Dance for Me

by J.C. Valentine

  Ransom’s expression flattens out, so I can’t tell what he’s thinking. From the corner of my eye, I see Annie paused just outside the door, and when I glance up at her, she grins and shoots me a thumb up. I can’t help smiling back. She’s the one who pushed me to do this. Even though I’m mad at her, it feels good to share my secret with her and to know that she supports me.

  When she’s gone, I refocus my attention on Ransom, who is studiously avoiding my gaze. “I thought your friend was going to do that.”

  “She was, but she changed her mind. Since her spot was open, and I hadn’t settled on anything, I decided to fill it.”

  Leaning back in his chair, Ransom stares me down as his thumb repeatedly clicks the pen in his hand. The longer he does it, the more I feel the tension between us grow. He’s upset. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to deduce that.

  “Why would you choose to take off your clothes for a roomful of people?”

  I freeze because he’s got to be kidding. Out of everyone on campus, why wouldn’t I do it? It’s right up my alley. Some might even say that it’s a natural progression. From partially nude to fully naked.

  “I’m not ashamed of my body,” I tell him. “Plus, it’s a paying gig.”

  “So you’re doing it for the money?”

  “Every college student needs extra money wherever they can get it, right?” The fire snapping in his eyes tells me he doesn’t agree.

  “If you needed money, you should have asked me. You don’t have to subject yourself to a bunch of horny frat boys to get it.”

  I laugh. “Do you really think frat boys would take an art class just to see a naked chick? All they have to do is snap a finger and girls everywhere will drop their clothes at their feet.”

  “I think you’re missing the point here.”

  “What, that you don’t agree with my choice? I disagree,” I reply smartly. “I think the message was pretty clear.”

  His dark eyes narrow at my tone and I glare right back. As his next class begins to file in, I toss back my hair and adopt a carefree attitude. “Can I borrow your pen for a minute? I’d like to add my name before I forget.”

  After writing my name down, I return the pen to his desk. Ransom doesn’t say another word as I leave the room.

  I’m not the least bit surprised to see him lurking in the shadows when I walk onto the stage later that night.

  My stomach flutters in nervous anticipation as my song ends and I step off the stage. I half expect him to barge into the dressing room like he did last time, but he doesn’t do that either. By the time I’m through freshening up and head back out onto the floor to begin serving drinks, I’m confident that I’ve figured out his game.

  He’s going to make me sweat.

  Ransom’s a master at playing head games. He likes to watch and wait. Make a girl shake before he goes in for the kill. I love and hate this game. It’s a constant adrenalin rush that’s hard to come down from. My hands tremble as I carry an order of drinks to a table positioned only a few feet from his.

  Once again, he’s cloaked in shadows. I used to wonder why he did that. Now I assume it must be because he worries he’ll be recognized. A professor in a strip club probably isn’t the best image to put out there.

  I feel his eyes on me as I slide the drinks in front of my customers. Two men, middle-aged, with touches of gray in their hair. They’re dressed in paint-splattered navy overalls, suggesting they came directly after work. A lot of men do that. They come for a few drinks and a good show to help them unwind.

  “How are you fellas enjoying your evening?” Gripping the back of one of the chairs, I lean into one hip. The position pushes my butt out, creating a nice S-curve in my back. Ransom loves that. What he doesn’t love, though, is another man’s hands on his property.

  I learn this lesson pretty quick when the man whose chair I am holding winds his arm around my waist and plants a firm hand on my right butt cheek.

  His coffee-stained smile is gone in an instant and so is mine as I am jerked backward and Ransom steps in to take my place.

  I would have fallen on my ass had he not reacted so quickly and grabbed ahold of my arm at the last second. Turning ferocious eyes gone black on the man, who now wears a look that is a cross between surprised, pissed off, and a touch frightened, Ransom growls a warning that makes even me shiver.

  “If you ever touch her again, I’ll rip that filthy hand off and shove it so far up your ass you’ll spend the rest of your life wiping it with a stump. Are we clear?”

