Channing's gray eyes sharpen. "You never told us, which bar do you work at?"
I'm completely caught off guard, my mind going blank.
His eyebrows lift. "You're a bartender, right?" he prods.
I blurt out the first local bar name that I recall, and my face warms. I'd been unprepared for him to ask.
Channing gives me an odd look but doesn’t comment further about it.
Without anything left to say, I turn away and focus on the whiteboard, typing the number into my phone. I murmur a light, "later" to him and leave the kitchen.
The rest of the day flies by. Mostly because I'd decided to take a nap so that I wouldn't be tired tonight, and that short nap had turned into a much longer one than I'd originally planned. Unfortunately, by the time evening comes around, my car is still at the shop. Thankfully, Layla had already offered to pick me up on her way to the club.
I fill a cup with water from the kitchen faucet before taking a seat at the island. Layla should be coming soon, and since I want to stay hydrated tonight, I sip water while I wait.
Quinn breezes into the kitchen, and her brown eyes brighten when she spies me. "Got plans tonight?"
I watch her head to the refrigerator. "My shift starts shortly.”
She grabs a can of soda and turns back to me. "I don't know how you do it.” She pops the tab on the can and takes a drink.
"What do you mean?"
"The hours," she explains.
I shrug. "I'm getting used to them." My phone chimes from within my purse, and I dig around and pull it out. I swipe the screen and focus intently on Layla's message. Her babysitter was late, and now she’s running behind. She's on her way but currently stuck at a red light.
"You have a phone?"
I tuck the phone back in my purse and mentally curse the timing of Layla's text. "Um, yeah. Now that I have a job, I figured it would be wise to have one."
Quinn walks to the whiteboard and snatches the marker from its holder. "What's your number?" she asks expectantly.
I cringe over the idea of her writing it where everyone in the house can see it. "Why not add it to your contacts list?"
She turns and faces me. "This way everyone has it," she logically states.
I don't want to make a fuss, so I recite it to her. Inside, my stomach twists. It's foolish to worry over text messaging, but I just...hate it. I don’t like how it makes me feel when I have to converse with someone using text.
Quinn returns to the island and picks up her soda. "Where's your car?"
"It broke down last night, so it's being worked on."
"Need a ride?" she immediately offers.
I smile. "Thank you, but a coworker is picking me up. I take it you're looking to go out tonight?" I inquire, recalling how she'd brightened when she'd seen me.
She shrugs. "I hadn't planned on staying in, but everyone seems to be busy."
"You could go out and meet people," I suggest.
"Sometimes that gets boring. If I go out alone, I usually end up hooking up with some random guy." She sighs, her eyebrows pulling together as she studies her soda. "Don't get me wrong, that can be fun. I just..." her voice trails off. She takes a long drink of her soda instead of voicing the rest of her thoughts.
I know when someone is wanting to back out of a conversation, so I'm struggling to find something to say when I hear a horn honk from the driveway. Layla's here. I quickly rise to my feet and put my glass in the sink. "That's my ride. Talk later?" I ask lightly.
Quinn smiles and waves me off.
I hurry out of the house and climb into Layla's SUV. "Thank you so much," I tell her as I secure my seatbelt.
She smoothly backs out of the driveway. "No problem. Sorry I'm late.”
"It's fine,” I assure her.
"Anything on your car yet?"
"No. One of my housemates referred me to someone. They'll get to it as soon as possible. Hopefully I'll get it back tomorrow."
Layla nods and slows for a stop sign.
"My housemates don’t know that I work at the club,” I confess. What in the world possessed me to tell her that? The statement was out of my mouth before I’d even realized it.
Layla glances at me. "You don't want them to know?"
"I've dealt with a lot of judgmental people in my life," I say quietly. "I'm not saying that any of them are like that, but I just... I don't know them well enough to know whether they'll care or not," I finish.
Layla looks thoughtful as she drives. "There's so much ridiculous bullshit out there when it comes to what we do, so it can be tough,” she agrees. “I cut all the negative people from my life a long time ago. The only people I surround myself with are those that are supportive of everything that I do." She briefly glances at me. "There's nothing wrong with what we do, Ash," she says in a firm tone. "It's just a job. One that involves dancing and a little stripping."
"Agreed.”
"Hon, you'll never be happy if you keep hiding it from everyone in your life," she warns.
Seventeen
Channing
Colt is less than thrilled to be entering the bar where Ashton supposedly works. When I'd coerced him into coming along, he'd called me a tool for wanting to prove that Ashton is hiding something. He'd pointed out that no one gives a fuck what she's getting up to at night. If she's lying about her job, what's the big deal? Why would I care?
That's just it.
I don't know why I want to know every damned thing about her. She drives me crazy, and no matter how hard I try to get her out of my head, she's fucking burrowed herself in it and made herself at home. I'd been hoping that one fuck would be enough and that would be the end, but I'm finding that it's not.
Then, this morning, I'd seen the brief moment of confusion in her gaze when I'd asked her which bar she worked at. It was the simplest of questions, but instead, she'd blurted out this bar before her face had gone red. So here we go again.
