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It doesn’t take long for me to do the math. “That would have been one of the first shows I’d ever done,” I admit with a humourless laugh. “You should have waited. I got a lot better.”
“You were amazing already. The pole…”
“I was so frightened,” I confess in a low voice. Why am I telling him this? Why am I telling him anything? But I keep talking, like Maximus is a person who cares about things like if I’m afraid or upset or in pain.
The little voice inside me suggests maybe he does. I always tell that little voice to fuck right off, but for once, I’m listening.
“They gave me at least four shots of tequila,” I tell him. “But it didn’t do a thing. I was so tense—Paolo yelled at me before I went on, told me to loosen up or I’d look… He even offered to fuck me, thought it would relax me.”
“But when I saw you—”
“It all melted away when I got on stage. I knew what to do, and how to do it. I had them eating out of my hand. It was… a rush.”
“How did you start?”
I take a deep breath because this is the last thing I ever want to talk about.
And it’s usually the last thing anyone asks me. People assume I was a stripper because I wanted to show off my body. That I love sex. They never want to know about the person behind the breasts and beautiful body. The package that makes men so excited that they will pay exorbitant amounts to be seen with me, to show me off as arm candy. More to fuck me.
That’s all it is—fucking. Sex. It’s nothing about love, and most of the time I’m able to somehow transport out of my body so it’s not even me they’re inside.
“I danced, did gymnastics. After my mother died, my stepfather lost interest in being a parent to me. He was good with my half-brother and sister—thank god—but didn’t think much of me. I couldn’t blame him. I got a little wild, ran around with a bad crowd, drinking too much, the odd drug. I wasn’t much for school, always mouthing off—”
“He was your father,” Max says in a tight voice.
“Stepfather. He liked to remind me that he had no biological connection to me.”
“But he… he married your mother. He was the father of your brother and sister.”
I hold up a hand to stop his rant. “It was a long time ago. He…” I can’t tell him about Noelle and Christian or I’ll start to cry and this True Confessions is getting bad enough. “I left when I was sixteen. I spent an… an interesting year until the owner of Spider’s Den happened to see me goofing off in a park and offered me a job on the spot.”
“You were underage.”
“He didn’t care. But when I bought the club, and every other one I own, I made sure there’s no one under nineteen working there. I really cleaned them up.”
“Good for you.”
I shrug. “So that’s the story of how I became a dancer. Exotic dancer. Stripper—whatever you want to call it.”
“I call it fascinating.”
“It’s just a story.”
“But it’s your story, and I think everything about you is fascinating.” He grins, eyes creasing. “Crushing on you, remember?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m sure you can find a more suitable person to crush on.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Or is this just another way to piss off your daddy?” It was a nasty comment and I threw all my contempt behind it.
Only because I suspect I’m crushing on Max too, and the thought scares the hell out of me.
“I’m going to forget you said that,” he says in a mild voice.
“Why would you do that?”
“I think you know why. Can I kiss you?”