  The man nods, his wide eyes unblinking. Ransom holds his gaze for a few beats more, and then he turns on me. With his hand still firmly wrapped around my arm, he hustles me away. The bathrooms are just beyond the bar, and I muster a half-hearted smile so Bernice doesn’t sick security on us.

  Fear is a very real factor here as I am bundled into the men’s bathroom. An older man stands in front of the sinks, washing his hands, and when Ransom aims his death glare on him and tells him to hit the road, he doesn’t waste a second thinking about it.

  Once we’re alone, I am crowded against the wall. Ransom’s tall, solid frame is heavy and borderline oppressive. But when he gathers my hands over my head and begins tearing at my skirt until it is gathered around my waist, my labored breaths are no longer a result of fear.

  “Are you mad at me?” I gasp as his fingers find my hot center and plunge inside, working my internal temperature up so high I feel as though I could combust.

  Burying his face in the curve between my neck and shoulder, he rasps against my skin, “I’m mad at that fucker for putting his hands on what’s mine.”

  That doesn’t really answer my question, but I figure it’s probably the only one I’m going to get. His teeth scrape down my throat and he licks my collarbone as he works his way lower to the swell of my breasts. It’s difficult to think when he’s kissing me like this.

  “My boss isn’t going to be happy if he hears you chased off one of his customers. You know, we have security for that sort of thing.”

  Releasing a low, frustrated growl, Ransom tears the flimsy hunter green thong from my body as if it’s made of paper, and insinuates himself between my thighs. The move places the hardest part of him right against my core. I moan from the contact.

  “Fuck security. They’re slow and lazy.”

  “They’re effective when they need to be.”

  “I just pulled one of their workers off the floor and forced her into the bathroom after threatening a patron. Listen.” He pauses, tilting his head. His eyes have a dangerous gleam in them when he looks back at me. “I don’t hear the pitter patter of little feet coming to the rescue, do you?”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s because I told Bernice I was fine.”

  “I didn’t hear you say a word.”

  I smirk. “Haven’t you heard? Women don’t need words to communicate effectively.”

  “The only woman I grew up with was my mom. Guess I didn’t learn that skill.”

  I love the smile that blooms on his face. It’s cute and teasing and it sets off little creases around his eyes that remind me of his more playful, easygoing side. I like this side, too, though, and right now, it has my hormones raging.

  I moan into his mouth as he kisses me, his tongue plunging past my lips to slide over mine. Releasing my hands, Ransom grabs the backs of my thighs and hoists me up. Like a perfectly choreographed dance, I wrap my legs around his lean hips and tunnel my fingers into his hair, pulling him so I can taste his mouth as he burrows a hand between our bodies and unzips his fly.

  His hard length nudges my opening and our kiss becomes more aggressive. I’m panting for oxygen when he tears his mouth from mine. I whimper, needing more of him, but he stops everything.

  When I realize that he’s not going any further, I peel my eyes open to find him staring at me with intense concentration.

  “No one touches you but me.”

  My brows pull down at the sudden change I’m witnessi
ng in him. “Okay,” I say, stretching the word out.

  “I mean it. You’re mine. What happened out there? You make sure that never happens again.”

  A part of me perks up, irritated that he thinks he can tell me what to do. “Do you realize who you’re talking to? I’m a stripper. It happens.”

  He shakes his head slowly. “You’re not getting it. I don’t care who you are or what you do, that doesn’t happen again. I don’t share, understand? You’re mine, and as mine, the only hands that touch this ass belong to me.”

  I don’t know whether to be upset or overjoyed at his caveman behavior. “Are you claiming me?”

  “Honey, I claimed you the first time I saw you dance on that stage.” His mouth crashes over mine. Our teeth bang together from the force of our passion. With one brutal thrust of his hips, Ransom is inside of me. I cry out as my body instantly releases, my muscles milking him with such force that Ransom follows right behind me.

