Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Jennifer
It’s a little before noon by the time I drag myself out of the warm cocoon I made with my blankets, a shiver wracking my body once my bare toes hit the ground.
Early October mornings in Chicago generally feel chilly, but it has been unseasonably colder this year. In this apartment, it feels closer to frigid with cool air seeping through every crack and crevice, including the old windows which look like they’re a few strong gusts away from falling out.
I quickly find a baggy sweater and throw it on over my tank top, along with some socks, then with a yawn, make my way into the kitchen to put the kettle on.
I take one step into the tiny U-shaped kitchen and let out a yelp, jumping back and lifting one soaked foot.
“Shit.”
Mouth twisted, I peel off the drenched sock while staring at the puddle that has formed on my kitchen floor. A quick glance up reveals the source of the puddle, with a couple of droplets hanging precariously from the ceiling, ready to fall at any second.
Brown stains the surrounding area, telling me it’s been a problem for some time now, though it hasn’t leaked like this since I moved in almost two years ago. Obviously, it’s gotten worse over time, finally breaking through.
I hobble over to the window, trying to keep my bare foot from touching too much of the cold floor, and peek out the foggy glass.
It looks like the rain switched to snow sometime during the night, which is pretty uncommon this early but not unheard of.
Right now, it’s undecided on what it wants to be, leaving slush that instantly melts when reaching the surface.
Shivering again, I return to my room to change into even thicker socks before grabbing a few towels from my bathroom to throw onto the floor.
I wonder if Clint—the owner of my apartment, as well as Buds!, the cannabis store downstairs—will have a bucket down there to catch the droplets.
I briefly consider asking him about getting the roof fixed, but the little voice inside my head that’s always sure to put me in my place tells me this is just another way I should be punished.
Steam rushes up from the kettle as it boils, the condensation probably making the curled chips of paint on the cupboard above even worse.
I pour the hot liquid into a slightly chipped mug that says “Someone From Canada Loves Me,” which I found at the thrift store, then add a splash of milk after the tea has steeped.
Leaning against the counter, I hold the mug between my hands to warm them up.
I don’t need to be at Tease until five, so I take my time drinking my tea, letting the warmth soak into my belly while making a mental note of what I need to get done today.
Bucket, hair dye . . . and I think I would like to stop at the private investigator’s office I pass by every day. There’s a crack in his window and half of his sign is peeling off, but I’m hoping it means he’s not the type of person to ask too many questions.
After downing my tea and finishing a piece of toast, I throw on jeans, boots, and a jacket, pulling the hood up as I make my way downstairs.
A little bell signals my arrival when I push through the door, and the three men in the store all turn to face me.
“Uh, hi. Is Clint here?”
I know Del, who’s standing behind the counter, but the other two are unknown customers, so I don’t go any further.
Del pops something into a paper bag for one of the men. “Nah, he stepped out to grab some coffee and donuts.”
I shift on my feet. “Do you know if he has a bucket I could borrow?”
“Lemme go check the back.”
He leaves, and one of the men leans against the counter, openly watching me. “We don’t bite, sweetheart. You don’t need to stay glued to the door.”
I give a small smile and fold my arms across my chest, but I don’t respond as I glance around the area. Various shaped bongs line the shelves on one side of the store, while vapes, drinks, and an assortment of weed merchandise fill the other.
Thankfully, Del comes back out a minute later, handing me a dirty bucket. “Here ya go. I don’t think he’ll be looking for this any time soon. It was in the back corner of the storage closet.”
“Thank you. If he does want it back, tell him to text me.”
“Will do.”
After taking it upstairs and setting it under the leak, I head back out into the dreary day to continue on with the rest of my errands.
*~*~*~*~*
Tease is particularly crowded tonight. I’ve given lap dances one after another, pushing all of my limits. I stare at myself in the staff bathroom mirror, adjusting the crown on top of my newly dyed brown hair.
I just needed a minute. A moment to remind myself why I’m doing this to myself.
Jacob.
The harsh bathroom lighting shows just how dull my eyes have become. Gray isn’t exactly a pretty color, but they used to shine with life. Now . . . well, it’s a good thing it’s already dim out there.
I reach for the hem of my glove but jump when the door bangs open.
“It’s just me,” Candy announces when she sees my face.
I exhale, relaxing my shoulders and facing forward while Candy hurries into one of the stalls.
