Channing’s eyes search mine. "Of course, it matters. Are you in some sort of trouble, Ash?"
There it is. He thinks I must be in some kind of trouble to take my clothes off for men. My lips tighten as I ignore the lump that’s developing in my throat. Granted, stripping isn’t considered conventional, but that doesn’t make it wrong.
"Shit," Channing mumbles under his breath when it occurs to him that he’s offended me. He lifts a hand to rake it through his dark hair. "That's not..." He frowns, searching for a way to explain himself. "I'm just saying that with your background, the odds of you gravitating towards a strip club is pretty damn low. There's plenty of other places you could have chosen for employment."
"I'm aware of that," I snap. My feet ache, I'm exhausted, and I'm upset. I just want to go to bed and deal with this mess tomorrow. Right now, my brain doesn't want to function any further.
Channing sighs, and his mouth turns down. "I went about this all wrong, didn't I?"
The regret in his voice coaxes my anger to take a backseat for the time being. "It's late, and I'm exhausted," I say truthfully.
"Right. We can talk tomorrow," he says, taking the hint. He walks towards me, and then he pauses a foot away, his eyes reflecting an emotion that I can't decipher. "I didn't mean to come at you like I was accusing you of anything. I just wanted to talk, to understand why you've chosen the job that you have."
"My choices are my own. I don't have to answer to anyone," I say quietly. Not anymore.
"Trust me, I'm aware of that. Yet it does nothing to change the fact that I seem to care about the choices that you make."
My eyes widen. Did he just hint that he cares about me?
Channing blinks and becomes aware of what he'd just admitted. "You live with everyone I care about. Your choices matter," he quickly explains.
Now, I’m left feeling momentarily foolish for thinking he cared about me. All the men in this house seem quite protective of Quinn and Harper. I slowly nod, hiding everything that I’m feeling inside. "It's just a job. There's not going to be any fallback on anyone here."
"We'll talk tomorrow, when you're not looking dead on your feet," he tells me. And with that said, he turns and opens the door, leaving me alone.
I close the door behind him and stand there in the silence of the room. This was all unexpected, and I wonder if this is the beginning of my new life falling apart.
***
I don't know what time it is, but I hear a quiet but firm knock on my door. "Ash?" Channing's voice seeps past the door and into my room.
Momentarily confused, I groggily turn my head and look at my alarm clock with bleary eyes. It's going on ten, and I can tell that the sun is shining brightly behind the closed blinds across the window. Why would Channing be knocking on my door? He's been doing his best to avoid me since the incident by the pool.
Last night abruptly comes back to me.
Channing had followed me to the club and then ambushed me in my room. I manage to smother my groan, and I lie there silently, waiting to see if he’ll go away. I don't want to talk to him. I just want to go back to sleep and pretend last night’s confrontation never happened.
"Ash?"
I pull my pillow closer around my ears so that his voice is now muffled. My stripping is just a job, but Channing obviously doesn't see it that way. Now I understand why Layla had cut everyone out of her life that had disapproved of what she’s doing. It's hard to feel positive about something when those around you think it's shameful. I think of the other women that work at the club, struggling to make ends meet or pay their way through college. It's good money and keeps the days free for secondary jobs or schooling. It's not as bad as everyone seems to think it is. I, myself, had been doubtful in the beginning, but now that I'm an exotic dancer, I know that it was the right choice for myself—at least for the time being. It's not something I can see myself still doing five or ten years down the road, but at least it's getting me back on my feet financially.
Channing has given up on trying to talk to me, and I release my grip on the pillow and relax once more. Last night, I'd been devastated that Channing had followed me. Today, I tell myself that it’s not the end of the world and to let it go. Yes, it bothers me that he might think less of me now that he knows. But if that's the kind of person he is, he's not worth getting to know in the first place.