  Our mingled breaths echo in the room as we float back down to earth. His heartbeat drums against my chest, and I hold him tighter to my breasts. There’s nothing better than post-coital Ransom. For a few, brief moments, he’s completely mine. It’s in these moments, when he’s at his softest, that a woman could lose her way.

  But Ransom puts an end to those troubling thoughts when he pulls back and sets me on my feet. I am a mess. My clothes are bunched around my waist, my underwear hanging in useless strings, and his cum is leaking down my thighs. He didn’t use a condom this time, and I thank whoever is listening above that I had enough sense to get on birth control. When I look at myself in the mirror, there is cherry red lipstick smeared across my face, which is the icing to my disheveled state.

  The same goes for Ransom, but even rumpled and stained crimson, he is completely edible.

  “You know, as much as I enjoy these little rendezvous, we really must stop meeting up like this,” I say as I begin cleaning myself up.

  After zipping himself back up, Ransom positions himself beside the sink, lifting one arm in the air to press against the wall. With his suit jacket hanging open to expose the white shirt beneath and the expensive silver buckle on the black leather belt circling his narrow waist, he looks like he belongs on the cover of GQ.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I say, for public decency’s sake, we should probably keep our activities confined to a bed. Yours perhaps? I’ve never seen your apartment.”

  Instantly, he throws up an invisible wall and I know I’ve said the wrong thing, pushed him too hard. “And you won’t.”

  His harsh tone confounds me and I watch in disbelief as he straightens. Refusing to look at me as he fastens the single button on his jacket and walks toward the door.

  “You’ll forgive me,” he says firmly, “but I have business to attend to.”

  My mouth gapes open, but no words come out. After what we just did, I thought we were in a good place.

  When am I going to learn that sex isn’t a magic fix? It doesn’t mend relationships. Rather, it’s like plugging a hole in a sinking ship with caulk—utterly ineffective. As soon as you stop filling the hole, it begins leaking again.

  Once I put myself back together again enough to return to the floor, I don’t bother looking around for him. Ransom is long gone and I’m not in the mood to chase after him. Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe this is the wake-up call I need to realize that it’s time to let go of something that was never going to be.

  NINETEEN

  I can’t get the strange look Ransom shot me, when I declined his invitation to meet him after class, out of my head. It’s almost as if he didn’t understand why I might be upset with him. At the very least, he should recognize that walking away from a woman in the middle of a discussion, directly following hot and heavy sex, is definite grounds for a problem. That he doesn’t shouldn’t be a surprise to me, but it is. I was just starting to get used to New Ransom, and then Old, Callous Ransom reared his head again.

  Worst of all, I like both sides of him. I like his overbearing, bullheaded, take-charge attitude just as much as I like the more subdued, almost domestic side of his personality.

  That’s where I made my first mistake. I allowed myself to get comfortable and forget who he really was. What this really is. Sex. Nothing more than good, casual sex. What happened in the bathroom is the perfect example of what we are. It would be prudent of me to not forget that again.

  Over the course of the last week, I have lost my best friend and the boyfriend I thought I had. My world feels like it’s imploding. A smart person would point out that I am clearly the problem in at least one of those equations and it’s fully within my power to fix it.

  I am not a smart person. Clearly. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be standing in the middle of a crowded bar on a Friday night ordering another pitcher for the table I am sharing with a guy who I know has feelings for me—the kind I don’t return.

  My life is like a train speeding down unfinished tracks. One of these days, it will hit the end and plunge into the abyss. I need to stomp on the brakes now, but my common sense has fallen asleep at the wheel.

  Brody jumps out of his seat as I walk up with my hands full and takes the pitchers. “I brought two,” I state the obvious as I drop into the hardwood chair.

  “So we won’t run out.” Brody taps his temple. “Excellent thinking, J.”

  I mock bow. Well, as much as I can given my seated position. “As always, I aim to please.”

  Brody’s eyes flicker with appreciation as he scans my appearance. “Have I told you how good you look tonight?”

  Topping off my glass, I respond coyly. “Only twenty times or so, but hearing it never gets old. You may refresh my memory.”