She has a secret, and I want to know it.
Colt shakes his head as we enter the loud bar. "She's going to think you're stalking her," he says over the music.
"You didn't see her expression, Colt. That woman is knee deep in secrets, and as far as I can tell, those lies are building."
Colt turns on me, bringing us to a stop amongst the bar's crowded patrons. "We're all entitled to our secrets," he says, his dark eyes warning me that this is one that I might want to leave alone.
He's right. Some secrets are meant to stay buried, because when they're brought to the surface, they can hurt like a bitch. Not that I have many secrets that I've buried, but Colt is a pro at burying shit he doesn't like to deal with.
"Why are you so into her?" Colt asks bluntly.
"I'm not," I tell him, but that's a lie. I just have this intense need to discover Ashton's secrets. There's this odd glimmer in her gaze that she reveals when she's unaware, and that look reminds me of a child expecting to be scolded. It's something that I've tried to avoid wanting to figure out, but after her lie this morning...
"If you weren't into her, we wouldn't be here," Colt contradicts. He shakes his head. "Walk away now before you get in too deep," he advises.
"I'm not getting in deep. I just want to know if she works here. That's it."
Colt looks at me with a hint of pity in his gaze. "And then what?"
Good fucking question. If she lied—which I am most certain she had—I’m going to want to find out why.
"Let's just get this done with," Colt grouses. He turns and walks towards the bar located across the room.
***
It's Friday night, and I’m listening to Ashton shower as she readies herself for her job. It's not the bartending gig she'd claimed to have. Whatever she's doing requires her to be out late, and I want to know where she's going and what she's doing. I'm completely aware that it's none of my business, but that doesn't make much difference to me. I tell myself that it has to do with the fact that I'm protecting those I care about. If she's deep in
something illegal, it could fall back on Quinn or any one of us. In the back of my mind, I know it's more than that. I just want to fucking know—plain and simple.
The shower turns off, and I patiently sit on my bed, waiting for her to finish. The minute’s tick by, and I can hear her rummaging around the bathroom before making her way back to her room. After another ten minutes, her bedroom door opens and closes with finality. Her footsteps are light, but I can still hear her walking to the stairs.
When I can no longer hear her, I rise to my feet and check that my keys and wallet are in the back pocket of my jeans. Then, I open the door and step into the hall. I quickly hurry down the stairs when I hear the front door open and close. I don't want her to see me, so I linger by the door until her car engine starts. She'd gotten it back the other day.
Headlights flash in the windows as she backs out of the driveway. The second the lights swing towards the street, I open the door as she drives away, and I haul ass to my own car.
A second later, I’m driving down the street with Ashton's tail lights still in view. I keep a safe distance between our vehicles for the next five minutes, and when a car blocks hers from my sight, I curse. After some maneuvering, I manage to fall back behind her and hope that I'm not being too obvious. At least it's dark, and all she can see behind her are a pair of headlights.
It's not until ten minutes later that she reaches her destination. She pulls in behind a large building, and there’s a private parking lot that looks mostly empty.
I hadn't wanted to pull into the parking lot behind her, so as I drive further down the street, I crane my neck to look out my side window and squint at the front of the building. There are no signs, but there's no mistaking the outside with its prominent pillars.
My hands tighten on the steering wheel as I straighten and focus on the upcoming intersection. The strip club opened a few years back, and last year, a few friends from class had dragged me there.
Fuck.
She can't seriously work there.
I turn into the left turning lane and wait for the light before driving down the next block. I then take another left and make my way back to the club. This time, I pull into the parking lot and see that it's for employees only. Ashton's car is there along with four others. Headlights sweep across the interior of my car as another vehicle arrives, likely another employee. I drive through the small parking lot and make my way to the front of the building, which is completely baron of vehicles. The club isn't open yet. I find the parking lot exit and drive away.
Ashton works at a strip club.
With a frown, I drive with no destination in mind. Does she bartend there? Is that why she's so hesitant to share where she works? Had she thought that we wouldn't understand? I think there are other jobs she could have applied for, but I wouldn't hold it against her if she chose to tend bar at a strip joint. I don't think the others at the house would care, either.
There's one other possibility that I can't ignore, and my mouth tightens as I slow for a red light. What if Ashton is more than just a bartender?
Damn.
Just the thought has my gut tightening. The idea of her taking off her clothes for men makes me sick. I can't imagine what would drive her to become a stripper, and I'm thinking it's unlikely that’s what she's doing. She's probably just a bartender. However, I won't rest easy until I know for certain, which is why I’m going to drive around until the club opens. I need to see for myself what she's doing.
There's no point dwelling on her choice of employment until I know what she's up to, so I try to relax and waste time by swinging through a drive-thru for a soda.
Eventually, I make my way back to the club, and this time, the main parking lot is filling fast. I find a parking space and make my way to the doors, joining the line of men going through the security checkpoint. A few minutes later, I enter the club and throbbing music greets my ears.
I don’t want Ashton to find out that I'm checking on her, so I stick to the back of the room, lingering in the shadows as I inspect every corner of the club. The first thing I note is that the bartenders are male, so Ashton doesn't seem to be tending bar.
