me depend on him or want him or need him or think about him. Him and his expensive suit and his entourage.
    It was a disappointment — his presumed familiarity. He could have just asked me to dinner like someone normal. But no. There might be normal in Vegas somewhere, but I was never going to find it. There was no normal for me. It had always been like that. That’s why I’d never had a boyfriend and was still, ridiculously, a total virgin at twenty one. (When I say total virgin, I mean it. It was embarrassing.) Strippers can’t blush and they sure as hell couldn’t be virgins, but here I was.
    My mother said I was a chicken, and she was right. Maybe I’d seen too much of what Ray and a host of other suitors did to her, and how it sounded in our small apartment. I couldn’t want that for myself.
    But out of nowhere, John had made me rethink that. Actually, there was very little thinking involved. There was just a lot of throbbing in a part of my body that had been long dormant. Along with calling me chicken, my mother had always told me I was a late bloomer. I was beginning to see what she meant. Sasha had lost her virginity to her boyfriend in high school and she was always raving about how hot Jose was, how she loved being with him. I listened to her but I never understood the inclination. Physically, I just did not get it. I pretended when I danced that I knew what sexy was, what it meant. But I didn’t have a clue.
    John had made me feel a pang, a deep empty ache in between my legs, that I had never felt before. Now I couldn’t feel anything but. Damn him. Why couldn’t he just have asked me to dinner? Why couldn’t I have met him anywhere but here?
    I had convinced Alex that I only needed a few hours sleep and that I would be back for the early, quiet shift. I planned on begging to stay again, but there were always tons of girls on Saturday night. I promised myself I’d be extra nice. Maybe it was time for me to go out on the floor, to start making more money and saving towards that bus ticket. I could do it, I told myself. Maybe.
    There was a knock on the door as I was brushing my teeth. I looked through my peephole to see what I assumed could only be a bike courier, complete with a messenger bag and a mohawk, staring back at me. “Package,” he said.