I sorted all the guys I met into two categories: those who wanted to use me and those who wanted to protect me. Since I’d only met two men in the latter category, one of whom was dead and the other I was dead to, it was safer for me to assume Cash had been in my dorm room studying two or three times a week to get the chance to confirm that I was, in fact, hot naked. Maybe he just needed a few weeks to get to know me so he wouldn’t feel like he was taking advantage, so he wouldn’t consider sex between us a hookup.
Our third week of studying, he started that arrhythmic tapping on his Linear Algebra book again. I didn’t let him break into a chorus before I asked, “Do you need any help?”
He leaned onto the back legs of the chair, lacing his fingers behind his neck. “How’d you know?”
I patted the space next to me on my bed. With little effort, he hopped next to me and pointed to the number eight on the page. I eyed his forearms, the veins rising from them. Was the rest of his body like that? “So, you’re not a fan of proofs?”
He pushed back a few short curls. “This is what engineers pay mathematicians for.”
“Well, I’m not getting paid enough.”
“I thought you weren’t a math major.”
“Shh…” I pressed three fingers over Cash’s smirking lips, then pored over the half-worked out proof. “Oh.” I leaned against him as I pointed to the error. “You just made a mistake computing the adjugate. That should be a two and that,” I scribbled a calculation in the margin, “should be a negative three.”
“Really? That’s it?”
“Yeah. Think you can handle the rest?” I nudged his thigh.
“I’d rather not.”
I flashed my green eyes at him before saying, “Then take a break.”
Cash closed the textbook over his homework without finishing the number he was writing. He turned to face me. “Sounds great.”
I allowed that split second stare where his gaze trailed from my eyes to my mouth before closing the space between us. His lips were warm on mine, his hand moving to brush the dark hair that cascaded over my cheek—not the direction I expected it to take, but maybe that was a Southern gentleman thing. Please. I didn’t need to be handled so gently.
I moved my fingers through his hair and around his neck until I could feel the top button of his shirt. My hand skimmed down his chest, where I slipped my index and middle finger between two of the buttons, tugging on the fabric as I climbed onto his lap. I brushed the surface of his abdomen, feeling the heat rising to the surface of his skin as I slid one button after another loose.
His hands were on my hips when he pulled his face away, thumping the back of his head against the wall. “Wait.”
“For what?” I whispered heavily in his ear before tasting his earlobe between my teeth. My fingers still worked at the remaining buttons.
“I don’t hook up,” he breathed. Sure he didn’t. He was just here to what—get to know me? Please, I had a terrible personality.
“Not even…” I ran my lips under the crook of his jaw to his throat. “Not even with me?” Done with the shirt buttons, I went for the one on his jeans. Once I crossed that border, he wouldn’t change his mind. Rather, he couldn’t.
Cash clutched both my wrists like he was blocking a strike and rolled me onto the mattress, ridding himself of me. He didn’t say anything as he buttoned his shirt, his chest still heaving. For the record, the rest of his top half was like his arms. Such a waste. “No,” he muttered. “Sorry.”
My voice was cool when I said, “Then maybe you should go.”
“Maybe.” Cash shrugged as he collected his books. He left without a backward glance.
I hugged my knees to my chest and watched him shut the door behind him. What in the hell had just happened? Since when did guys turn down sex? Sure, I guessed sometimes I’d invite a guy back to the VIP room at the strip club and he couldn’t afford the full very-important-person experience, but beyond that…seriously, what the hell? What did I don’t hook up even mean? He had a penis, no? It pissed me off the rest of the day, all through Advanced Calculus and while I lined my eyes before work.
I showed up to the club early to fulfill my promise to Brandy that I would teach her how to work the pole. I wasn’t sure why I had. She was beyond help. Maybe it was that I still saw her as the girl crying on her first day in the locker room. A couple of other dancers laughed as she shivered behind her open locker, as if the first day hadn’t destroyed whatever part of them wasn’t broken, too. I walked up to her and rested my hand on her bare shoulder. Brandy turned around and hugged me tight, crying hot tears down my back. I’d stood there limp, unsure what to do, before patting her back. “Tomorrow will be better,” I lied, hoping the embrace would end.
Now, I watched her embarrassing attempt at the pole. She wasn’t so much gliding around it as bracing herself on it as she fell. “Did you get a pull-up bar at home like I told you to?”
She just crossed her arms and stared at me. “Yeah, but that didn’t make me magically stronger in a week.”
“Did you use it?”
Brandy flipped me off before trying the move I showed her again. A little better. “Girl, how are you so strong?”
“Four years of varsity and competitive cheerleading. Before that, gymnastics and ballet. But I didn’t stick with those because I’m just not built for either.”
“Not with those boobs.” Brandy pointed to my chest, compressed in a sports bra.
“Oh, I more meant because I’m too tall. But sure, those didn’t help either.” I shrugged. “Most recently, though, pull-ups.”
“Fine,” she sighed as she tried again.
“Hey…” I started, but then took a long breath before blurting out, “Has a guy ever turned you down before?”
“How? Like for a date? For sex?”
“Sex.”
“No, but I may not be the best person to ask. I’ve only had two boyfriends, and those are the only guys I’ve slept with.”
“Two? Aren’t you like twenty-three?”
She laughed. “Are you saying I’m old?”
“There’s not really a good way for me to answer that.”