  “You look really good tonight.”

  I wink at him, and instantly regret it. I’m leading Brody on, giving him false hope. There must be something wrong with me because I can’t seem to help myself. I’m a shameless flirt. Maybe that’s why Ransom warned me against other men, because he knows it’s as much my fault as it is theirs?

  “Hey,” Brody shouts over the loud pop country music. “You’re thinking too hard and it’s sucking all the fun from the room.”

  Standing, he reaches for my hand. I’m given no time to prepare an argument as he whisks me onto the dance floor.

  “I don’t know this song,” I shout. I feel like I’ve just entered a Footloose audition and forgot to study. Everyone, and I mean everyone, seems to have attended some dance class I wasn’t privy to. They’re all partnered up, performing the same moves at the same time.

  Brody pulls me against his chest, his eyes glued to what’s happening around us. “You don’t have to know it,” he replies distractedly. “You just have to have fun.”

  A startled scream bursts past my lips and I suddenly find myself being spun around and around the dance floor, weaving in and out of other couples’ paths.

  And then the most wonderful thing happens.

  I’m laughing. I don’t know when I started, but I’m having fun, and when I look around, everyone else is, too. Brody’s smile is wider than I’ve ever seen it. Clasping my hand, he holds it against his chest, and my grip on his shoulder tightens as we pick up the pace to match the beat of the music.

  “Where did you learn to dance like this?” I’m winded, but the feeling of my heart beating so fast is exhilarating.

  “About five minutes ago!”

  I don’t believe him, because he’s that good, but as I watch him studying everyone around us, I realize he’s serious. “Are you telling me you just watched everyone dancing and jumped in?”

  “Yep.” His grin is infectious.

  I shake my head. “You’re crazy!”

  The music cuts off at the exact moment the words leave my lips, and my voice is broadcast to the whole bar. My face heats and I bite my lip.

  Brody’s shoulders shake with laughter. It’s then I realize that I’m still holding onto him. With a nervous smile, I drop my hands and sever a
ll contact.

  Placing his hand on my lower back, Brody walks us back to our table. Just before we reach it, he leans down, placing his lips against the shell of my ear. “You’re right, I am crazy. For you.”

  My jaw drops and my head jerks up. I’m prepared to tell him all the reasons why he shouldn’t like me, why we’ll only ever work as friends, but the words are literally stolen away.

  Brody’s lips land firmly on mine. He doesn’t ask my permission. Doesn’t waste time coaxing me to kiss him back. He just takes. Devours. Unbidden, my body sways toward his, and I fall deeper into the kiss.

  And just like that, I’ve managed to find myself in a love triangle.

  My head is filled with static, as if a bomb just went off, and as my hearing slowly returns, so too does my reasoning. When I realize what I am doing, I break our lip lock so fast Brody has to grip the table to keep from losing his balance.

  I know I must look like a girl who just realized her boyfriend is an axe murderer, because Brody’s face morphs from utter bliss to a mask of concern in the split second it takes for me to throw my purse over my shoulder.

  “I have to go,” I tell him wildly. “I’m so sorry, but this was a mistake. I have to go.”

  I turn to run, but it feels as though I’ve stepped into quicksand. Time slows to a halt and the buzzing in my ears returns en force. Standing less than a few feet away is Ransom. His face is completely void of all emotion, and the lack thereof is so much worse than if he’d yelled. I feel like a fist is in my chest squeezing my heart.

  I gasp, but that’s all the sound I get out. I’ve reached the end of the track, and my train is tumbling over the edge right before my eyes.

  Unable to watch the wreckage unfold, I force my leaden legs to move and before I know it, I am running out the door, running from Brody, from Ransom. From everything.

  I don’t look back.

  ***

  Brody catches up with me on the side of the road, and I am too ashamed to explain to him everything that’s going on in my head. Thankfully, he doesn’t force it. Like the gentleman that he is, he takes me home and when I tell him good-night, he leaves it at that.