Page 47 of Crossed

I watch him as he eats one shell at a time, ensuring none of it makes a mess and that none of it gets on his hands.

My chest feels heavier after my talk with Dalia, but the love I feel when I look at Quinten eclipses any amount of hardship I could ever endure.

“Quin,” Dalia says. “You excited about the play?”

“Yes or no?” he says, his legs starting to kick violently. If he was standing, he’d be jumping in place right now.

“Yes or no?” Dalia repeats, asking him.

“Yes!” he squeals.

I look over at Dalia with a beaming grin, as if to say,See? Told you.

The alarm on my phone beeps and I jump in place. “I’ve gotta go.”

There’s only twenty minutes until the next bus comes by, and I have to work tonight.

Dalia waves me off. “Yeah, yeah. We’ve got it under control here.”

Chapter17

Amaya

ANDREW GLEESON IS MY BEST REGULAR.

He’s also the most obnoxious. He comes in four to five times a week, and while he’s a big spender, he always gets a littletoograbby.

I let it slide because whenever I smack his hands and tell him to remember the rules, he listens.

But tonight, before things even get started, I can tell that something’s not quite right. There’s a glaze to his eyes that isn’t normally there, his pupils blown like he’s snorted a whole eight ball up his nostrils. I ignore it, because I need the money, and like I said…normally he listens.

So even though he gets pushy during my set onstage and is a little too jittery when I meet him in the private room, I push the feeling aside and remind myself that he’s harmless.

The music pumps through the surround sound speakers, a sultry bass vibrating through me as I attempt to slip into the role of Esmeralda, the way I always do, sauntering toward him to put on my show. Only as I sink into his lap and feel his erection pressing against me, I’m still justme. My alter ego is nowhere to be found, lost somewhere like a ghost in the wind.

Well, this is problematic.

I try to fake it till I make it, going through the motions even though my mind is on a thousand different things, but Andrew notices almost immediately.

“What’s wrong?” he snaps.

I shake my head, smiling at him and throwing my arms around his shoulders as I swivel my hips in a figure eight on his lap. “Not a thing, handsome.” We both know it’s a lie.

This isn’t the first time I’ve had trouble sinking into the role of Esmeralda, but it’s never been with a man like Andrew, an overbearing slimeball of a regular who should really be at home with his wife and not paying me to grind against his dick until he comes inside his pants.

My dances still satisfied, and I always felt good about the money I was making.

But tonight, Andrew’s wandering hands feel like slime coating my sides.

And that has everything to do with him and nothing to do with me.

“No touching,” I say, pushing myself off his lap and bending over, trying to get some space while continuing to dance.

“Get back over here,” he demands.

I bristle at his tone, gritting my teeth. He’s never been so sharp with me, but I listen to him, wanting to keep him calm and just finish this and be done with it. Spinning around, I sit back down on him, looking into his hazy eyes.

He’s definitely on something.