Page 9 of Give In

And what a heady power that must’ve been for him. He held my future in the palm of his large, veined hand. Just one move—one whisper—and he’d crush it. Crush me.

Before I’d stepped on stage, I’d caught sight of Professor Caine sitting at a table, sipping a drink. As I danced, I forced myself to ignore him. I’d learned early on to scan the crowd with unseeing eyes. It became too real if I allowed my vision to focus. Too intense and intimate.

During private dances, I’d always stare at their forehead or ear. The only reason I could watch Professor Caine for a reaction was because my movements were so watered-down.

I finished my set and practically ran to the back.

After redressing and freshening up, I came out to see Lita holding up two fingers. I was tempted to send someone else in, but I knew I’d get in trouble. Plus, I could use the hundred.

And don’t forget the rush you get from seeing him. The anticipation that clutches you. The need that makes your imagination soar.

You know, before the high crashes when he says nothing, leaving you an emotionally raw mess.

Pathetic.

Entering the room, we went through our usual song and dance—pun intended. I paused by the door.

He tilted his head.

I traded a little more of my soul for a hundred bucks and a cheap thrill.

Even though he kept his legs outstretched, I didn’t straddle his calves. I danced in front of his feet, putting more distance than usual between us. It gave me room to move without running the risk of an accidental touch.

Once I finished, I dressed and raced from the room before I’d even finished tying my top. Lita grabbed my attention immediately and held up three fingers. I gave her a wave before heading into that room for another private dance. The customer was a little sad and lonely, but he seemed to enjoy himself.

At the very least, he didn’t look like he would nod off at any minute, which was an improvement from the professor.

When I got back out to the main room, I slid the tip from the sad man into the hidden zipper pocket in my skirt. It wasn’t until I was closing it that I realized Professor Cain hadn’t tipped me.

Shit.

I went behind the bar and grabbed a water bottle before turning to Lita. “Hey, did my first dance leave a tip out here for me?”

“He didn’t tip you?” Her lips pressed into a tight line and her eyes narrowed.

No one liked when a customer didn’t tip, even if it wasn’t them who got shafted.

“You know what, I don’t remember,” I lied. “I rushed out and into my next dance. It’s been an insane night.”

“I think I’d be moving at a snail’s pace if I was in the room with a man like that.”

If she only knew.

“No one’s been in there since,” she pointed out, “so you might wanna go check.”

“Good idea.”

I rushed to the room just in time to stop Mystique and a customer from entering. It didn’t matter because there was no cash.

What the hell?

*******

During school on Monday, I stopped at my student mailbox and grabbed its contents, bringing it with me to Political Theory. I sat at my desk and thumbed through, but it was all junk. As I shoved it into my backpack, a plain unmarked envelope fell from between the pages of a magazine.

My heart sped up as I glanced inside, confirming my suspicion.

A hundred-dollar bill was folded neatly inside.