chapter 8
Remi
I PUT A LOAD OF laundry into the washing machine, add my laundry soap, and start a cycle. Then, for the tenth time in the last hour, I pull my phone out of my hoodie pocket and reread Sebastian’s text.
Didn’t sleep much. Kept thinking about you.
Even now, rereading it makes my stomach flutter, and that alone is reason enough for me to block his number and delete this guy from my life before he even has a chance to step into it.
And I almost did. I almost ended it already.
But then I read the text again, and something about it gave me pause.
Guys say shit like that all the time. Then they usually follow up with an unsolicited dick pic and immediately get blocked.
But Sebastian hasn’t texted again, and despite barely knowing him—or maybe not knowing him at all—I highly doubt he’s going to send a dick photo into our chat.
Though, I do wonder what his di—
Another text comes through, cutting off my train of thought. It’s from Riley.
Can you pick me up on your way to the gym? Car’s dead again.
“Fuck,” I grumble, rolling my eyes. Without her car, she’ll be taking the bus, and I hate when Riley takes the bus.
Before I can forget, I pad into my bedroom, drop to my knees on the carpet, and pull my lockbox out from under my bed. After putting in the combination and flipping it open, I count out two hundred bucks. Hopefully that’ll be enough for Riley to get a new battery installed.
Locking the box again, I slide it back under the bed, then shoot Riley a quick text.
Yeah. See you soon.
NO MATTER WHAT DAY OF the week it is, the gym is packed. But the AC is blasting, and there are two treadmills open—perfect warm-up.
Riley and I drop our bags in the locker room, then head out to the main floor. I start my treadmill at a quick walk, reaching up to tie my hair into a ponytail as the machine starts to move. Next to me, Riley punches the button on her treadmill, cranking up the speed.
I arch a brow at her. “You’re going to regret that in about two minutes.”
She glances over at me. “No I’m not. I’m building endurance.” She jogs beside me for about a minute before she starts breathing harder.
“One minute down,” I say, then smile when she flips me off.
The treadmills hum beneath us, and I distract myself from the uncomfortable heat in my chest by running through the exercises I want to do today. It’s Monday, which means upper body. Tuesdays are lower body, and then I’m back at work on Wednesday.
I crank up the speed on my treadmill, just a bit, to a slow jog. The tightness in my chest starts to loosen as I find my pace. Next to me, Riley has already covertly slowed hers down, and I pretend not to notice.
“How was work last night?” she asks.
Since I started stripping, she’s been curious about my job, and I’ve always tried to keep her away from it as much as possible.
A lot of girls are drawn to stripping for the money, but I don’t want that for Riley.
I want her to go to school and use her amazing brain; then she’ll at least have tried that path before opting to use her body instead.
And if she does eventually choose to strip, I’ll support her in that as well.
“Good,” I say. It’s what I typically say, unless it was a really shitty night.
But last night wasn’t a shitty night. Last night, I gave a rock star my number.
And he’s still waiting on me to text back. But I left my phone in the locker room specifically so I wouldn’t keep looking at it.
“Would you ever let me come watch you dance?” she asks.
I let out a sudden laugh and almost stumble on the treadmill. “Wouldn’t that be awkward?” I ask.
But Riley shakes her head, her short dark hair flopping in its braid. “No. I think it’s cool. Being a stripper is badass.”
There she goes, getting that look in her eye again, like maybe she should throw her books out the window and go buy nipple tassels instead. And I get it, but if she’s going to strip, it’s going to be because she chooses to, not because she needs to.
“Not as badass as getting into Caltech,” I say. Then I slow my treadmill down and hop off. My muscles feel nice and warm now, and my heart rate is up. “Come on, the bench press is open.”
Riley groans as she slows her treadmill to a stop. “I hate the bench press.”
Smiling, I say, “That’s another great reason not to become a stripper.” I reach out and squeeze her upper arm. “These scrawny muscles won’t hold you on that pole for five seconds.”
Rolling her eyes, she pulls her arm out of my grip. “Whatever. Let’s just go.”
After our workout, I buy us each a protein shake from the vending machine near the door, and we drink them as we step out into the sun.
It’s scorching today, the type of heat that makes me want to pack up all my shit and move to Alaska or something.
Pine trees and snow would be amazing right about now.
In my car, I crank up the AC immediately, and then Riley and I hold our faces up to the cold air until we’ve finally cooled down.
“Oh, before I forget,” I tell her, reaching into my purse. “Here. For a new car battery.”
I hold out the stack of tens and twenties, and Riley narrows her eyes.
“It’s okay, Rem. I can just take the bus until—”
“No.” I shove the money at her. “I told you, I don’t want you taking the bus after work at night.”
“Well, maybe Dad could just—”
I shake my head. “Mom and Dad have enough on their plates with Gran; they don’t need to be driving your ass around too.” Reaching over, I take her hand in mine and shove the cash into her palm. “Don’t be a pain about this, please? Just get your car fixed. This week.”
Slowly, she curls her fingers around the cash, and just for a second, I see the little girl she still carries around inside, the one who hasn’t quite grown up yet but desperately wants to. And I want to nurture that little girl and keep her young and innocent for as long as I can.
Even if it means shaking my ass for money.
I drive us to Whole Foods, where we grab lunch and a few bags of groceries. Then I drop Riley off at home, and after running inside to say hello to Mom, Dad, and Gran, I hurry back to my condo, wanting to get my frozen stuff put away before it all melts in the back of my Jeep.
But when I’m back home and putting everything away in the kitchen, something catches my eye.
My box of Honey Bunches of Oats.
And now my mind is going back over my conversation with Sebastian, the way he told me I didn’t have to dance and that he just wanted to talk.
A lot of guys come to the club because they want connection, someone to look into their eyes and listen to them when they speak.
I’m not a stranger to listening and talking.
But with Sebastian, it felt different. It felt like he was the one listening, paying attention to everything I said. And he made me feel seen.
After pouring myself a bowl of cereal and sitting down at my kitchen table, I pull my phone out of my pocket and open our text conversation again.
Didn’t sleep much. Kept thinking about you.
I take a bite and stare at the message some more. Typically, I’m good at this. But Sebastian isn’t some guy I met at the gym or the store; he’s a client, and in all the years I’ve been dancing, I’ve never given my number to a client. So I have no idea how to play this, how to act.
All I know is that it took everything in me today not to keep glancing at my phone while I was with Riley. She would’ve picked up on it right away, and I hate lying to her, so she probably would’ve been able to coax the truth out of me.
What is the truth? I ask myself.
That I broke my own rules for someone I don’t even know? That I might actually like this guy?
I scoff and take another bite of cereal, crunching down on a big cluster of honeyed goodness.
I don’t even know him. How could I already like him?
With a flare of irritation at myself for overthinking this so much, I quickly type out a text, not giving myself the opportunity to reread it. Then I send it, finish my cereal, and go to put my clean laundry away.
And I try to convince myself that it’s impossible to like someone I don’t even know.
Rock stars included.