Page 8 of Watch Me

I’ve wanted a big love for so long. Not the unsatisfying hookups and dumb boys who play games or won’t commit that have defined my entire romantic life up until that point. And Tate…

Tate is different… right?

This is love… isn’t it?

“That would be amazing,” I finally say, surprisingly hesitant for someone at one of the joyful milestones of her life.

But it would be amazing.

And convenient.

I look around the space. Even though it’s strewn everywhere with Tate’s mess and chaos, even though it’s a basement in his father’s house, it’s a sophisticated space. The whole floor is open concept, spanning the entire footprint of the huge house above. Eight white columns provide structural support. And the back wall is all windows, looking out at the forest behind the house—beautiful, leafy, and private.

“Perfect.” He claps his hands together and then reaches out for me. “Now come back to bed.”

I resist for a moment and then roll my eyes as I let him drag me down onto the mattress beside him. He wraps a hand around my shoulder, pulling me into the space between his arm and his chest as if we’re going back to sleep.

“Hey,” I murmur, running a hand over his chest and then down his stomach. “I’m still going to work, you know.”

“No,” he laughs plaintively. “You don’t have to work anymore.”

“Tate.” I try to filter the exasperation out of my tone—too late, it comes across anyway. “I like my job.”

“You like your job?” he scoffs. “Babe, you’re a stripper.”

Every muscle in my body tenses up. “Tate.”

“I know, I know. Sorry.” He sighs and props himself up on one elbow, giving me his full attention. It’s a small gesture, but I appreciate it. We’ve had this conversation before. “It’s like dancing, I get it. You just work so hard, and I want to make things easier for you. If you live here, you know, there’s no rent. You’ll save money. It might be nice to just… slow things down, you know?”

The anger that rose so quickly inside of me softens and releases. Tate says the wrong thing sometimes. He’s a guy. He thinks he’s being funny, and he doesn’t always know how things come across. I’m going to have to learn to be more patient with him if we’re going to live together.

“Everything’s riding on the audition for me right now,” I say more gently. It’s nice to look into his dark brown eyes, to speak vulnerably and not have him turn away or get distant. “It’s just a busy time. But I still need money for the studio, for the gym, for everything it takes to get by. I need to work in the meantime. Until I see how the audition goes.”

“Mm-hm.” He’s still watching me, but his attention already feels like it’s receding. “I know, babe.”

I want to pull him back to me. I want to feel that connection that was right there for us, so close to the surface. I skim my hand around his neck and tilt my head up to kiss him, and when he kisses me back, instead of pulling away, I melt with relief.

We’ll be okay.

We just need to find our rhythm, to make it through these next few months until my audition, and then we’ll have a better idea of where everything will land. I run a hand down his bare back, and to my surprise, he moves in tighter against me, his kiss becoming deeper.

My senses jump to a new awareness like an alarm bell has gone off.

Attention! We have arousal! The man is turned on!

I’m affected instantaneously. My heart skips, my breathing becomes heavier, and suddenly I’m pushing myself up and over him, straddling him. You’d think I’d never met a horny man before, which couldn’t be further from the truth for a woman in my line of work.

He grunts a laugh as I grind myself against him. “My girlfriend the stripper,” he says with a grim smile, lifting his hands and placing them behind his head.

I smile cutely, batting my eyelashes.

Guilty as charged.

Being a stripper is a professional education in being sexy. I wish that made Tate feel lucky. I know how to move to turn him on, how to act. Night after night, hundreds of men pay just to watch me, to fantasize about me, to dream of being with me the way Tate is.

Men like… Nick.

A flash of heat goes through me as the memory pops unbidden into my mind. How it felt to move against his body, how his hands felt against my skin. The raw sexual energy between us. It was wrong to feel that with someone else, but maybe I can correct it now by feeling that way with Tate. Maybe it’s not that I’m a bad, lascivious person, maybe it’s just that by hiding what turns me on, I’m keeping part of myself from him.

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