Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“Did you hear me?” Ellie asks, knocking me out of my spiraling thoughts.
“Huh?” When she sighs all dramatically, I apologize. “I was lost in my head.”
“I was thinking for my birthday we could go to the movies,” she says, batting her lashes. “They’re doing an all-day Twilight marathon.”
Her birthday is on Friday, which will mean taking off of work. Normally that would stress me out, but since Micah booked me in the private room three times this week—tipping like he has something to prove—money isn’t an issue at the moment. I’m ahead bills-wise, and my sister deserves to have an amazing birthday. It’s kind of last minute, but as long as I find someone to cover my shift, Lincoln shouldn’t have a problem with me taking that night off.
“It’s a birthday date,” I tell her.
The next several days fly by. I’m in my junior year and taking the core classes needed for my accounting degree, so, between going to school and studying like crazy, working at Lola’s and finding time to hang out with Ellie, my days bleed together. And before I know it, it’s Thursday night, and I’m back on stage at Wanderlust.
As I dance to “West Coast” by Lana Del Rey, moving my body in a sultry yet erotic way, I can’t help but search for Micah. It’s been five days since I last saw him, but I can’t seem to shake him from my thoughts. When I walked out, he didn’t say a word, didn’t stop me, and that should’ve been enough to tell me all I needed to know—he was only after a quick fuck, and once he learned that wouldn’t be happening, he let me walk away. But something in the back of my head keeps niggling at me. I’ve only conversed with Micah once, but he didn’t seem like the type to let someone have the last word. Yet, as my eyes gloss over the various men, finding him noticeably absent, it’s suddenly clear that Micah did have the last word after all.
I finish my performance and then locate Violet to find out if I have any private shows. When she lets me know that I have one, I change outfits and then head to the room. The music starts and I walk onto the stage. Until Micah, I would never look out at who was watching. The only way I could get through what I was doing—taking my clothes off for strange men—was to pretend, escape. But Micah fucked that all up because as I reach the center of the stage, my gaze goes straight to the table…to find him sitting there, one ankle perched over his knee, his hands resting on either side of the armrests, his heated stare searing straight through me.
Back before my dad took off, he and my mom were both dancers. So, I guess you could say that dancing is quite literally in my blood. I’ve been dancing ever since I learned to walk, and I could easily do my routines blindfolded. But when my gaze collides with Micah’s, I stumble for the second time since I’ve met this man. My tall stilettos get caught on the wood, and I nearly hit the floor, only catching myself at the last second.
The song continues to play in the background, but I stop moving, my hands gripping the pole for support as if it’s my lifeline. We stare at each other for several beats, and I wonder if I dreamt the conversation we had last week. Because why else would he be sitting in this room, paying for me to dance for him?
“What are you doing here?” I ask, getting straight to the point. When the corner of his mouth quirks into a cocky smirk, my blood boils. “Did you not hear what I said Saturday night? Or did you not understand?” I strut to the front of the stage and pop my hip out, my hand resting on it.
He cocks his head to the side, saying nothing, so I continue. “Let me spell it out for you. I’m a virgin. I won’t be having sex with you, or anyone else, until I fall in love and marry. So, unless you plan to force me—”
He unfolds out of the chair and stalks toward me. Since the stage is only a couple feet above the floor, he jumps onto the stage with ease and steps into my personal space. “Go out with me.”
“What?” I hiss in confusion because what the fuck? Did he seriously just ask me out?
“Go out with me,” he repeats.
“Hello. I’m a—”
“—virgin,” he finishes. “Yeah, I heard you loud and clear. But even virgins can go out on dates, right?”
“I’m not going to have sex with you,” I tell him, releasing each word slowly so he fully comprehends.
A wolfish grin spreads across his too-damn-handsome-for-his-own-good face, and his eyes light up, looking like a delicious mixture of melted chocolate and caramel. “You will,” he says, bridging the little bit of gap we had between us. “First comes love, then comes marriage… then comes me fucking you.” A devilish smirk quirks at the corner of his mouth as he cages me in, pressing one hand against the wall next to my head, the other landing on the curve of my hip. “I can’t convince you to fall in love with me and marry me without taking you out on a proper date, so first things first. Go out with me.”