I shook my head, and played with the gold bangles on my wrist. A nervous habit that I'd never managed to break. “For once, you’re off the mark, Ginger. Grey’s not interested in me like that …”
Then I remembered what he said. That he’d been excited watching me dance. I quickly decided to ignore that. Men got excited watching strippers dance period. It was normal. It wasn’t because it was me. In fact, Grey said that his cock had only stood at attention until he realized who I was. Ouch.
I frowned. Why was that thought so disappointing? It was never fun to hear that I'd killed someone's boner, but normally I wouldn't care about one single customer's opinion of my body.
Ginger held up her palms in a non-threatening gesture. I liked that she still wore her wedding ring so long after losing her husband. That was another thing we had in common. My own wedding band was now worn on my right ring finger instead of my left. My diamond solitaire I’d had to pawn months ago when my car broke down, but nothing would ever cause me to part with the simple gold band Marcus had slipped onto my finger that day in the church when he promised me forever.
“I’m just saying it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to let yourself start having a little fun again. Explore the possibility of dating. Hell, even just sex might be nice.” She smiled at me, her warm blue eyes crinkling in the corners.
“You did not just suggest I have a one-night stand with the man I told you is on my last nerve, did you?”
She reached over and patted my hand. “Just think about it.”
Had the world gone entirely fucking crazy? First Greyson was expecting me to just take a handout, and now grandmotherly Ginger was telling me I needed to get laid? What was next? Afraid to find out, I rose to my feet and peeked out from the curtain. Seeing that Brant was now gone from the seat near the stage he generally commandeered, I headed over toward the DJ booth to request my song and prepare for my next dance.
* * *
An hour later, I was worn out and more than ready to get home to my little girl and warm bed. Rising up from my vanity stool on bare feet, I slipped on a hooded sweatshirt and my sneakers. My feet were sore from the stiletto heels I’d danced in all night and I almost moaned when my instep met the cushioned sole. Thank God for small pleasures. Most of the girls sat counting out their money at the end of the night, but I merely shoved mine in my purse.
Tonight had been a disaster – between Brant hanging around half my shift, and then my bra clasp deciding to stick mid-striptease, I was off my game tonight. Big time. I was sure it had nothing to do with Ginger telling me I needed to get laid. Yeah right. That wasn’t on my agenda any time soon.
I was so glad when Layla stepped up to save me from anymore of Brant’s unwelcome advances. My evening had gone a little smoother after that.
The club was now dark and quiet, and there were only a few of us left in the building. I grabbed my oversized purse, which often doubled as a diaper bag, and headed for the back exit. Our bouncer was waiting by the door, his beefy arms folded, watching as each girl filtered out in the darkened night.
“Night, Bruce,” I said as I headed outside.
He gave me a nod and grunt, letting me know that nothing would happen to me where he could see it.
But the club's outdoor lights only reached so far. I was only three steps from my old beat-up Honda when Brant stepped out of the shadows.
Shit.
Glancing back toward the building, Bruce was nowhere in sight and the big steel door was already shut tight.
“Hey Finley.”
I whipped around as a cold shiver raced through me. Blinking at him, I remained speechless as I tried to figure out how in the hell he found out my real name.
He let out a deep chuckle. “Your friend the other night, he called you that. It is your name, right?”
I swallowed hard. Damn Greyson. When he spotted me that night he must have said my name loud enough for the few people sitting nearby to hear.
“Uh....” I couldn’t get my mouth and brain to cooperate.
He watched me with that creepy quiet smirk of his.
I didn’t like him seeing this me. The real me. I’d scrubbed off most of my makeup with a wet wipe, and my hair was in a messy bun on the top of my head. It was one thing for him to be into me when I was in scene –I was every man’s fantasy up on the stage, but it was something altogether different to have him standing here talking to me, not as a stripper and customer sharing an interaction, but as a man and woman. Panic prickled at the back of my neck, the skin raising up in goose bumps.
“They told me you went home, but your car was still here.”
“So you waited,” I deadpanned.
“Yeah, of course I did. Are you okay?”
I was avoiding you, you fuckwit.
“I’m fine. If you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long day, and I’m ready to get going.”
“Of course, I understand.” He smiled at me kindly and I thought maybe, just maybe it would be that easy to get rid of him. But then he stepped closer, and brought his hand up to my hairline. I backed away, taking two big steps back from my car. “Sorry.” He smiled again. “It’s just … you look younger with your hair up like that.”
I didn’t have it in me to be polite to him tonight. I wasn’t working, wasn’t trying to earn any tips. So even though he was smiling at me, I wasn’t about to bat my eyelashes at the compliment. He didn’t seem like the dangerous type, just lonely and a little weird, but I wasn’t about to let my guard down now. I held my keys protectively in front of me, ready to strike out if necessary.