I also don't want to look odd just milling around, so I find a vacant table in the back and scan the room once more. A woman is on stage dancing, and scantily clad women are making the rounds. Some are giving lap dances while others are just sitting next to men, chatting and smiling. Ashton is nowhere in sight, and I'm relieved but also concerned. Her car is out back, so where is she?
Then, I see her.
My entire body goes still.
She's entered the large lounge room, and she's wearing a red lace bra and garter set. She looks fucking enticing as hell. All I want to do is wrap my arms around her, carry her out of this place, and devour her. My jaw clenches as my eyes roam over her full breasts encased in fire engine red lace. Breasts I know I've had my lips and hands on. My attention focuses lower, to her flat and toned stomach, and then down to her hips. That body has been beneath mine.
I watch with growing possessiveness as a college-aged guy catches her attention and waves a couple bills at her. Without any hesitation, Ashton takes the money with a sultry smile and climbs gracefully onto his lap. Her hips begin to move in a seductive grind, and the guy seems completely focused on her lower body.
I tear my gaze from them, and my eyes snag on the naked woman dancing on stage. All the air seems to leave my lungs as Ashton's job fully sinks in. Ashton likely dances on stage, too. Men see her fully naked every night...
After a brief struggle, I manage to draw oxygen back into my lungs as I control my emotions. Logic takes over, and I know that Ashton can't find me here. She's been lying about where she works for a reason, and I have a feeling that if I confront her in this setting, the situation will go south fast.
I calmly rise to my feet and walk out of the club.
When I climb into my car, I blow out a huge exhale. There's so many thoughts rolling around in my head. Why would an heiress take a job as a stripper? Better yet, why do I care so much about what she does? These feelings I have, they aren't just born out of curiosity. The second I'd seen her, I'd wanted to yank her out of the club so that no one else could see those curves. I don't want men looking at her like that. I don't want her touching them, straddling them...
With a groan, my head falls back against the headrest. I only fucked her once. One fuck should not have me feeling like this towards her. This shit is growing complicated, and if I were a smart man, I would walk away and never look back.
But I can't.
I'm more determined than ever to figure out everything she's hiding.
Eighteen
Ashton
As soon as I arrive home, I go straight to the bathroom on the second floor and quickly strip down. I hate smelling like other men’s cologne, and I’m always anxious to wash away the scent. I'm careful to take the quickest shower possible so that I don't wake anyone. I'd seen Harper's car out front along with Channing's.
After I turn off the shower, I step out and grab a towel, wrapping it around my body. I never bring a change of clothes with me, so I tie the towel securely and use a smaller hand towel to dry my hair. When I'm finished, I toss the small towel in the hamper and grab the hand bag that has my club outfit and dirty clothes inside. I silently make my way down the darkened hall outside the bathroom, adjusting the bag over my bare shoulder. As soon as I step inside my room, I quietly close the door and turn on the light. With a tired sigh, I set the bag on the floor.
Sensing that I’m not alone, I look up.
A startled yelp escapes me when I see Channing standing in the middle of my room. What is he doing here? I’d assumed he was sleeping, but instead, he's fully dressed in jeans and a tee.
His demeanor’s tense, and his eyes drop to my bare shoulders before trailing down the white towel that’s secured between my breasts. His gaze also doesn’t miss the fact that the hem of the towel just barely covers my butt.
I snap out of my stupor, crossing my arms over my chest. "Channing?" Why would he be waiting for me in my room?
His eyes slide back up to mine, and his expression shifts into a deep frown. "I saw you tonight," he says in a noticeably careful tone.
"Saw me where?" I dare to ask as my heartbeat quickens. I'm hoping he's not implying that he knows about the club.
There’s visible tension in his neck and shoulders as his gaze stays locked on mine. "The other day, I sensed that you were lying about your job. I went to the bar to see if my suspicions were correct, and you weren't there. I followed you tonight,” he reveals. “To your real place of employment.”
He knows.
My heart plummets, and my stomach churns. I'm not ashamed, but I hadn't wanted anyone to know how I'm making rent. Old uncertainties raise their ugly heads, and I feel self-conscious as I stand before him. I've seen how men react to me at the club, and I've been propositioned plenty of times. Just because I take my clothes off for strangers, it gives men the idea that for the right price, my vagina is for sale too. I hate that assumption, but it goes with the job.
I remain silent, knowing he's probably recalling how easy it was to get me to have sex with him. I also brace myself for the inevitable disappointment when he tells me that I'm not the woman that he'd thought me to be.
Channing’s brows furrow, obviously noting something in my expression. "What are you thinking?"
I shrug. Just waiting for you to tell me what I've heard all my life.
"Why there?" he finally asks. "I know who you are and that you come from a wealthy background. Why take your clothes off at a club? You can't possibly tell me that there weren’t any other employment opportunities out there."
"Does it really matter?" I ask as I feel myself shutting down. There's no way to explain my choices without confessing my dyslexia. No one needs to know about it, and I don’t want it affecting my relationships with those that have become a part of my life.
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