Page 7 of Hitch
I look at everyone else—the customer at the other end of the tip rail and the regulars in the booth next to the stage—but the man’s scrutiny becomes a heat lamp warming me up, even as I look at everything,but him.
His gaze stays locked on me the entire time.
There’s a current riding through him, calling to that dark part of me.
But I know better. He’s dangerous.
Once the song is over, I scramble over to my tips, thank the customer sitting at the stage, then snatch that hundred-dollar bill without even acknowledging the monster from the cornfields. I’m supposed to dance for another song and take off my bra, but I don’t care. I need to get away from him.
I disappear behind the curtained door separating the stage from the dressing room. Taking the steps down to the tiled floor, I let out a deep breath. Nerves tumble in my brain, my temple pulsing with each anxious thought. On cue, one of the lightbulbs above my vanity goes out, another omen that it’shim.My stomach churns. I should reapply my makeup at this point in the shift, but my hands are trembling.
It’s him. I know it’s him.
I peek out of the door to the main floor and see him again. Pressure builds between my legs, sparks of anticipation rolling through my neck.
I’ve been good, haven’t I? I’ve kept my mouth shut.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” a male voice says from behind me.
I startle, slamming the door shut, and spin around to find the strip club’s owner, Todd. He runs a hand through his thick brown hair, then adjusts the collar of his usual uniform: a white button-up shirt, a shiny red vest, and black slacks. Though he’s the owner and not a bouncer, he’s trim and tall and has enough muscle on his bones to take out any idiot who tries to get handsy without our permission. I’ve always liked that about him; he’s not afraid to get involved when it comes to protecting his club.
But could he take my monster?
I squeeze my fists and shut my eyes. Why did I say ‘mymonster’? He’s notmymonster. He’samonster.Themonster. He’s not mine in any way, shape, or form.
“Don’t scare me like that,” I hiss at Todd.
I peel open the door again, but this time, when I scan the main floor, the monster is gone. I swallow a gulp. Blood races in my ears as I check the bar area frantically too. Where did he go? Is he going to kill me this time?
The monster’s angled jaw catches my eye, and for once, he’s not focused on me. I exhale slowly, then point to him, showing Todd my monster.
Themonster.Themonster.
“Who is he?” I whisper.
“Him?” he asks. “Duane? He’s a friend. Why? You know him?”
My stomach drops. That’s what you get living in a small town. Even if Stockton is technically a bigger city, it’s still a tiny world out there. Everyone knows everyone. And apparently, my bossknowsmy monster.
The monster.
“Kind of,” I say. “Duane? Duane who?”
“Duane Patrick. He owns Grainswept Fields.”
I wrinkle my nose, though I repeat the words in my head—Duane Patrick, Grainswept Fields—as if that trickle of information will help me somehow, exposing clues I didn’t know existed.
But nothing rings a bell.
“Is that a farm?” I ask.
“Yep. Between here and Oakdale.”
My cheeks flush. Oakdale. Where I used to live with my sugar daddy. Where my mom still lives.
Duane—themonster—twists in my direction, his eyes instantly locking me in their embrace. Warmth coaxes through my body, filling me up from my extremities back to my core, as if my entire nervous system is already itching for his touch. I dig my nails into my palms, irritated at myself for having this much of a reaction to him. It’s like my bodywantshim to dominate me again!
Another stripper passes between Todd and I, and I close the door quickly behind her, keeping Todd and I safe inside of the dressing room.