“God,” she groans inside the cubicle. “I’ve been holding that in for over an hour. How has your night been so far?”
“Busy.” I quickly slide one of my gloves off and run cool water over my hand before holding it against the back of my neck. “What about you?” When I hear her start moving around, I dry my hand and pull the glove back on.
Stepping out of the stall, Candy fixes her thong and walks to the sink to wash her hands. “Had to give one guy a piece of my mind, but other than that, I should be able to afford that sectional couch I’ve had my eye on. The kids will love it.”
I smile at her through the mirror. “You look extra pretty tonight.”
Candy has four boys, but you’d never be able to tell. She says it’s because she started popping them out super young and was able to bounce back. Plus, she loves being active and spends a lot of her free time outdoors, playing with her kids.
That’s the extent of my knowledge about her.
I’ve been having Chester secretly give her most of my tips just to help her out a bit. Of course, he takes a cut just to do me that favor.
She pulls out a mini tube of red lipstick that was hidden somewhere in her hair and starts reapplying, making me avert my eyes at the color. “Oh, Chester is calling a challenge.”
My moment of peace completely gone, I turn back toward her. “For what?”
“There’s a fine-ass man out there sitting by himself that we’ve all been trying to tempt into getting a dance or private room, but so far, no one has had any luck.
He just politely declines with an equally polite, yet panty-melting smile.
” Candy tucks the lipstick back in, and I follow her toward the bathroom door.
“You should give it a try. Chester said whoever can get him to accept something will get a request granted.”
I pause with my hand on the door handle. “A request?”
“Yeah, you know, like if you wanted to work the stage one night instead of the floor, or have a day off.” She turns to me. “Or even opt out of your night in the private room.”
My heart kicks up a notch, this time with a flicker of hope. I’m always pushing myself, punishing myself, or forcing the worst upon myself, but being alone in a private room with a horny man is a torture I find the hardest to handle.
It’s coming up again soon—too soon—so this is my chance to get out of it.
The last time I was scheduled, I ended up breaking out into a sweat and then threw up.
Fortunately for me, the guy accepted an extended dance from Melody.
I’m sure that wasn’t all Melody had to offer to make him happy and not complain, but she wouldn’t tell me anything about it.
It only added to the rotting, sludgy guilt consuming me.
“Where is he?” I ask after we step through the door and back toward my nightmare.
“Left of the stage, closer to the back. Black hair. Trust me, you’ll know when you see him.”
We walk into the main area, the busy club making my stomach churn once more.
“Good luck,” Candy singsongs as she shimmies her chest and gets back to work.
I keep my eyes lowered as I move back into the crowd, deciding to scope out the man from afar first, and try to get a read on him before I attempt anything. I scan the area, trying to find the mysterious man she’s talking about.
Then, finally, I see him.
Alone with a drink in his hand, he sits half facing the stage and half the rest of the room, a broody aura surrounding him.
I can’t see his face properly from this angle, but what I can see is a defined jaw that clenches and unclenches every now and then.
His broad shoulders and muscular arms are clothed in an army-green, short-sleeved, button-down shirt.
I glimpse his tattooed forearms and wavy black hair that curls around his ears and neck. Very attractive.
No wonder the girls have been trying to catch his attention. It’s not often we have patrons who look like him. He stands out like a beautiful beacon who doesn’t belong here.
Instead of approaching him right away, I circle the room, keeping one eye on him as I smile at others and even give another lap dance.
Every glimpse of him through the crowd has me intrigued as to why he’s here. He’s looking at the other girls, but not in the same way the other men are. He’s observing their interactions with everyone, which I find interesting.
Finally working up the courage, I make my way to his side of the stage, my focus solely on him as I approach from behind. I have no idea what to do to try to convince him to accept a dance from me. I’ve never had to convince anyone before, and frankly, I never wanted to.
But he’s my chance to get out of the private room, at least for another six months.
I walk up to the back of his chair with a sway in my hips, even though he can’t see me yet, my palms slightly clammy inside my gloves.
Lifting a hand, I trail my fingers along the edge of his chair, making sure they brush against his shoulders as I slowly move around. “Hi there,” I murmur close to his ear. “I couldn’t help but notice—”
I freeze, my words cut short the second he turns his face toward me, letting me see it properly and up close for the first time.
Those eyes . . . dark like charcoal, expressive and mysterious. Eyes that always reminded me of secrets.
Mase Turner.