Page 10 of Driving My Obsession

I purposely avoid scanning the crowd. What is there to see aside from unhappy husbands and misogynists? At least we get some young couples on the weekends. People who aren’t so hard on the eyes. People who are desperate for a new experience, not these perverts who are only here to fill their mental spank banks.

But someone in the corner catches my eye.

The leather jacket looks familiar, and I swear I see bandages on his hands. The shadows shield him from view and the lights flashing over my face make it more difficult to make out details, but I think it might be the guy from a few nights ago.

I mentally shake my head.Can’t be. Can it?

I spin around the pole and try to get a better look, but a man waves a bill toward me and begs me to focus on him. Needing money more than I need to satisfy my curiosity, I lean toward his outstretched hand and offer him a bright smile as I relieve him of his cash.

It’s a twenty. Shit. Jake has rules for us by denomination. The more they pay, the more we must play.

I sit on the stage in front of the guy, spread my thighs, and tuck the twenty into the crotch of my panties. I bring his head down and let him snatch the money with his teeth. It’s hard to control the roll of my eyes, but I manage. I lean over and take the edge of the bill between my lips, then spit it onto the floor behind me as I stand up. I don’t let it touch my tongue. Not after it’s been graced by God knows how many pussies, tits, and assholes.

The song ends and I look toward the dark corner of the club. The mystery man is gone. I must have imagined him or, at the very least, it wasn’t the same man who gave me a ride. That guy would never set foot in a place like this.

I gather my money, leave the stage, and head toward the back. After stowing my money in my bag, I throw on my cami—sans bra because my tits need some air—and head out to the floor. We’re allowed one drink per shift. Right now, with the taste of dirty money lingering on my lips, I need it.

I go to the bar and sit on one of the stools, and the fake leather grips the backs of my thighs. The bartender, a sweet girl who also dances on occasion, walks over to me. Her black hair wobbles on her head in a high ponytail.

“What can I get you, Oak?” she asks. She’s not the usual bartender. If she was, I’m sure she’d know my drink.

“Moscow Mule.” I reach toward the bar and touch her hand. “And make it strong, please.”

She nods and rushes off. I notice something on the edge of the bar, so I lean toward it and pick it up. It’s a fucking acorn. My mind goes back to what I found on my desk.

What the fuck?

Despite being named after the tree that produces them, I’ve rarely seen the things. Now I’ve seen two. In one day. In places they shouldn’t be. This isn’t a family park or a hiking trail; it’s a goddamn sin den. I run my fingers along the acorn’s rough top, wondering if it’s even real. It is, and that’s more concerning. Unless there is some weird shop that sells bags of acorns, someone has taken the time to collect these little things so they can leave them around for me to find. Then again, you can buy anything online.

Maybe it wasn’t one of the girls after all. It’s probably a man who’s gotten obsessed after a dance. It happens more often than any of us care to admit.

Sudden realization hits me.

The white substance.

I fucking gag and snatch my heels off my feet.Fucking pigs!I toss the stupid acorn into the overflowing garbage can by the bar. I’d throw my heels out too if I could afford another pair. Since I can’t, I’ll just have to soak them in hand sanitizer.

The bartender places my drink in front of me, and I take a sip. Vodka punches the back of my throat and makes my eyes water. It cleanses my mouth and calms the panic in my chest at the thought of some man obsessing over me enough to come all over my heels. But that’s part of the job. They pay me to be their obsession.

I nod my thanks to the bartender and down the drink to drown my disgust in the bottom of the copper mug. By the time the cup is empty, the liquor has worked its way through my body and I feel a little more at ease.

I carry my heels to the sink in the back and run scalding water over them. Each pass of my soap-covered hand over the material makes me see red. I feel fucking violated. What happened to creeps beating off outside your window while you undress? Now they come in people’s shoes and leave fucking nuts lying around? Make it make sense.

Jake meanders around the back room, sexually harassing the others for once, and I wonder if he’s the culprit who jizzed in my shoes. But that wouldn’t explain the acorns. He’s not smart enough to know they come from oak trees.

I sneak out the back before he can see me. I’m not in the mood to work the floor or shrug off Jake’s advances. Even though I could be walking right into the arms of my weird stalker, I’m calmer once I’m away from the building. No matter what monsters lurk out here, it’s better than staying inside to be preyed upon.

Raindrops hit the pavement in front of me, then the night sky opens and it begins to pour. Great. My cloth shoes absorb all of it until I feel like I’m walking on sponges as I head toward the bus stop to call for an Uber. The overhang shields me from the bulk of the rain as I pull my phone out of my jacket pocket. It’s soaked too.

“Fuck,” I whine.

Painted the color of a storm cloud itself, the silver Jeep slows to a stop in front of me. He rolls down his window, and I swallow at the sight of his face. Not the scars, though. The purple hue to his swollen bottom lip is what takes me by surprise.

“Your fight didn’t go as well this time, huh?” I ask as I lean forward.

“This?” He rubs his lower lip. “The other guy looked much worse.”

We stare each other down. My stomach tightens at the thought of accepting a ride from him again, but the cash in my pocket slaps back my hesitation. I didn’t make very much today—the slower numbers usually don’t—and I’m loath to part with any of it.

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