Page 1 of Never Let Go (Forbidden #1)

Chapter One

LAUREN

“ Y ou have got to be kidding me,” I groan to the plain white ceiling of my dorm room, placing my head in my hands. “What a shitty fucking day.”

Considering how my morning started, you would have thought it would get better, but no.

I woke up with my alarm as usual but fell back asleep, which meant I was late to my first lecture of the day. Now, you’re probably thinking, But Lauren, that’s not the end of the world. I'm just going to throw in about some spilled coffee and a forgotten bag of books—do with that what you will.

So like I said, shitty fucking day.

I’m currently sitting in my room, staring at my bright green eyes and long blonde hair in the mirror, wondering how the hell I’m going to get myself ready and across town for work in the next hour, when the third Uber just cancelled on me .

Snatching up my bag with all the essentials—outfit for tonight, hair ties because you can never have too many, and my trusty chalk—I head out into the living room just as my best friend, Sydney, walks through the door.

“What up, bitch?” She glances at me, and I frown before laughing and rolling my eyes at her.

“Your inside voice didn’t follow you inside then?”

Sydney’s literally the best person I know. We met after being roomed together when we started at Abingdon University and ended up forming this… weird friendship? She’s all hugs and kisses and I’m… not.

Sydney flips her long dark hair back, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she gives me a grin. “Bitch, please. You love me,” she sasses.

Smirking, I reply, “If I have to.”

Sydney’s the hottest girl I’ve ever seen and if I were into them—I’m not, much to Sydney’s dismay—then I would totally bang her.

Because Sydney is into girls. She’s got these gorgeous, big, brown doe eyes that most girls fall for and a body to die for—curves and ass everywhere.

But she’s also the type of girl that’s allergic to commitment, choosing to run out the door the next morning, never to see them again.

“You working tonight?” she asks while putting her bag down on the small table we have in the corner of our room.

It’s not massive by any means but it does the job.

According to Sydney, the plain, beige walls are in desperate need of brightening.

She keeps talking about buying a potted plant or picture, and like the good best friend that I am, I nod and agree every time she brings it up—not that she’s done anything about it in the two years I’ve known her.

Our dorm room is one of the bougier ones—not only having separate bedrooms, but a living room and kitchen, as well.

Our kitchen is to the left as you walk in with two bedrooms farther down the hall, one on either side.

Unfortunately, we share a bathroom with the rest of the floor.

As long as you get in there either first thing in the morning or last thing at night, it’s usually empty.

I look up from my phone as I reply, “Yeah, Sapphire has me on the early shift.” I wave my phone in the air. “I’m just gonna order an Uber.”

“Sounds good, babe,” she calls out, strolling towards her bedroom. “I’ve got studying to do tonight, so I’ll be here when you get home.”

I always thought it was weird that dance majors had schoolwork, but what do I know?

Sydney’s the best dancer I’ve ever seen. Think Jenna Dewan in Step Up and you have Sydney. I keep trying to talk her into coming to work with me at Strokes, but she’s always said she doesn’t want to dance day and night.

“Catch ya later,” I call out as I head to the door.

Let’s hope tonight’s an easy one.

Opening the door and walking into Strokes, I glance around and see it’s practically dead.

Two guys sit at the front, hooting and hollering at the stage as the waitresses stand at the bar, talking, waiting to be called over.

This is standard for a Tuesday night, most men at home with their families, waiting for the weekend to come when they can use lame ass excuses as to why they’re home late, and smelling of perfume.

It’s usually just the singles during the week .

Not that I mind it so much, it gives me a chance to practice on the poles, not worrying about having to give the performance of my life. Not that I do, anyway. Strokes isn’t that kind of place.

Since I walked in here nearly three years ago, there’s always been this feeling of home, of comfort. Luckily I had no issues with applying for the job. The Midwest State allows you to become a stripper at the impressionable age of eighteen, yet you can’t legally drink alcohol… go figure.

Strokes has been done up to a high standard, a black and chrome theme throughout.

The stage is front and center with a bar at the back, booths round the edges and tables placed in the middle.

Sapphire, the manager, has always let us do our own thing when it comes to our performances.

Security’s also on hand if there are any issues with unwanted attention.

Strolling through the main bar and out toward the back room, I can hear the girls’ laughter as I step through the dressing room door, the door clicking shut behind me.

“Girl, did you see those two guys at the front? They’re like a pack of fucking vultures. Tell me why I do this job again?” Esme asks, and I can’t help but laugh.

Esme’s big, and beautiful with a heart to match. She decided to cut her long blonde hair off a couple weeks ago, opting for a short, pixie cut which she dyed green. Honestly, she looks freaking fantastic and I wish I had balls as big as her.

“Because of the tips, Esme!” Destiny shouts from behind her mirror, where she’s sitting applying her make-up.

Destiny’s like the mother hen of the group, always checking in on us and making sure we’re okay, that we always have a safe person to talk to. Her luscious, coily hair matches perfectly with her tanned skin. She’s got a body to die for—boobs and legs for days .

I smile to myself as I think about how much I love these girls. Most strippers I’ve met are bitches, so it’s nice to be around a group of girls who can banter their way out of anything.

“Aw, poor Esme. Did they try groping you again?” I chuckle.

Esme sits down next to me as she fans herself.

“Seriously, the guy in the suit nearly climbed up on the stage and pulled me off. Where do they find these loons?!” she questions, as she flings her arms wide in a what the fuck gesture.

Luckily for Esme, she’s a tough girl so stuff like this doesn’t scare her easily.

Quickly changing into my outfit for the night—a black lacy one piece that shows more of my ass and cleavage than I’m used to—and touch up my makeup, I go to the long, standing mirror on the wall and check myself over—not bad.

I take my hair out of its ponytail and bend over, fluffing it up, before flipping my head back. Catcalls and whistles start up behind me, variations of “get it girl” and “work it” being thrown my way. I laugh, turning round and shimmying my boobs at them before bowing.

“Lauren, you’re up,” Sapphire calls from the doorway.

Grabbing my hat—a prop to go with tonight’s outfit—I walk toward the stage area. The intro to Bad Things by I Prevail begins and my hips automatically start swaying to the beat as I strut slowly and seductively. Just as the beat kicks in, I take a running jump at the pole ready to earn some cash.