Page 2 of The Price of Forever

“You can walk on those?” He snorted, and an unpleasant waft of body odor reached me across the cool, humid morning. “Did you have to take classes or something?”

“It’s not really important.”

“Something like that kinda makes you look like a stripper,” he said.

I grimaced. I was a stripper. No kinda about it. An actual, real-live, full-on stripper.

“So do you dance in these?” he barreled on. His elbow jostled mine again, and my annoyance was breaking through to resentment. We’d been Pokémon buddies. That was it. He didn’t need to know shit about my life, and I didn’t talk about things I wasn’t ready to share.

I pushed my stride as fast as I could. Luckily, I was toned as fuck, and Dustin was huffing soon enough. These were the benefits of becoming a serpent on the pole two to three nights per week, as well as walking the equivalent of five miles each day—and in eight-inch heels on occasion. I hadn’t even broken a sweat. Dustin was flushed.

The sign for my subway station loomed up ahead. Canal Street. I popped a hand up—“Bye, Dustin!”—and took the steps two at a time, my footsteps echoing off the damp walls.

“We should really hang out more,” Dustin called, peering down the staircase. His voice became softer as I sped away. “I can help you find that Snorlax and we can chill after!”

Oh, right. Snorlax and chill. Honestly, it sounded like my dream date. But not with Dustin. Not with anyone.

I didn’t know who I was truly fit for in this world. It seemed like the answer was nobody. And maybe my role in life was just to become okay with that.

I raced through the tunnels to the waiting train and skated through the doors just before they closed. I grabbed the nearest pole and stayed put—no spinning this early, thank you very much. It was a quick morning ride. I popped my earbuds in, though I wasn’t listening to anything. It was more of a fuck you I’m busy warning to anyone who tried to talk to me.

It didn’t matter how dressed down I got. How hunched I became, or how much I tried to blend into my surroundings. The creepers always arrived, the men sniffing for something more. The weirdest part was that these guys didn’t even know I worked as a stripper at night.

What was the tip-off? My immaculate eyebrows? The falsies I had in place for tonight’s shift at the club? I couldn’t tell, and it irked me.

All I wanted was to be left alone.

The train rumbled through one stop before I got off at the next station, unapproached on the train. Score. My morning job, barista at Black & Brewtiful, was filed away in the Regular portion of my life. It’s what I did to feel normal. Why yes, I can hold a regular job interacting with the public! Based on the money I made stripping, I didn’t need this job. But it was smart to have savings in the city.

I had nobody else looking out for my ass. Only me. I needed to be not only smart, but ahead of the game.

I breezed through the doors. The blast of coffee bean and mocha coated me in a pleasant bubble, bringing a smile to my face. As soon as I crossed the threshold, my coworkers’ faces lit up.

“Hey, Jordie!” Mitchell tipped his head toward me as he steamed some milk.

“Jordan’s here, the party can begin!” Lillith announced to the person she rang up, winking my way.

A few regulars beamed at me as I glided toward the back room, waving at everyone. It was almost eight on a Thursday morning; a hefty line meant I needed to drop my things and clock in fast. Once I’d stowed my things and punched my time, I paused by the swinging doors to give myself a once-over in the mirror. I pulled my dirty-blonde hair back into a quick ponytail, checking that my morning makeup still looked good—a simple lip gloss and basic eyeliner to make my blue-gray eyes pop. They reminded me of Kaylee’s eyes—it was one of the ways I still felt connected to my big sister, even though she’d passed away a decade ago. I entered the fray, scanning the coffee shop to see who was here.

But this time, it wasn’t because I feared for my life every second inside these walls. It was a safe spot for me. At least, it had been.

Until my brothers Axel and Damian showed up last week, along with the older guy Trace they also called a brother. Well, I hoped they never expected me to do the same.

Every shift I worried they’d come back.

I squeezed Lillith’s shoulders as I sidled past her, snapped Mitchell’s apron string, then busied myself at the espresso machine. We fell into a quick rhythm, cranking through customers more quickly with three of us. I had a quip and a smile for every person I saw. New York was chaos and volume, which I thrived on. No, required. It was one of the only ways to get my thoughts to quiet down. I needed to be busy, or I needed bass thumping so loud I couldn’t think about all the shit that threatened to drag me under.

My brothers might not drag me under now, but they had certainly never thrown me a life preserver when I fucking needed it most.

Time melted away as the three of us took orders and served coffee. I bumped hips with Mitchell, laughed raucously with Lillith while grinding beans. I barely noticed the door jingle each time a new arrival came in anymore. Except for one newcomer in particular, right after the morning rush started to die down.

“Oh, he’s back,” Mitchell murmured, wiggling his perfectly sculpted eyebrows my way as he tipped his head toward the front door. Then he ran his tongue along his top lip. “Mitchell likey.”

I laughed, my gaze sliding to the newest arrival. He walked deeper into the coffee shop, his fists bunched as he scanned the room. Brawny, tall, impossibly built, which was obvious in a way I couldn’t even explain. I just knew that if I tore off his button-up shirt and black slacks, I’d find pure steel beneath. Hills for biceps. Thighs with muscled cliffs. His dark, nearly black hair was clipped short at the sides, almost buzzed, and longer near the top. Though he was dressed like an office worker, the squareness of his shoulders suggested something far different than office work.

A shiver raced through me. I gulped. His head moved like the Terminator as he looked around the shop. He came toward the line, finally sliding his hands into his pockets and relaxing a modicum. Veins popped along his forearms, sending a very hot spiraling sensation through my core.

Haven’t felt that in a long time.

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