Page 52 of Duty and Desire
No.
He hated it.
That was the guy he was.
Yes, my entire life just changed.
“Mo,” I called quietly.
His attention returned to my face.
“It’s gonna be okay,” I assured him.
That strong chin dipped again.
Okay.
Moving on.
“Do you want something to eat?” I asked.
“Tour,” he grunted, but he did it not looking around.
He needed to know the lay of the land.
But now I had another problem.
I was nervous.
Actually nervous.
I didn’t get nervous around guys.
Handsome. Confident. Built. Successful. Rich. It didn’t matter to me.
Were they funny?
That mattered.
Were they smart?
That mattered too.
Did they have goals in life and weren’t afraid to do the work to attain them?
That totally mattered.
Did they define me as a stripper in all that conveyed to the judgmental world who didn’t get I really couldn’t give that first fuck what people thought about what I did to make a (very good) living? Thus, they thought I was sleazy and easy and could get in my pants and then brag they tagged a stripper and not even remember my name?
That definitely mattered.
I couldn’t remember the last time I was nervous around a guy.
In fact, I didn’t think therewasa time I’d been nervous around a guy.
But I had this insane desire to play with my hair, was worried I’d trip when I turned around to guide him into my house, and worst of all, I was suddenly completely focused on not doing anything that would make him think I was a dork, an idiot, or anything the slightest bit unattractive.
Shit.
