Page 201 of Irreversible

Thanks, Mom.“Wonderful. I was wondering how you found me.”

“But this isn’t about the dancing. It’s about modeling—about stepping back into the industry.”

I reach for my chopsticks, a flimsy excuse to avoid looking directly at him. “I appreciate that, but I’m done with modeling. It’s not for me.”

“And stripping for men is?” he counters, his voice edged with a note I can’t quite place.

Heat creeps up my neck. “The club gives me a sense of control…something I didn’t have for a long time.”

He huffs lightly, leaning back. “Modeling can offer the same. With your clothes on, no less.”

“There’s no control in modeling. People telling me what to wear, how to pose, how to smile…” My defenses spike. “If you dragged me here to judge me, I’ll save you the dinner bill.”

Jasper sighs, his shoulders relaxing, like he’s softening, but his eyes don’t quite match. “No. I’m not judging you. I’m just offering a different perspective. A door’s been left open for you, and it leads somewhere…let’s say, respectable.”

“Respectable,” I echo, my tone sharp.

“Trevor Scott—the influencer from Miami,” he says. “He’s been working with Abner on a new clothing line, and they both think you’d be a perfect fit for an upcoming runway show.”

I can still remember Trevor’s business card tucked inside my lace stocking that night. The night they took me. “I told you I’m retired.”

“You’re hardly past your prime.”

“I’m retired for personal reasons.”

“Please.” He shifts forward, eyes locked on mine. “Think about it. I can help you start over. We could?—”

“Iamstarting over,” I say, my voice hardening. “But there is no ‘we.’ We’re divorced. And you have a girlfriend.”

His face falls, as if the reminder stings. He loosens his tie, his gaze dropping to the table. “As I mentioned, things with Allison are strained.”

“Strained because of me?” I ask, tilting my head. “Let’s not rewrite history here. I left so we could move on, and we’re all the better for it.”

He fiddles with his cufflink. “Not a single one of us is better for it. We’re all destroyed, crawling through the aftermath on our hands and knees.” Off my startled look, he shakes his head, his throat rolling. “Ali is a mess. Reclusive, sad, and unreachable.”

Tears threaten, stinging the backs of my eyes. My breath snags with empathy. “If you think I’m glad to hear that, I’m not,” I choke out. “It hurts to hear that.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you, baby—” His eyes widen a fraction, the nickname falling out unbidden. He bites at his lip, looks away. “Sorry. Fuck… I didn’t mean?—”

“It’s fine.” I squeeze the chopstick like it’s my tether to reality. Something to ground me.

Baby.

I used to love it when he called me that. There was nothing unique about the term of endearment, but it was mine.

Ours.

Now, the nickname crawls through me like splinters under my skin.

I crave a different voice and a different name—Bee.

“Old habit,” Jasper adds, looking mortified. He skims both hands through his slicked-back hair. “I’m sorry. I’m only trying to?—”

Just then, a waiter approaches, and Jasper takes the lead, ordering for both of us: sushi rolls, edamame, and two glasses of wine. I feel strangely like I’m observing the scene from outside, watching the little pleasantries and gestures that once felt so familiar.

When the waiter leaves, Jasper clears his throat, taking a sip of his Pinot noir. “Are you sleeping with that guy?”

“What?” My pulse races at the shift in topic. “That’s none of your business.”

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