“Okay, what’s your number, Baby Emmy?” Baby Emmy was the name some of the veterans gave me when I started taking a chunk out of their tips. Emerald was my stripper alias. Even Brandy didn’t know my real name, and I doubted Brandy was hers. Anyway, it seemed as though I was supposed to be insulted because my coworkers were saying I was the youngest one here at the age of eighteen. Every time they talked down to me, I knew they were just threatened by my measurements, my lean power, my young skin. They could call me Baby Emmy all day. If it started to bother me, I’d just go home and count the money that used to be theirs.
I just shook my head. “I don’t know. All those VIP-room guys kind of blur together.”
“Hang on.” She dropped to her feet. “You have sex with clients?” Brandy’s baby blues grew wide.
“Why do you think I keep condoms in my locker?”
Her face was full of judgment. And what was she? A nun?
“Look, I’m not in a financial position to turn down eight hundred dollars for twenty minutes.” I truly wasn’t. The night after I called Jake the third time, I walked into that nude strip club I drove by daily, told the manager I had a background in dance and gymnastics, and asked for a job. I’d never forget counting my tips on the kitchen counter of my shitty apartment after that first shift. Almost two hundred and fifty dollars. That was a quarter of the way to rent. It would have to work.
I decided then if I was going to do the cliched strip-my-way-through-college thing, I was going to do it right—go big so I’d never have to go home. I worked five days a week in the summer, sometimes double shifts. I practiced the pole until every movement was smooth, perfect, until I could do what none of the other girls could. Cue cheesy Rocky-esque training montage where I fell repeatedly in my sweaty gym clothes and heels before finally getting it right with a winded but triumphant smile.
But the cash really began to flow when I started letting men do what the other girls wouldn’t—let them lick their way up me and tell me how good I tasted, pull my nipples between their teeth, let them between my legs, or put my mouth where they told me. And I’d pretend because I was good at pretending. I was raised to pretend. And I’d shut away the memories of Jake’s hands and lips and what he said my skin tasted like. I’d pretend he never existed, we had never been, so I could make my living doing what I had been forced to do as a kid. And I’d tell myself it was different because this time, there were bouncers who took guys out who wouldn’t stop when I said “no.” This time, I got paid and not in promises to spare my life or my reputation. I got paid cash and lots of it, five times what I made my first night.
“Holy shit, Em,” Brandy shouted, “What happens if one of them is a cop?”
“Shh!” If the cops didn’t know before, they knew now. “You think the LAPD really has time for that?”
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Plus, I pick out the clients, and I’m really careful. I only do favors for guys I actually want to hook up with.” Or rather, guys I wouldn’t vomit on if I hooked up with them. I tipped my chin toward the pole. “Try again.” She pulled herself onto it, warming up slightly. “But this guy who lives in my dorm, Cash, we started making out and he stopped it because he says he won’t hook up with anyone, like he lives in a Kelly Clarkson song.”
“‘I Do Not Hook Up?’ Wow, that’s an old one.” Her feet landed on the floor with a thump. Was she even trying? “Do you like him?”
“Getting better. Are you ready to try it with heels?”
Brandy raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like I’m ready to try it in heels?”
I bent to the strappy stilettos by my feet, snagging them up and throwing both at her. “I believe in you.”
“You’re a taskmaster.”
“You’ll thank me.” I winked.
Brandy sat down to put on her shoes. “You never answered my question. Do you like him?”
What a stupid question. It wasn’t like I could date anyone while I had this job—or after—especially a prude like Cash. “No, he’s just really hot.” I checked my phone. “I’ve got to change. My shift starts in ten. Use that pull-up bar.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she mumbled as she clutched the pole.
The shrill scream of the fire alarm woke me that night. I couldn’t have been asleep more than an hour when it did. A quick check of my phone confirmed that, yes, it was only four AM.
Nicole and I let out matching grumbles as the screeching persisted. We joined our equally pissed neighbors in the hallway, our RA herding us like cattle to the stairwell. Four flights of stairs at four in the morning. Couldn’t I just take my chance with the elevator? What was the worst that could happen, really?
While I thought to check my phone when I heard the alarm, I didn’t think to grab a blanket or a sweatshirt or even anticipate that it might be cold outside. The foggy air sent shivers through me as soon as I stepped through the glass doors. Goose bumps carved into my shoulder blades, down my wrists, and over every inch of my bare legs. My hair, still damp from my two AM shower, was icy on my back.
“Okay, everyone,” the RA from the floor below us shouted, “line up by floor and room number. First floor over here,” he pointed to his far left, “second here, and so on.” As he said this, a fire engine pulled in front of the building. Those firefighters would be disappointed. This was obviously a case of a stoner forgetting to unplug his smoke detector before hotboxing.
Nicole and I gathered with the other fifth-floor residents. I was rubbing my hands over my arms, trying in vain to warm up, when Cash slid beside me. I kept my focus on hugging myself into a higher temperature, ignoring his presence entirely. Not even twenty-four hours had passed since he left me fully clothed on my bed. I felt like crap. Seeing him made me feel crappier.
I heard a long zip, cutting my eyes over to see Cash fidget out of the corner of my eye. I flinched when I felt a sweatshirt rest over my shoulders. I still refused to acknowledge him even as I felt his hands pull my wet hair out from under the fabric, draping it over the hood.
I bit my tongue, literally, to keep my irritation from spilling out. Really, what was his deal? What did he want from me?
I slipped my arms through the sweatshirt. The zipper was halfway down my thigh when I found it. Fine, I could admit I was warmer in it. I tugged the hem over my boxers so it would look to Cash like I was wearing just his jacket, which was a technique I knew from experience worked. Whatever this guy’s game was, I’d win.
“Thank you,” I whispered, then bit my bottom lip as I glanced his way.
He barely glanced at me as he said, “You’re welcome.”