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Britta is the winner, night after night. It’s always her by a cool G or higher. Look at me, talking in their lingo. Anyways, ithappens so often I wondered if she pre-stuffed her bag before the night began. But nope. It’s real. She’s got these guys wrapped around her finger.

Walking out of the steamy bathroom while drying my hair, I catch a waft of eggs cooking downstairs.What?

I about-face from the bedroom and head right down to the kitchen. Usually he’ll pick up breakfast or brunch from a restaurant, but… using his own stove?

My mouth is agape as I tiptoe closer to the kitchen. He’s seasoning eggs and flipping them like a pro. His eyes are still beady from sleep – which is adorable – and my knees are weak from the gesture. There’re two decorative plates I’ve never seen before on the island, with settings already prepared.

“Tristano DeMatteo.” I put my hands on my hips. “What’s going on here?”

His brow is all lines, like a caveman, which makes me want to pinch him more. I can’t contain how giddy I am. All my old boyfriends who did stuff like this… it was in their DNA. I expected it. But Trino? Never in a million years.

He carefully shakes the eggs onto each dish, then empties a second pan with hash browns. In fear of fainting where I stand, I carefully grab the arm of one of the island chairs and take my seat. He glances at me here and there, but refuses to say anything.

When he gets out the ketchup and all is complete, he gently nudges my plate across the island to where I’m sitting, and takes his own seat. He offers a shadow of a smirk, then digs into his meal.

I take a stab of egg and hash brown and shove it in my mouth.

Oh my God. The man can cook!

“Mm!”

“Don’t patronize me,” he growls.

“What? I’m happy you did something sweet for me, and that it doesn’t taste like boiled shit.”

He sighs. “You’ve been hanging around Bruno too much.”

I reach my hand over the island, hoping he’ll meet me half way.

He eyes it like a bear wondering whether it’s a trap, then eventually gives in. I rub his palm with my thumb, staring at him all giddily.

“I kind of like you, Toretto.”

His lips twist.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything back.” My smile widens as I ding the plate with my fork. “This says it all.”

xxx

This morning solidified it for me. Tonight’s the big night. I’ve resisted my hot enforcer long enough – I’m going to let him have sex with me.

The cat and mouse game is over. I have to see if what I’m feeling is real.

Where am I right now?

On stage, at the top of my pole – yes, the very top, making eye contact with the patron wagging hundreds like he’s about to shower us. Britta is next to me, being seductive without even trying. Ruby was nice enough to call us the ‘natural beauties’ as we stepped on.

C’mon, drunk rich man, shower us!

I fell into the trap – dancing on stage night after night makes a woman want to feel beautiful and wanted, especially seeing how these drunk dogs cheer for some of the other girls. Up until now, I’ve been getting a bit glassy-eyed tipsy until I start my routine. Not sure if it’s because I lack Naomi’s enthusiasm, or Britta’s seductress powers, or what, but they eventually move on to the other girl.

I’d like to think it’s because my body is reserved for my husband and it’s holding me back from shaking it, or maybe it’s because I suck.

Wrapping my legs around the pole like a snake is a new move Ruby thought I was ready for. Twisting down it with my head whipped back has to be done just so, otherwise my legs will be a pole-burned mess. As I spin down, I can see my flat stomach sucking in, making my breasts look nice and big like Ruby said they would.

Eye contact, make eye contact.

Remembering all their tips, I try to carry them out as naturally as possible.