As for Quinn and Harper, I don’t think either one of them would hold it against me. They'll likely be confused with my choice of employment, and that's what concerns me. The entire reason I've chosen to do what I'm doing is because my dyslexia gets in the way of...most aspects of my life. Most people don’t understand what I’m going through or how the anxiety can sometimes unhinge me. No one’s going to understand unless they’re also dealing with dyslexia. To further complicate matters, there’s so many varieties of dyslexia out there. I suppose if I did befriend someone who had it, it’s unlikely we’d both have the same exact symptoms. It all comes down to how the dyslexia affects the person, and how they themselves react to it.
I chew my bottom lip and think of Gabe, Colt, and Sebastian. I have no idea how they’ll react to the news. No. I do know how Gabe will, and it'll be with disapproval. I don't think anyone will kick me out of here for it, but I'll have to deal with everyone's opinions. In this day and age, everyone seems to have something to say about anything a person does. Channing had proved that last night. I don't have to give him an explanation as to why I'm working at the club, and yet he's still expecting one.
It's impossible to fall back to sleep, so I lie in bed for a while, lost in my thoughts. When a light knock on my door interrupts my thoughts, I stiffen. He can’t seriously be back.
"It's me," Harper calls through the door. "He left for his shift.”
I'm relieved he’s gone, and I sit up and run a hand through my tousled hair. "Come on in," I call.
The door opens, and Harper peeks in. When her eyes land on me, she gives me a kind smile and enters my room. She pauses near the bed. "It isn't any of my business, but it sounds like something’s going on between you and Channing.”
I pick at invisible lint on the sheet resting around my hips. "We're just having a difference of opinion," I murmur.
"I think it’s more than that."
With great reluctance, I look at her and remain silent. As much as I like Harper, I’m not ready to tell her my secrets.
Her green eyes soften as she gazes at me. "I know we’re just getting to know one another, but if you ever want to talk to someone, I'm here. No pressure.”
Her kindness causes warmth to spread throughout me, and I savor it. I never knew how nice it would feel to have real friends. This life I’m building has made me happier than I’ve ever been before. "Thanks, Harper." I chew my bottom lip and debate whether to at least confide in her about the incident with Channing out on the patio.
Harper silently watches as I try to make up my mind.
No, wait. I can’t. If I tell her about Channing, she'll also want to know what had him knocking on my door this morning. There’s also the possibility that Channing might tell everyone anyway. I frown. No... I don't think he'd do that to me. He doesn't seem like the type to gossip about someone else's life choices.
"I need to get going," Harper says lightly, breaking into my thoughts. "If you want to talk, I'm just down the hall,” she offers, taking the decision out of my hands.
After Harper leaves, I stay in bed for a minute longer before climbing out. I need to get out of the house for a while, and shopping seems like an ideal way to pass the time. I need to buy a new outfit for the club.
The rest of the day passes slowly, and I stay away from the house and distract myself by visiting shops that I’m familiar with. At lunch, I eat at a small cafe since crowded restaurants make me nervous. Later, when I arrive back at the house to prepare for my shift at the club, I note that Channing's car happens to be gone.
I’m concerned that he might appear at the club, but when I
make my rounds, I don’t see him anywhere. I'm a little on edge, but as the hours pass, I never see his face among the crowd. And by the time I arrive back home, I'm drained from a busy night and stressing over Channing.
After taking a super quick shower to wash away the scent of cologne from my skin, I hurry for my bedroom. The second I enter my room and close the door behind me, I toss my club clothes to the floor. I just want to go to sleep.
As I cross the darkened room, I see a shadow in my bed. I let out a startled gasp and hurriedly switch on the lamp on the nightstand.
Channing’s in my bed.
He appears relaxed as he lounges beneath the sheets, a tee shirt visible across his wide chest. His gray eyes lock on mine, and he shrugs. "It's late. We can talk now or talk in the morning. Either way, I'm not leaving this bed until we do."
I clutch the damp towel that's still wrapped around my body. "You can't just hijack my bed!"
