Page 4 of Driving My Obsession

“You can’t get something for nothing.” He growls as he reaches down and squeezes my ass until it hurts.

Oh, fuck you,I think. I shrug away from his touch and wrap my long jacket around me, then stuff the money into my pocket and slip my feet into the flats I keep below the desk. “See you tomorrow, Jake,” I say with the fakest pleasantry I can muster. I brush past him, but he stops me, reaches into my pocket, and takes out a large chunk of my money. I ball my hand into a fist at my side to keep myself from snatching back what belongs to me. “What’s that for?”

“My cut. Now get going, sweet cheeks.”

I can’t respond, not because I can’t think of something to say—I haveplentyto say—but because I don’t want to give him a reason to put me in a more precarious situation than I’m already in. Until I can afford a car, I’m stuck here. Each day chipping away more of my soul than the last.

He waves me off, and I head out the back door. I try to snag an Uber, but there aren’t any available. Probably because of the sports game that’s ending right around now. I consider going back inside and sucking Jake’s dick for a ride home, but I can’t.

Another dancer steps outside to smoke a cigarette in her car. She’s almost done for the evening, so maybe she can give me a lift to my house if I wait around until her last dance. I shuffle toward her car and tap on the window.

When she looks up at me, her face shifts from friendly to disgusted. “What do you need?”

The other girls don’t like me, and I wish I could say it’s a problem of my own making. That would be easier than the truth. If I had some horrible character flaw, I could work to improve myself, but I can’t fix the disdain they feel because Jake hovers over me like a fly on shit. They probably think I make more money, which would be a valid reason to hate me as much as they do, but that isn’t the case. I probably make less than they do, especially on nights like tonight when I’ve pissed off Jake.

“Any chance you could give me a lift home when you get off?” I ask. “I can give you a few bucks to cover the gas if it’s out of your way.” I happen to know it’s not out of her way by much, but I hope my offer will sweeten the deal.

“Sorry, can’t do it,” she says with a flick of her cigarette. “My man is home with the kids, and I don’t have time to travel all over town if I want to get back before they drive him insane.”

Her shitty apartment is less than a mile from my trailer. That’s hardly driving “all over town.” But I don’t argue. What’s the point? “Oh, okay. Thanks anyway,” I say.

I return to the road and throw my thumb into the air to flag someone down. Hitchhiking was surprisingly normal where I grew up. If someone needed a ride, you gave them a ride in the spirit of helping your neighbor. Here in New York, it’s a different story. The cars just whiz by as if I don’t exist at all.

A cool breeze bites at my thighs, and I pull my jacket tighter. When no one stops after fifteen minutes, I decide to wait a bit and see if the buzz from the game dies down. I walk back to the side of the building and slide down the wall. I watch as men and couples enter and leave.

With a deep sigh, I check the app once more and find no sign of a ride option anytime soon. The back door slams and Jake walks out, counting his money and pretending I don’t exist. He’s my only option, and I hate that he is.

When I don’t speak, he finally looks down at me. “What? You couldn’t find a ride?”

My cheeks burn. “No. Can you please take me home?” I hate begging. I’d walk, but my feet are so mangled, and it’s far enough that I’d never make it. Not before I had to hitch another ride just to come back here.

“What will you give me for a ride? How desperate are you?”

I take some cash from my pocket and wave it near him. He understands the language of money, but it’s not the language he wants to speak tonight. My eyes ease down his body until I land on the hard mass pressing against his jeans. I shiver.

“Can’t you just be nice for once?” I ask. Nothing about his undersized palm-tree t-shirt and gold chains screams “nice guy,” but a girl can dream.

“Here’s the deal, sweets. A hand job will get you halfway home. Put your mouth on me, and I’ll take you all the way.”

He’s just as desperate as I am, but he has the bargaining chip I lack: his fucking car. I refuse to put my mouth on him, but a hand job beats walking the entire way.

“Take me halfway,” I say with a drop of my gaze.

He leads me to his BMW, and I get inside. The fancy leather sticks to the backs of my legs. The moment he sits down, his hands go for the button on his pants. He’s not wasting any time, but I’m frozen in place, unable to move my hand toward his exposed dick.

“Well, come on. I want payment in full before we pull out of this parking lot.”

I shake my head. “Not here, Jake.” Not where we work. I don’t want any of the other girls to get wind of this. It’s bad enough they already think I’ve fucked him. That he favors me. I don’twantthat attention from him. I don’t wanthim.

“Put your hand on my dick, baby, or get the fuck out of my car.” The tone of his voice shifts, and the second half comes out aggressive and raw, as if the choice to leave isn’t really a choice any longer.

I glance at the parking lot once more before I reach over and put my hand on his dick. The flesh there is warm and sweaty, like an armpit. A similar smell wafts toward my nose, and I nearly swallow my tongue as my stomach lurches. God, he’s vile.

The moment I touch him, he groans as if he’s been waiting for this. For any kind of touch from me. I stare at the rotating light tracing each letter in the Purple Lounge sign. My hand moves on his lap until he thrusts his hips up into my hand and calls me baby on repeat. Warm beads of come squirt from his head and dribble down my hand, and I look away. If I puke, he’ll definitely fire me. I swallow the vomit creeping up my throat.

His sweaty hand winds through my hair. “Let’s get you home, baby,” he says, a satiated lilt to his voice. He has a more giving attitude once he comes, it seems.

I wipe my hand on a napkin I find on the floorboard and put my hands in my lap. Degrading acts are just something I need to get used to. For now.

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