Page 7 of Give In

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Eden

Stepping out onto the stage Friday night, my eyes locked with his.

Looking bored and disinterested, Professor Caine sat at the bar.

Again.

I turned and slid my mask into place. When I twisted back to the audience, everything was a blur. Even him.

After seeing him at Sinners the first time, I’d been mortified. I’d spent the long weekend in a panic before meeting with my adviser on Tuesday. Covertly, I’d tried to see if I could rearrange my schedule whilecoincidentallydropping the class, but there hadn’t been a way.

The course was mandatory for my degree.

I’d also researched the criteria for him to drop me. I hadn’t done anything to warrant it, but that didn’t mean anything if he were willing to lie.

When I’d gotten to class that Wednesday, I’d expected the worst, but he’d ignored me as usual.

Seeing him at Sinners later that night had been beyond shocking. Even more so when he’d been in the private room. I’d waited for him to speak. To lecture me. Maybe even blackmail me or threaten me. But he’d just gestured to the music without saying a word.

I hadn’t gotten as close as I was supposed to, but he hadn’t said anything about it. Or anything else, for that matter.

Thursday night had been the same. He’d watched me dance on stage before getting an awkwardly silent private one in the room. Then he’d left right after, sliding me another hundred on his way out.

I’d been freaked about that morning’s class. My sleep had been filled with nightmares where he’d laugh as he told me I was kicked out of school.

My fear had been for nothing because his silent streak continued. His lecture had been short, with a quiz taking up the remainder of class. When I’d dropped my paper on his desk, he’d been talking to another student and hadn’t even glanced at me.

Finishing my dances, I rushed into the back to change. I came out and saw Lita holding up four fingers. I guessed it was him before even opening the curtain.

Maybe he’ll finally tell me why he’s here.

Is it to see me?

Is it to prove he holds the cards? If he wanted, he could tell everyone what I do. It’d be admitting to being here, too, but maybe he doesn’t care if people know. To most, the men at strip clubs are somehow superior to the strippers they pay to see.

They’re fun and virile.

We’re whores.

I paused in the entrance, wondering if he’d speak. Equal parts hope and dread filled me at the thought. My curiosity was killing me, but ignorance could be bliss.

He didn’t say anything. His head jerked toward the system, and I pushed some buttons until a slow beat filled the room.

Slouching, his arms went across the back of the couch and his long legs stretched in front of him, crossed at the ankles. His expression was his usual—bored and indifferent.

It was disconcerting to dance for strangers. More so for someone I knew.

I couldn’t imagine anything worse than dancing for someone I knew when they looked like they were about to doze off at any moment.

As I got closer, I expected him to move. When he didn’t, I was forced to stand with one leg on each side of his ankles. As I swayed, my legs brushed against his.

The contact may have been minor, but it was torture.

Using a bend as my cover, I spread my legs so they wouldn’t touch his. It would’ve been a flawless maneuver had I not misjudged my hand placement as I stood. Slowly, my fingers grazed along his calf.

Nope. No. Okay,thisis torture.