Part 37 (1/2)
The music ends, and I hand Willow the two hundred.
She smiles and says, ”Thanks, Jimmy.”
”Chris,” I say.
Willow smiles and tosses her head the way pretty women do when they know you want them. She walks away, confident my eyes are on her a.s.s.
Thanks Jimmy, she'd said, all matter-of-fact.
Like it's every day she gets two hundred bucks for a lap dance.
In her mind she's got me right where she wants me.
I can't wait to see her face when she hears about Cameron's tip.
”OH MY G.o.d, you were incredible!” Willow gushes, three hours later. ”Best s.e.x I ever had!”
I'm lying.
I mean, yeah, we had s.e.x, and I did my part, but Willow was barely involved.
She's lying on the bed, on her side, her back toward me. When she's sure I'm done, she moves forward till I slide out of her. She sits up, wipes herself with the bed sheet, and turns to watch me remove the condom and set it on the nightstand.
She regards it with disgust. Then gives me the same look.
Makes sense.
She's eighteen, I'm forty-two. It is disgusting.
From her perspective.
I prop a pillow beneath my neck and settle in to relax, but catch her looking away, and take the opportunity to suddenly lift my head and kiss her b.o.o.b.
She recoils when she realizes my lips touched her skin. Now she's glaring at me to show how she feels about the unwelcome a.s.sault.
I lean back onto the pillow and stare at her in the lamplight. This is where I'd tell her she's beautiful, if I thought she gave a s.h.i.+t what I thought.
She is beautiful, though.
”Mind if I light one?” she says.
”I'd rather you didn't.”
Willow frowns. She's not happy, but she'll get over it. She's two grand richer than she was ten minutes ago.
”Is this what you do?” she says.
”What?”
”Go from club to club, trolling for s.e.x?”
”I would if I could. But my wife rarely leaves town.”
”She's not coming home tonight, is she?”
”No. She won't be home till noon tomorrow.”
”You don't act like a first-timer,” she says.
”I've been to clubs before, but never asked anyone to follow me home.”
”I'm honored,” she says, sounding anything but.
Willow's making small talk, waiting it out. She's been paid a huge sum for ten minutes of talk, five minutes of s.e.x. She figures I expect an hour for my cash, and she'll mentally calculate it before attempting her escape.
”You got a boyfriend?” I ask.
”Yes.”
She's telling the truth. She and Bobby Mitch.e.l.l live together in an apartment on Dillingham. She doesn't know I know this. Mitch.e.l.l is a local tough guy. Hangs out at Shady's Bar &0038; Grill, a block from their apartment.
”You love him?” I ask.
She frowns. ”Can we talk about something else?”
She regrets f.u.c.king me. Wishes she could just leave and put this behind her. But two grand's a lot of money for her to ditch me less than twenty minutes into the date. And even though she hated every minute of the s.e.x, it's crossing her mind this could be an easy way to make some serious coin whenever my wife's out of town.
”I've never done this before,” she says.
”I believe you.”
I do believe her. Willow doesn't f.u.c.k well enough to be a hooker. As a lap dancer she earns enough to put gas in her car, food and drugs on the table, keep Bobby happily unemployed, the bills paid, and the landlord at bay.
Which puts her head and shoulders above the women I've dated.
She may be a lap dancer, but she's cla.s.sy. She only wound up in bed with me because I manipulated her. I kept flas.h.i.+ng money and pressing her b.u.t.tons and managed to turn the entire evening into a compet.i.tion between her and Cameron, one that Willow's ego refused to let her lose.
”I shouldn't have done this,” she says, gathering her clothes.
”You needed the cash.”
She steps into her panties, pulls on her jeans, dons her sweats.h.i.+rt.
”Bad decision,” she says.
”Don't beat yourself up about it,” I say. ”It was only a few minutes out of your life.”
”I could get fired,” she says, trying to make me feel guilty. Like she's the first lap dancer who ever f.u.c.ked a client.
She's dressed now, sitting on the bed, staring into s.p.a.ce.