Page 23

Chapter 22

Merci

"Hold still, you absolute disaster!" Eli swats at my hand as I make another grab for the eyeliner. "I swear to God, you're worse than Alexei after his third espresso shot."

I roll my eyes but force myself to stay put, trying to contain the nervous energy buzzing through my veins. "Sorry for being excited about my first real date. Like, ever."

"Wait, what?" Eli's hand freezes mid-stroke, his blue eyes going wide. "Never?"

"Not unless you count that time a client took me to Denny's before fucking me in his car." I shrug, trying to keep my tone light, but Eli's face falls. "Hey, no sad puppy eyes."

He nods while chewing his lip, a sign he’s either thinking or trying to keep quiet. Sometimes I forget that what seems normal to me is actually pretty fucked up to joke about. But dark humor is sometimes a way to cope .

"I'm just happy for you," Eli says softly, and fuck if the genuine warmth in his voice doesn't make my chest tight.

Standing, I check myself out in the mirror. Damn, Eli did a great job with the eyeliner. The black wings he added make my lavender eyes pop.

I take in the rest of my appearance, from my artfully tousled hair—thank you, expensive hair products—to the cropped purple hoodie that shows just enough abs to be tempting and the high-waisted leggings hug every curve like they were painted on. The shimmery fabric catches the light when I move, and the crystal necklace at my throat adds just the right touch of sparkle.

I turn to check out the view from behind, and yeah—my ass looks phenomenal. "I look good."

Eli giggles. "You really do. Zach's not going to know what hit him."

My phone buzzes, and I pick it up off the bed and unlock it.

Raiyne: How's the pre-date prep going, sugar tits?

Me: About to send you a pic. Try not to drool, ginger snap .

After tapping open the camera, I hand Eli my phone. "Take a picture for this thirsty bitch."

Eli laughs and snaps a few shots as I pose. We send the best pic to Raiyne, and he responds immediately.

Raiyne: FUCK ME SIDEWAYS. If Zach doesn't rail you tonight, I will.

Me: In your dreams.

Raiyne: Every night, baby.

It's weird having actual friends—people who genuinely care about me, who want to see me happy. Sometimes it feels like I'm living someone else's life. Even if I wanted to murder one of them two months ago for selling me out to Zach.

My phone buzzes again.

Zach: Here.

"That's my cue." I grab my phone and wallet, shoving them into a small backpack along with emergency supplies—lube, condoms, and breath mints—because I'm nothing if not prepared.

Eli jumps up and hugs me. "Have fun. And text me if you need anything."

"Yes, Mom," I tease, the corners of my mouth turning up at his genuine concern.

The February air hits me like a slap to the face when I step outside, though it’s quickly forgotten when I see Zach. He's sitting on the hood of his silver Koenigsegg CCX—because of course my stepbrother drives a car that costs more than most people's houses—holding a bouquet of pink roses.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

He's wearing dark jeans that hug his muscular thighs in all the right ways and a red dress shirt that stretches across his broad chest. His dark hair is slightly messy like he's been running his fingers through it, and the sight makes my mouth go dry. The whole look screams "I could bench press you and probably will later," and my body is very much here for it.

I saunter over, putting an extra swing in my hips. "Are those for me?"

He holds out the flowers. "Pink. Like your milkshakes. "

I double over laughing, the sound echoing across the parking lot. "You think I drink strawberry milkshakes because they're pink?"

His brow furrows, lips pursing as he stares at the bouquet.

Fuck.

Now I feel like an asshat. This must be one of those things that doesn't compute. Because he can't taste food properly, he probably connected the color to the preference instead of the flavor.

Pushing up onto my toes, I press a soft kiss to his lips. "Thank you for the flowers. They're beautiful, and I didn’t mean to laugh."

He captures my mouth and our next kiss quickly turns heated because, apparently, neither of us has any chill. His hands grip my hips, pulling me between his legs as I moan into his mouth, my free hand fisting in his shirt. The roses get slightly crushed between us, but I could care less.

"We need to go." He pulls back slightly.

I whine, chasing his lips, my dick already half-hard. "Five more minutes?"

"Now." He slides off the hood in one fluid motion, then places a hand on the small of my back as he steers me toward the passenger side.

With a dramatic sigh, I drop into the seat after he opens the door. "Where are we going anyway? "

"It's a surprise."

He closes my door, then rounds the front of the car. Once in the driver’s seat, he starts the engine, which comes to life with a low, steady purr. I settle into the heated leather seat, but my eyes keep straying to his profile.

There’s a slight tension in his jaw, a subtle tautness in his shoulders as if he's nervous. It's kind of adorable.

As we pull out onto the main road, I drum my fingers against my thigh. Silence always makes me uncomfortable. “So, about the gag thing. . .”

“What about it?”

I twist in my chair to face him, the seat belt digging into my neck. “Why’s it a hard limit?”

Zach stares out the windshield, but his hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Used it once and hurt someone I care about. Couldn’t read his body language.”

“Couldn’t or didn’t?”

“Both.”

His nostrils flare even if his tone is flat. The subject bothers him. I really need to learn more about his brain damage. Need to understand his limitations. The last thing I want is to put him in a situation that causes him distress.

Chewing on the inside of my lip, I continue to stare at him. Maybe it’s not just about his brain but who he hurt. I can count the people Zach cares about on one hand . . . maybe two, if I include myself.

Raiyne is definitely not one of them, which means. . . “Was it Viktor?”

