Page 8 of Perfect Boy

Take charge, Tiny Dancer. I find it fucking hot.

“Okay,” I say, nodding. “Anything else?”

“Yeah. When we come up with a time, don’t be late. I can’t be waiting on you.”

“Trust me, I’m never late,” I assure her. “Now…can I have your number or…”

I hold my phone out to her, and she takes it before handing me her own.

She narrows her eyes. “You can, but don’t be sending me dick pictures, okay?”

“Is that, like…something people do when they are partnered up?” I raise an eyebrow before typing my number in her phone while she does the same in mine.

“You’re a hockey player. I know how much you guys like to snap a photo of the ol’ dick in hand pose. You know, the one you do because you think it will make it look bigger.” She hands me back my phone, and she takes her own and stuffs it into her pocket. “I don’t want to see it. So, don’t send it. Unless you want it posted all over campus with your number next to it.”

I hold my hands up. “Deal. No dick in hand pictures.”

Taking a step back, she jerks her chin upward. “Enjoy the rest of your day, hockey boy.”

“You too, Tiny Dancer.” I wave, and she slowly turns, heading out the door and away from me.

Something tells me this is going to be fun. And that my little crush I’ve had on her for the past few weeks won’t be anything compared to how I’ll feel after working with her for weeks.

Step one is to make Ryann Denver stop hating me.

Challenge accepted.

5

Ryann

Iwrap my palm around the cool metal bar and extend my arm, letting my head fall back. I swing around the pole before dropping my body down and bringing it back up. It’s a slow night tonight. No one is here besides old pervs and a few businessmen with their hair slicked back. It certainly isn’t going to be a record-breaking shift in earnings—that’s for sure.

I mindlessly move my body to the sultry beat of the song that blares through Peaches. My shift is over in twenty minutes, and I’m counting the seconds. I’m tired. After a day stacked with classes and dance practice, my feet are screaming that they hate me and need a rest. Pretty sure they want to detach from my body and go latch on to a couch potato instead of a crazy person like me.

I can’t believe I’m going to be working with Watson Gentry. What a cruel message from the universe when all I’m trying to do is swear off athletes and keep to myself. Also, could the timing be worse, being paired up with him after I was a bitch when he was trying to make me his next booty call? Now, I have to spend time with him. Hopefully, after our little chat about the no sex and no dick pics, he got the message. He might play the nice, quiet guy, but I’m sure, deep down, he’s just like all the other jocks here at Brooks.

I suppose I’m about to find out for sure though.

As I move on autopilot through the rest of my shift, my mind travels to my little sister. Images of her at home, all alone, and likely feeling pretty down. My mom would never lay a finger on her children, but sometimes, I think neglect can hurt just as much.

The only thing that keeps me from driving to Canada right now and staying by her side is the fact that I really do believe my being here will give her a better future. Because if I can land a gig in the city, like I’m hoping, I can get her the hell away from the place where we grew up. Canada is beautiful. And if my circumstances had been different, I don’t think I would have ever wanted to leave. But that isn’t my reality. And where I grew up holds so many painful memories for both Riley and me. One day, we’ll get our fresh start, and it’ll be in an entirely different country than where our mother is.

She and her boyfriends won’t be able to hurt us anymore.

I might have forged my way into the United States, but I did it out of pure desperation. And I’d do it again too.

I snap back into the present when I spy a group of football players coming through the entrance, and I’ve never been so thankful to have my shift end. Sometimes, having complete strangers watch me, even if I am almost naked, is easier than having the eyes of the campus players—who I have to actually see at Brooks—raking over every inch of my body, not knowing I’m a fellow student. To them, I’m just someone to put in their spank bank.

I wonder how many times Denton came here when we were dating. At the time, I didn’t even know the place existed.

I head toward the exit that leads to the break rooms and changing areas. Hudson, one of the main bodyguards at Peaches, opens the door, letting me through.

“Ryann,” he mutters, giving me his best greeting.

As gorgeous as he is, he’s also a little terrifying. I’ve also never seen the dude smile. But I’ve heard he’s into some underground fight club shit. And looking at him, it’s hard not to think he probably dominates.

“Hudson,” I say, giving him a small smile. “See you next shift.”

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