privately.”
One-on-one dance; that is exactly what the rooms in Venus are for. The rooms I have a strong aversion to. This must be what he wants. I do this for a living, and he just breezes into Venus, and plucks out some random girl to please him under his own roof. Well, that’s not me. Now that tiny bit of regard I did have for him has gone completely, and my self-respect once more has hit an all-time low.
I drop my head with a sigh. I’m such a dork for coming here. He must think I’m easy and dumb. Jeez, maybe I shouldn’t blame him; look at the circumstances we met. He probably thought I would go for this with no questions asked.
“Look, I must have given you the wrong impression,” I say, reluctantly moving closer to him so I can get away. “I really need to get back home, to my sister… she’s expecting me.”
My view shies away as I go to pass by him, but he gently takes my wrist to stop me. His touch on me isn’t aggressive like I’m used to. It’s fraught and soft. He really needs this, and I’m beginning to feel bad for him. I breathe in and peer up. His eyes are hopeless, and I’m teetering on the edge of agreeing because I can’t take his grave expression.
“I’m sorry,” he releases his grip and moves back in shame.
I take a few seconds, watching as he leans his athletic body against the wall with his head down.
“There are other girls that will gladly do this for you, Grayson,” I say, faintly.
If he needs this so bad, I’ll ask Tina or Sara. I’m sure they’ll be here in a flash knowing who it’s for. I guess I owe him that much. I did come here stupidly with the wrong idea about this. He’s got his hopes up that I’d agree to be his private dancer.
“Would you like me to find someone for you?” I ask.
He hoists his obliging eyes. “Thank you, but no,” he exhales. “Would you at least consider the offer, and let me drive you home.”
I should be gone already. I know I shouldn’t encourage him, but he’s been so polite toward me.
“Okay,” I murmur with a gulp.
What an Idiot
I speed into the garage and skid to a standstill, narrowly missing the drywall. I get out and slam the door, hard. I’m an asshole. I made a damn mess of that. I bet she thinks I’ve got psychological issues on the highest level. I’m a fool for thinking she’d agree. It was the room that did it, bashed that final nail down in the coffin. That wretched optimism has screwed up my head. I guess Henry is right, I really have now lost the plot.
I curl my fingers into my hands tightly. I would hit myself, but for now my black Range Rover will feel the brunt of my fury. I punch and punch, and those exact emotions I felt when I received the dreaded news, flood within me. Why is it so damn hard to achieve happiness when you’re being followed around by the fuckin reaper?
Blood gushes from the tiny cuts that my anger has inflicted on my knuckles. But I carry on, and now I’ve managed to put the driver’s side window through. I wince and grunt, slamming my head down on the roof before sliding down to the floor in a heap.
Men don’t cry do they? I’ve not once cried all the way through this goddamn illness. But now, I’m so furious with myself my eyes sting with rage. Why the hell did I ask her to dance? I could have offered her employment doing anything. All because of that night all those years ago. I’m so self-absorbed. I want that feeling I had at eighteen again, and I’ve lost my mind trying to get it.
I’ve now come to the conclusion she is so much more than a dancer in some strip club. She has tragedy in her eyes, and because I’ve been blinded by what I need to feel, I didn’t consider her. To her, I’m simply a dirty perverted asshole. A rich asshole.
I laugh to myself. Shit, this has to be rock bottom for me. I am the embodiment of despair. Henry would have a fit if he saw me now. ‘No time for feeling sorry for yourself. Pick up your bottom lip and brush yourself