He nods.

Of course, it adds to my already complicated feelings about the touch-feely-bitch. Sure, I’m obviously a jealous psychopath when it comes to Zach. But I also know he needs someone to watch out for him during away games.

Except now I know Viktor got hurt, and in a way that eats at my stepbrother. Yet, he’s remained by Zach’s side as his friend.

Ugh, Eli’s right.

The jackass grows on you. Still, I maintain it’s like a fungus. But he’s . . . a good guy.

I gag at the thought.

Zach turns his head, staring, and I just shrug.

Twenty minutes later, we pull into a shopping center parking lot, and my heart sinks a little when I spot the TGI Friday's sign. Like, don't get me wrong—I'm not some snob who needs fancy restaurants, but after the car and the flowers, I kind of expected . . . more?

I climb out of the car and head toward the restaurant, but Zach catches my wrist. "Where are you going?"

I point at the door. "Uh, to eat? "

He actually chuckles—a rare sound that does things to my insides—and tugs me in a different direction. We enter through a side door and climb a set of stairs, my confusion growing with each step until we reach another door with a sign that reads "Aerial Loft."

"Zach. . . " My voice cracks as he opens the door, revealing a beautiful studio space. Silks in various colors hang from the ceiling, along with lyra hoops and poles. The walls are lined with mirrors, and the hardwood floors gleam under the soft lighting.

Tears prick as memories flood back—not to the sex clubs or private shows—but to the pure joy of flying, of being completely free, of forgetting everything else exists. For those precious moments in the air, I wasn't someone's fantasy or commodity.

I was just . . . me.

"Welcome." A woman with silver-streaked dark hair appears from a back room, her smile warm and genuine. "I'm Danica. You must be Merci."

I shake her hand, still trying to wrap my head around the fact there's a whole-ass aerial studio hidden above a TGI Friday's. "This is . . . I mean, holy shit . . . it’s amazing."

"Thank you." Danica beams, gesturing at the space like a proud parent. "Built this place from scratch. Started with a fitness pole dancing class, and it just grew from there."

Fitness pole dancing?

I eye the gleaming poles mounted near the mirrors. Never thought people would be into it as a form of exercise. But it tracks. Core, arms, legs—it hits everything.

And fuck, if it doesn’t take real strength to make it look effortless.

"Zach came by a few days ago, asked to rent out the space for a private session." Danica's eyes crinkle at the corners as she smiles. "Hadn't seen him since he was small. His mother and I used to teach together before. . . " She trails off, and something passes between them I can't read.

I turn to face Zach, who stands near the door, hands shoved in his pockets, watching me with that intense, unblinking stare that used to creep me out but now just makes my heart race. Without thinking, I launch myself at him, and he easily catches me. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him hard.

A few seconds later, someone clears their throat.

Right.

We have an audience.

Zach sets me down, and I turn forward, my cheeks burning .

"Well," Danica says, clapping her hands together. "Shall we get started?"

“Fuck, yeah.”

I follow her to the silks, my heart racing as I run my hand over the fabric. We start with basic stretches—splits, backbends, and shoulder work. My muscles protest a bit, reminding me it's been two months since I've done this. But it feels like coming home.

When she gives me the go-ahead, I grip the silk and pull myself up. Holy shit, my arms are shaking already. I wrap the fabric around my foot, creating that first secure loop, then push up. My shoulders and core are screaming as I haul myself higher. But once I'm up here, suspended in the air, everything else just . . . fades away.

I twist the silk around my waist, then let my body fall backward. The world inverts, blood rushing to my head, and a laugh bursts out of me. God, I missed this feeling.

This absolute freedom.

Zach’s watching me. His eyes are intense, tracking every move. Well, if he wants to stare. . . I grip the fabric tight and unwind into a controlled drop. My body cuts through the air before I catch myself five feet from the floor. The sudden stop makes my abs clench, and my arms burn, but fuck if it isn't worth it for the way his breath catches .

That's right, baby. Just wait until you see what else I can do.

I push back up, arms shaking from a bit of fatigue, then climb a few feet higher. After securing the silk around my thighs, I transition into a split, making sure my lines are extra pretty as I extend my legs wider, showing off just how flexible I can be.

"Beautiful extension," Danica praises. "Want to work on some combinations?"

“Sure.”

We spend the next hour working on drops, climbs, and poses. By the end, my purple hoodie is stuck to my skin, my arms feel like jelly, and my thighs are definitely going to have fabric burn. But holy fuck was it worth it.

After my final descent, I flop onto the mat, sprawling out like a sweaty starfish.

Zach walks over and hands me a towel. "Ready to go?"

I take it and pat some of the sweat off. Once I’m done, I grab his hand and he helps me to my feet. Getting up on my tiptoes, I kiss his cheek. "Thank you. This was perfect."

He nods, and I swear, the corner of his mouth twitches. "I wanted to give you something . . . meaningful."

And fuck if he didn't nail it.

This is, hands down, the best date ever.

Because in the past sixty minutes, I reclaimed a piece of myself. Yeah, I learned aerial arts for sex work, but somewhere between the pole dancing and private shows, I fell in love with the artistry, and it became something more. Something that's woven into the fabric of who I am, regardless of how I got here.

Looking at Zach, seeing how he planned this, remembering how he watched me like I was something precious . . . Maybe we're both finding pieces of ourselves we thought we'd lost.

And maybe we can help each other put them back together.