Page 68 of Duty and Desire

Nothing she wanted to see.

He knew he was one ugly motherfucker and she could get any guy she wanted. Didn’t even have to crook a finger. Just give a man a look and he’d follow her like a hungry stray.

But she also saw what she needed to see.

It’d take something to get through him to get to her.

And they both knew the man behind that letter didn’t have dick (maybe literally).

Then she surprised him again.

She showed him vulnerability.

Oh yeah.

This was going to be a challenge.

“Don’t leave me again, Mo,” she said softly. “Please.”

And oh yeah.

That letter had freaked her.

Fuck yeah.

Mo wanted to lay waste to something.

“I won’t…” he trailed off because it was on the tip of his tongue to call herbaby. He finished with, “I promise.”

She stared into his eyes a beat.

After she did that, she nodded and moved to her mirror.

“So what do you do the other four hours?”

Mo was fully clothed on his back on her couch that was a decent-sized couch, but it wasn’t long enough for him.

No surprise. Most couches weren’t.

His eyes were on the dark ceiling.

It was nearing on two.

Lottie went on at nine thirty, eleven and one.

She danced for ten to twelve minutes each set. Customers weren’t allowed to touch her to tip, but even if they could, they wouldn’t be able to reach her with the way she worked the stage. The other girls ran out and gathered the bills that drifted onto the stage for her.

The rest of the time, she sipped watermelon Perrier out of little cans from a pink paper straw with white chevrons on it, got ready for her next set and gabbed with whatever dancer was in the room with her.

And if there weren’t any, she gabbed with Mo.

She was a talker.

This was Mo’s lot in life. Being surrounded by women who were talkers.

“What?” he asked.

“You said you sleep for four hours a night. What do you do for the other four?”