He gives me a slow, determined grin. "I already did."
Words fail me, because I don't know what to do. He has no business forcing his way into my bed uninvited, yet I like that he's taking the initiative to seek me out.
Channing's grin fades. "C'mon. This isn't a play for sex. Climb in, you look dead on your feet."
His coaxing tone is tempting, but I still don't move. I'm not stupid. Channing's the first guy that I've ever truly felt something for. He has the power to hurt me, deeply. I don't want to give him that chance.
He looks at me searchingly. "Ash. Please.”
I mull over my options before I give him a deliberate look. "I'm not giving into anything," I warn. "That's my bed, and I want to go to sleep."
"Duly noted."
Now that I've made it clear what he can and can’t expect, I turn away and walk to my dresser. I'd had every intention of dropping into bed naked, but not anymore. That would be asking for trouble. A good kind of trouble, but trouble nonetheless. I grab a pair of panties and carefully slip them on under my towel. I’m not going to give Channing a show—no matter how tempting it truly is. It thrills me that he finds me attractive, and there's something about the way he looks at me that boosts my confidence when I'm alone with him.
While my back is to him, I drop the towel and slip on a tank. Then, I walk to the bed and turn off the lamp.
Channing scoots over and pulls back the sheet so that I can climb in. It feels weird slipping into bed beside him, and I lie there stiffly. He shifts closer and wraps his arms around me, pulling me onto his chest while he lies on his back. My cheek rests on his chest, and his warm, hard body is now aligned with mine. The fabric of his lounge pants tickles against the smoothness of my bare legs, but I don’t mind it. He feels really good, and my eyes drift closed as my body relaxes.
Channing remains silent, his chest slowly and steadily rising beneath my cheek.
"Why do you care?" I hear myself mumble in the dark, and I mentally kick myself. I don't want to discuss the club.
His chest vibrates beneath me as he replies, "I shouldn't. I don't want to, but I do," he admits.
I allow his answer to roll around in my head before I figure out how to respond. I know he doesn't want to care about me; he'd admitted that a long time ago. But now that he's confessed that he does, I feel my heart stuttering a little.
"Talk to me," Channing murmurs, his hand shifting to rest on my lower back.
"I don't want to," I say honestly. I can't explain my job at the club without admitting my dyslexia. I don't want him to treat me like Hayden had.
"Are you afraid that I'm going to judge you?"
My body stiffens against his. "Isn't that what you're already doing?"
"I'm not judging you, Ash," he says in a firm tone.
"You confronted me about stripping. You disapprove," I say in a flat tone. The possibility of disappointing anyone, especially Channing, is a sore subject for me.
Beneath my cheek, he draws in a deep breath and slowly releases it. "It's not that. I just don't understand why you do it."
"It's a job."
"There are plenty of other jobs out there," he points out. "I just think you have the potential to do so much more."
That's because he doesn't know the real me. The socially awkward Ash. The one who can't breeze through easy conversations with strangers. The one who feels like the world is judging her when she comes face to face with the difficulties that she was born with.
"Are you happy doing it?" Channing asks in a tentative voice.
I wasn’t expecting him to ask that, and I hesitate with my answer. Does he want the truth, or is he hoping I’m going to tell him I’m making a mistake? I guess it doesn’t really matter. I’m content with what I’m doing, and he needs to hear it. "I don't hate it," I tell him. "I enjoy dancing, and the money is good. It pays the bills."
"That's the thing, Ash. I know your background. How can you be that desperate for money that you would take your clothes off for it?" he asks in a careful voice.
"Because I never want to go back," I clip out. I’d left my family to break free of the invisible restraints they'd put upon me. I need to figure out my life on my own, and my new life doesn't include them.
It never will.
"Why?" Channing presses.
Instead of responding, I close my eyes, ready to sleep away the night's events.
***
The next morning, I'm momentarily confused when I wake in Channing's arms. He smells good, and his body is cozy and warm resting beside mine. It feels nice to wake up in his arms, but I'm also aware that there's only one reason that he's in my bed.
