Page 44 of The Price of Forever

“Don’t bring that Nebraska sass right now,” I warned him. “This will only come back to haunt you when that pole gets installed in the living room.”

His shoulders shook with repressed laughter and my heart swelled. I eyed him as I ate, relishing this unexpected afternoon of vulnerability and connection. My whole body grew warm and buzzy. But by the time our plates were empty, my heart was constricting again. Telling me this was unsafe, destined to bottom out, a waste of time.

I offered to wash the dishes and then retreated to my bedroom to collect my thoughts. I felt tapped out, and the day had barely begun. That wasn’t a good sign. So once my food digested, I focused on stretching and listening to music. Eventually, the playlist transitioned to upbeat electronica, which meant my workday prep had begun.

Straighten hair. Apply base makeup. Put on street clothes. Pack outfits for the shift. Get myself jazzed for an inordinate amount of extroversion. The standard workday checklist. By the time I stepped out of the bedroom, backpack slung over my shoulder, Seven was dressed to kill and waiting for me in the kitchen.

“You ready, Seven?” Please say ‘born ready’ so I can give you shit about it.

“I was birthed prepared.”

Laughter cascaded out of me. “That’s one way to get around saying ‘born ready.’”

“Gotta keep you on your toes.” He grabbed his apartment keys as he followed me out. The same warmth from earlier returned—seeping down to my bones, prompting the smile to linger on my face. We launched another staircase race—Seven fucking won, dammit—and then had a quick prework detour to City Hall Park to hunt for Pokémon—none found, unfortunately. But as for keeping me on my toes, Seven did exactly that again when he revealed he’d downloaded the gaming app and played right alongside me.

After I said my goodbye to Seven near the front of Gemstones, a strange chill whooshed through me. I liked having him at my side. A lot. More than I wanted to admit. I stewed over this fact and a lot of other confusing things while I got ready at the back of the house. I was still occasionally jittery whenever a redhead walked into the club; but I knew Seven’s presence would more than take care of Dustin if he dared show up again. I tried to tell myself that I was merely turned on by the solidness and security that Seven offered. But I knew deep down it was so much more than that.

I took my time, chatting with Roxie and some of the other girls, catching up on the new drama since I’d last been there twenty-four hours before. Apparently one of the newer dancers tried to make off last night without paying her cut to the house mom, which was a mortal sin at any club. Everyone tipped out Clara, our house mom. She kept us fueled and running, stocking up on protein bars, snacks, hydration drinks, and so much more so we didn’t wilt and die while we worked our asses off.

When it came time for me to go on stage, I gave myself a final once over in the full-length mirror. I’d chosen my standard transparent eight-inch heels—my favorite work shoes—and paired a shimmery black tutu with a bedazzled bikini top. A black thong to match, and plenty of skin in between. My makeup was dark and smoky, and my hair was pulled into a high, slick ponytail, stick straight. I loved that every night I looked completely different. A new character, a unique vibe. It satisfied my need to keep things fresh and interesting.

But as the music thumped and my performance unfolded, I knew tonight was different. I had a lot of pent-up energy. All that sexual frustration from living with Seven was coming to the surface. I danced more passionately, more intensely. I was sweating within minutes, and that wasn’t normal. I tried new things in my routine that I didn’t normally include.

The clapping and hollering for “Sapphire!” boomed through the club as I performed, louder than usual. I tried to keep an eye on Seven, but it was hard under the lights while he was bathed in darkness. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel him. The energy seemed to crackle through the air between us. Could he feel that connection too?

I ended my performance on my knees in a sweaty puddle. My chest heaved as I struggled to gather the floating cash and receive the adulation being hurled my way. Once I tottered off the stage, I was swarmed by men wanting to book me. The owner, Eddie, stepped in to help organize the requests. I watched over his shoulder as he filled out the tablet that held our VIP room reservations.

The docket filled up. Almost my entire shift was already spoken for. The thought of not being able to connect with Seven the whole night, not even for a little banter, struck cold fear into me. The night seemed interminable, and I was already aching for more Seven. Before Eddie could finalize the list, I touched his arm gently.

“Hey, I need you to put someone in the VIP room for me,” I told him. “My friend, Seven.”

Eddie nodded. He knew that Seven was something of a security detail for me. I’d worked it out that Seven didn’t have to pay each night, and he wasn’t on the hook for purchasing drinks or packages with the girls. It had been the only way to make this arrangement work. When Eddie asked why I had the babysitter, I explained that a recent attack had changed things. He didn’t press for more details, and I didn’t provide them.

“Who’s covering?” he asked as his fingers swiped across the screen, entering Seven into the VIP lounge slot.

“I will. It’s a gift.”

He hefted with a laugh. “Nice gift. I got him in. Go get ’em, girlie.”

I took a deep breath, readying myself for the first VIP room booking of the night. Only a few Random Johns to make it through before Seven and I could get some time to ourselves.

I knew it was a bad idea, or possibly just a stupid idea. But I had to try.

Under the purple lights, freedom swirled, lifting me into my most powerful form. Like I could do anything—even seduce the one man who seemed immune to seduction.

This was my chance to push the envelope, and I had to take it.

CHAPTER TEN

SEVEN

Three hours of playing guard dog outside this damn VIP room.

I’d spent many more hours in worse places, but damn, this shit was boring. I didn’t let it distract me from the task, though. Vigilance was always the priority. Any flash of red hair, any gaze that lingered too long on Jordan, anyone who seemed even remotely inclined to consume too much of her attention: I was ready to intervene.

Jordan’s performance that night had been…I didn’t even know how to describe it. I could have nutted in place, but the sheer embarrassment of being a wallflower in a strip club, coming in his pants, prevented me. It was breathtaking. It was compelling. It was too good—and now her VIP bookings list was a mile long, and I was the one who got to watch countless men wander off looking dazed and satisfied.

I checked my watch. Three more hours of this: standing around, wondering just what Jordan was doing in there, trying not to imagine what her bare breasts would feel like in each of my hands. I squeezed my eyes shut, pinching the bridge of my nose. The damn strip club hormones were getting to me again.

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