Page 39 of Watch Me

It’s been almost two weeks since he cheated on me and left without so much as a word of courtesy—not even a goodbye, let alone a sorry. Yet he has the nerve to show up here at my strip club, flanked by his posse? Whatever the purpose of this visit is, it doesn’t look like an apology, and as I walk over to the table, my heart is in my throat.

Last time Tate was in the strip club, I’d had one inappropriate interaction with his father and I was worried he’d found out. This time it’s so much worse. His father’s cum is still inside me. Once again, I find myself praying that Tate is in the dark.

I don’t bother with any niceties. “I’m surprised to see you here,” I say to Tate directly, ignoring his friends.

“Are you?”

And there it is. A snide tilt of the head. The mocking smiles on his friends’ faces. This is going to be Tate at his most asshole. Again.

“What do you want?”

“I want a lap dance.” He smiles, a cold, serpentine curve to his mouth. One of his friends snickers. “I thought we could talk while you get me off.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Well, that doesn’t matter, does it, sexy?” says the other friend, trailing his hand up my thigh and cupping my ass. “It’s your job.”

I swivel in his direction and smack his hand off of me. Then I see Tate turn and look directly to where our security guard, Patrick, is handling a drunk customer at the door. He knew exactly where he was. He has security scoped out in advance, which feels sinister.

Tate’s not a bad-hearted guy. I really don’t think so. He squints and waves at dogs on the street, and he likes to hold hands. The Fault in Our Stars is his favorite movie. But there’s this bro side to him that maybe I just never saw before. An ugliness that comes out when he’s angry.

And these two clowns certainly don’t help.

I scowl at his friends. He’s probably acting worse with them here as an audience.

“It’s actually not my job to deal with slime bags like you,” I tell his friend. “Tate, I think you and your friends should leave.”

Before I have a chance to turn on my heel, Tate cuts his eyes quickly in Patrick’s direction and then reaches out and grabs my wrist.

“Hey!” I pull my hand back, but Tate doesn’t loosen his grip.

Customers at other tables turn and look, but no one does anything.

“I just want to talk,” he says more earnestly. “Please, Zoë. Can we go somewhere for a minute?”

Now it’s my turn to look over at Patrick. He’s got his back to us, towering over a rough-looking guy in a tank top who could use a shave and pointing angrily towards the door. Jesus. I have half a mind to scream to get his attention but I can’t quite bring myself to do it. Making a scene would be embarrassing, and I can already feel people’s eyes on us.

Besides, I don’t know what Tate wants to talk about—either he wants to apologize for cheating on me, or he found out about me and his dad. Either way, it’s probably a conversation that’s more comfortable in private for me as well.

“Fine,” I bite out. “Just let go of my wrist.”

I scan the room, looking for somewhere to go. Somewhere private but not too private. Somewhere Patrick can see us if he ever gets a moment to look out for the girls again. I spot a break in the crowd near the hallway to the washroom and lead Tate to it.

“I want to buy a lap dance,” he says again when we get there.

“No fucking way,” I answer.

“What, you won’t let me pay for something I used to get for free?”

Tate’s drunk. Standing in front of him, I can see how unfocused his eyes are and smell the beer on his breath.

“Why are you here, Tate? It’s not bad enough that you cheated on me, now you need to come sexually harass me at work, too?”

“Sexually harass you!” He actually sputters in disbelief. “Sexually harass you? I hate to break it to you, Zoë, but you’re a sex worker. So, yeah, I had sex with someone else, too. How does that even matter? How is that even a drop in the ocean compared to the fact that you were here cheating on me every night?”

“I never cheated on you!” I flinch, hearing the lie.

I never had sex with anyone else when we were together. It’s different… right?

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