Page 73 of Plaything

“Wyatt told me that you kind of went down a rabbit hole when I told you to Google BDSM,” she explained. She widened her eyes, “I just got eager and should have explained it better. In hindsight, never Google—especially images. That’s on me...” she cringed.

I shook my head, “I’m the one who asked over text, then assumed the worst,” I admitted.

“Still, I knew better. I was just excited about you. I’ve never seen them look at a girl the way they were looking at you that night,” she admitted.

Butterflies tickled my insides as I silently gushed over her explanation. Not wanting to keep the conversation on myself, I gave her a smile, “How did you and Collin meet?” I asked. They seemed like polar opposites when I met them.

At the mention of her husband’s name, she smiled. She giggled, “That’s a long story, but I’ll skip past the nitty gritty.”

I turned in the seat to face her, noting how happy she looked. For a moment, I saw a glimpse of Anna and how she looked when she talked about Henry.

She gave me a pointed look, “Disclaimer, this isn’t a sob story, so don’t give me a sad face, okay?” She chuckled, looking slightly nervous.

“All smiles over here,” I encouraged her.

“So when I was a teenager, I had a crappy life. Like really crappy. I moved out when I was sixteen and started stripping. The club was a run-down hole in the wall with creeps who gave horrible tips,” she said casually.

Reesia and I had wildly different upbringings. I was sure our definitions of crappy were very different.

“I was working every day from four in the evening to two in the morning. One day, when I was twenty, a big guy with a permanent scowl came in,” she grinned at her own description. “He was with a few other guys—not your guys; just go clarify!” She assured me. “A few of us girls were dancing that day, but I noticed he wouldn’t stop staring at me. This was normal, obviously, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something off,” she shrugged.

“He didn’t order anything. He didn’t say anything to his friends, and he barely moved. He wasn’t smiling and didn’t look happy to be there. After a while, I got annoyed and asked him what his problem was,” she glanced at me. “He stared at me for what felt like a lifetime before handing me a wad of cash—it was 845 dollars, more than I made in a month in that dump.”

“Without a word, he left. I remember being confused, shocked and intrigued. If a man handed over more than a ten-dollar bill, he expected additional services,” she said, pressing her lips together. I got the hint.

Engrossed in her story, I barely noticed her ordering us drinks and sandwiches at a drive-thru.

She spoke with her hands as she drove. “About a month went by, and he came in again. He sat alone in the back of the club. For two months straight, he would be there from four to two, watching me. He never smiled, he never ordered anything, he never said anything, and he always left me a huge tip.”

“One day, out of the blue, my manager told me someone requested a private dance from me. Only then did I realize that for the past two months, since Collin began watching me for my whole shift, no one else requested me. I’d grown accustomed to his eyes on me, and I expected him to be there when I showed up for work.”

“I can’t explain it, but I remember knowing he was waiting for me in that private booth. The private booths had curtains so no one else could see inside. But I knew. For the first time, I felt nervous. Until that point, I knew what men who requested private dances expected. I knew what I was getting myself into. But with him, I had no idea. He’d never touched me, never even said a word to me; now I’d have to be all alone with him in a small booth? I was ready to run,” she laughed.

“I love this story,” she grinned, making me smile.

“So, after ten minutes of freaking out, I finally got the courage to go into the booth. He was sitting there, waiting for me. As usual, I stood on the table and began dancing. I’d barely begun when he finally spoke. He said he didn’t want me to dance for him.” She sighed, “At that point, I thought I had him figured out. All those days he watched me, the tips, it was just so he could screw me—that’s what those booths were for, after all.” She rolled her eyes. “Assuming that’s what he wanted, I started removing my clothes. I was wrong again. He told me that he didn’t want that either.”

“Confused and feeling stupid, I finally let my months of pent-up annoyance out. I asked him what the hell he wanted from me.” Her eyes lit up, “He wanted to know my name, and he wanted to buy me lunch. That’s all he wanted,” she shrugged. “Obviously, I wasn’t going to go anywhere with a man that’d been watching me for months—I was kinda creeped out, you know. So I let him buy me a burger in the booth. He gave me his hoodie, and we just talked. My entire shift and the rest of the shifts I worked after that. Collin was always there to request a ‘private dance’ from me. We’d just sit and talk for hours.”

“One day, he asked me a question he’d probably been wondering from the moment he first saw me. He asked me if this was what I wanted to be doing. Obviously, it wasn’t; I was just out of other options. I couldn’t go home, and I was a dropout.”

“That was my last day working at the strip club. He never expected anything from me for all those months. He got me a job where I had my own desk, bought me new clothes, and let me stay in one of his extra bedrooms.”

“I fell in love with him before all that, though. I fell in love with the guy in the booth. I just didn’t think he loved me back—stupid, I know,” she laughed.

“What, you didn’t get the hint?” I teased. If I believed in the concept of love, I’d say that whatever Collin felt was similar to love at first sight.

“I was a stupid kid with low self-esteem, and he was a gorgeous hunk. The thought of him having any feelings for me was unthinkable.”

My heart ached for younger Reesia because I knew a version of that feeling. I couldn’t compare her past to mine, not by a long shot. I just had a shifty father, which seemed effortless compared to what she must have had to put up with.

“Long story short, I told him how I felt, and he said about damn time and gave me a ring,” she held up her left hand, showing a beautiful diamond wedding ring. “As cheesy as it sounds, Collin saved me. So, that’s how we met.”

“Sometimes, I still dance for him.”

For a few moments, I envied the far-off look in her eyes. I wasn’t jealous; on the contrary, I was actually very happy for her. I envied the fact that I’d probably never have that same expression when talking about someone. I envied that no one would have that expression when talking about me.

My envious moment ended and was replaced with a genuine smile, “I love that.”

---