Page 16 of Sexy Bad Escort

“What amI going todo?”

Heglances at me, his eyesbrightening. “I’ve got this.”

“Thelast time you said that—”

“Whenare you going to tell your family thatwe’re together?” he asks, loudly enough that mymother can hear from outside the house.

My pulsestutters andbegins torace.Ohshit. He can’t be serious.“Danny, she’ll hear you.”

“That’sthe point,” he whispersbefore raising his voice again. “I know it’s only been afew weeks, but I don’t want to keep our relationship a secret. Justbecause I’m younger than you doesn’t mean we should hideit.”

“Stop it.” Iclap my hand over his mouth as the front door bangs. “You’re makingthings more awkward.”

Graspingmy hand, he drags it down to his chest. “No, I’m getting yourmother off your back for the indefinite future. Plus, I’m not a huge fan of jocks.Well, except for Garrett, of course.”

“Danny,”I plead with him, but he’s so close and his chest is so warm undermy hand. His Adam’sapple bobs and that draws my attention upward, to his gazeon my lips, making them dry. I have to run the tip of my tongueover them because it feels like a small electrical current isrunning through them.

“Catch,” hewhispers.

“Wha—”His hand sneaks up on my hip, holding me still as he drifts hislips over mine. They’refirm and supple all at the same time. Cheeky, too, the way he nipsat my bottom lip, making me want to open to him. My hand on hischest turns into a fist, crushing the fabric of his shirt as heslips his tongue between my lips.

“You twoare together?”

Christ, my mother is in the room. That’s my mother. Shit.I push him back and break offthe kiss we barely began. “Danny, my mother.”

“Wonderfulwoman. I like her. Not as much as I like you.”

“No. Mymother. She’s watching.”

“Oh,right.” He stumbles overthe words while he shoves a hand through his hair in a way thatmakes it hard to tell if he’s still enacting this ridiculous planor if that kiss was as real as it felt. “I guess we’rebusted.”

CHAPTER FIVE

DANNY

Tonight’s date is with Donna. She’s been datinga stripper named Sam, but theyrecently had a falling out. Donna’s going to be with her girls at abar where Sam has a gig, and she’s paying me to show up, hit onher, and shower her with attention, basically make Sam jealousenough to realize he’s better off with her than without.

And I’mnot feeling it. It’s thefirst time since Ronnie and I started this business that I’mstruggling.

It’sprobably that damn kiss. No, scratch that, itisthe kiss. Ronnie’s lips, pressed to mine for thebriefest and yet sweetest of seconds. The taste of her plump bottomlip as I nibbled on it is still in my mouth, still in my head.Messing with my mojo. Which is annoying as fuck because I’veperfected the art of not letting anything get to me, so how thehell has one little kiss accomplished the task?

I stepinto the club and headstraight for the bar. It’s one of those places that attracts theyounger set. Lots of flashing lights, cages set up on either sideof the dance floor where patrons can pay to make a spectacle ofthemselves by dancing for the crowd’s enjoyment. The DJ’s setup iselaborate, a story above the rest of the club, so she can lord overthose she’s enticing into bouncing to the beat until they’redripping with sweat.

Thereare a series of alcoves set off from the dancefloor, where smallgroups can rent space, hold semi-private parties, and do thingslike hire strippers for the bachelor or bachelorette or birthdaygirl-slash-boy. During our pre-meeting earlier today, Donna told meSam does private parties on occasion, but the bulk of his incomecomes from working in this club. The men and women who frequentthis place pay and tip well. I suppose that bodes well for me,assuming I can get through this job.

Becauseall I really want to do is head over to Ronnie’s apartment and begher to speak to me faceto face, to work through whatever the hell happened between us thatSunday afternoon at her parents’ house.

ExceptRonnie isn’t taking my calls, has thus far refused to answer herdoor. She emailed me the details for this particular date, with asuggestion that wecommunicate in this way moving forward. I almost typed back that Iquit, except this is her sole form of income, and unlike me, sheactually wants to do something productive with her life.

I ordera shot of Patrón, andthe tender places before me a purple shot glass filled with amberliquid, a shaker of salt, and a wedge of lemon. Almost listlessly,I lick my hand, pour the salt, down the shot, and then suck thelemon into my mouth, relishing the tang along with the burn thatalmost instantly helps to push away the bout of nerves I don’tusually feel.

This isthe easiest job I’ve had to date, so I’m not sure why I’m so damn on edge. The onlyexpectation is to flirt with Donna—piece of cake for a guy like me,who’s an expert at hitting on girls to get them to buy my drinks inbars—pretend to give her my number, and leave.

Leaningagainstthe bar, I scanmy surroundings, easily spot Donna and crew clustered around ahigh-top table near the dance floor. There’s a smattering of emptyshot glasses on the table, and they’re all giggling likeschoolchildren as they head out onto the parquet to get jiggy withit.

Sam’seasy to spot, too.Theleather vest, oiled skin, and tear-away pants are a dead giveaway.He’s only a few feet away, seemingly lounging against the bar.There’s a beer near his elbow, but he’s appeared to have forgottenit in favor of staring at his ex-girlfriend and crew. I wave downthe bartender, point at Sam and tell her to pour him another andadd one for me, and then I head his way.

“Hey,” Isay, lifting the mugclosest to me.

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