He wants answers.
"Morning," Channing murmurs, his voice a little rough from sleep.
I'm not sure how he knows that I’m not sleeping since I haven’t moved an inch upon waking, but I decide to remain silent. I had given into him last night, but this morning, my head is a little clearer. If I'm going to confide in anyone, it should be Quinn or Harper. Having sex with Channing doesn't automatically mean that he's trustworthy. At least not with my secrets.
Channing sighs, his breath stirring the hair along the crown of my head. "Talk to me, Ash."
I pull away from him, wanting some physical distance between our bodies. With a wide yawn, I turn onto my back and look up at the ceiling. "You already admitted that you don't want to care," I remind.
"Yet here I am, in your bed and asking for you to trust me."
"And what happens when you know all my secrets?" I boldly ask.
"What do you mean?" he asks, and I can hear the frown in his voice.
I sit up and turn to face him. He's still lying on his back, his dark hair tousled, and a shadow of whiskers lining his strong jaw. "Then what happens? Do you lose interest because the mystery is no longer there? I don't even know what’s happening between us. Are you trying to be my friend? Or more?" I ask, confusion seeping into my voice.
He hesitates, and his eyes slide from mine to look towards the window before gradually moving back to me. His gaze connects with mine, and I see a wealth of uncertainty mixed with determination. "Honestly, I don't know. About if I'm trying to be your friend or more," he clarifies. "I've never been this interested in a woman before. I want to get to know you more, but I also don't think of platonic when I think of you. As for whether I'll still be here for you once the mystery is gone, I can easily answer that. I'm friends with Harper, and I can be friends with you, too. I wouldn't discard you once I know whatever it is that you're hiding," he says with genuine earnestness.
His declaration chips away at the walls around my heart, and I look down to where my clasped hands are resting in my lap. Why does it feel so good to hear him say these things? Feeling like this is going to bring me nothing but trouble. Channing isn't offering me anything more than friendship, and even then, it has the possibility to hurt me.
When I hear Channing move, I look at him sharply and find that he's now sitting. "What are you so scared of?" he asks in a deliberate but coaxing tone.
The
look on his face warns me that he isn't going to back down from this conversation. I could keep running from it, but if I do, it's likely that he’ll want to find the answers for himself. What if he looks further into my past and stirs up something back in Philly? If Hayden or my father track me down, I know they'll insist on trying to bring me back home.
Damn it.
"I don't want things to change," I say reluctantly.
Confusion visibly slides across his handsome face. "How would it change?"
"You and everyone else would treat me differently. I don't want that," I tell him. I’m almost normal here, and I don't want to lose that.
His eyes search mine intently. "Ash, why would we treat you differently? Because of your job?" He shakes his head. "They're not going to care,” he assures.
"But you do!"
"Only because I don't think it's really what you want to be doing with your life," he counters lightly.
My eyes shift away from his as frustration begins to build within me. I don't want to be having this conversation with him, but I don't know how to shut it down. And if I do manage to shut it down, I'm worried about the consequences.
"What don't you want anyone to know?" Channing prods.
A lump has formed in my throat, and my chest aches. I can't hide it anymore. Very reluctantly, I lift my eyes and watch him closely—knowing that his reaction will determine my future in this house. "I have dyslexia," I whisper.
Channing's expression never wavers, and he simply nods. "Okay," he says and continues to look at me expectantly.
That's it? Why is he looking at me like there's more? Isn't that enough?
Comprehension dawns across his face. "Wait, is that what you're hiding? You're dyslexic?"
I tentatively nod.
He looks completely bewildered. "Why would you hide it?"
"I didn't want you guys to start treating me differently."
"Why would you think that?"
He doesn't seem fazed at all by my confession, and it enhances my confusion. Hayden and my family had considered it too great a flaw to accept.
Revolving Door Page 13