Lisa Desrochers - A Little Too Hot

“But you go out there night after night, playing to the debauched fantasies of a room full of miscreants—”

“You’re a miscreant with debauched fantasies?” I interrupt, raising my eyebrows at him.

That gets his smug almost-smile. “Touché. But my point is, you could be so much more.”

“Not according to my mother.”

“Your mother?”

I slouch into the cushions. “The rest of my sad story is, my parents threw me out after I flunked out of school. ‘Tough love,’ Mom said,” I say, making air quotes. “She thought they were enabling me to make bad decisions. My stepdad said he was done throwing good money after bad. So, basically, they finally gave up on me.”

He reaches for my hair and twirls a strand between his fingers, just like he did that first night. “I’m sure they haven’t given up. They probably just hope you’ll learn some responsibility.”

I pull back, yanking my hair out of his grasp. “Are you calling me irresponsible?”

His expression goes wary. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you implied it.”

He holds up his hands. “Just playing devil’s advocate. You said you failed out of school because you didn’t go to class, right?”

I slouch deeper into the sofa and press my palms to my face. “I’m such a fuck-up.”

“You’re not a fuck-up, Sam. You just need some direction.”

His voice is soft and so hopeful that I almost believe him. “So, where do I find that, anyway?”

He shifts closer. “You said you liked your major—film and media. What were you thinking you’d do with it after college?”

“I really wanted to be a sound designer for one of the big studios in Hollywood. It just sounds so cool, you know?”

He nods. “Have you looked into qualifications? Do you need a degree?”

I shrug. “You tell me. You work in the industry.”

He just looks at me for a long second, then clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck again. “I’d have to ask the guys in sound.”

“If I give you my number, could you have one of them call me?”

He nods slowly. “Sure. I’ll pass your name along when I’m back in L.A. next week.”

I get up and look for something to write on, but only find a pen on the stereo stand. No paper. I bring it back and reach for Harrison’s hand, scribbling my name and number across his palm.

I look up to find him watching me with an amused smile.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re touching me.”

My eyes go wide when I realize I’m breaking the rules. But I don’t let go of his hand.

After a moment he flips it, so our hands are palm to palm and our fingers line up. My heart pounds as he weaves his fingers between mine and closes them, enveloping my entire hand in his. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” he says, his voice low.

All I can do is shake my head.

His other hand, on the back of the sofa, lifts from my hair to my face, and he trails a fingertip over my cheekbone. “Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?”

My heart slams against my rib cage and there’s no way I can answer. When his finger trails to my mouth and he traces it along my bottom lip, I forget to breathe.

But then he lowers his hand and lets go of mine. “Sorry. You just make it really hard to follow rules, you know?”

I nod, my lips still burning from his touch.

There’s a knock and Nora pokes her head in. “Time’s up.”

I stand, and Harrison does too. “I’ll pass this along,” he says, holding up his hand with my number.

As great as that would be, I can’t help hoping he decides to call me himself. “Don’t stab yourself with the cake knife, okay?”

He smiles.

I turn for the door, but before I step through, I look over my shoulder. “ ’Bye, Harrison.”

He nods as Nora closes the door behind us.

“What was that all about?” she asks.

“He just wanted to talk.”

“He paid two hundred dollars to talk to you?”

I shrug. “I guess.”

She scowls at me and shakes her head. “You must be one hell of a conversationalist.”

I head to the dressing room feeling so much lighter. I feel like all the tension from that last time we were together was eating me alive, and now that I’ve seen him again, and we’ve talked, that I can move on from whatever that was. Maybe that whole closure thing isn’t just a bad cliché.

BUT THE NEXT night, when I see Harrison giving me that liquefying gaze from a table near the back, I know nothing is closed. Because, at just the sight of him, things start happening in my body. So I pour it all into my dancing. My body moves to the music, trying to dispel all the desire—the aching need. As the crowd forms around my stage, I lose sight of Harrison. But I know he’s still there. I feel him in the way the air is electrified.

After shift, I’ve got four privates, and it’s pure hell as each one stalks through the door and isn’t Harrison.

The second to the last is an Asian-looking guy with pocked skin and a droopy right eyelid, and there’s something about the way he looks at me that totally creeps me out. “Mr. Chang is a VIP, Sam,” Nora tells me after she leads him in. “Give him what he paid for.”

I look at her with wide eyes and mutter, “What did he pay for?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Just give him your best,” she says, and clicks the door closed.

What the hell?

The guy settles into the sofa, and I dance without looking at him. I’m counting songs in my head to keep track of the time, and by the fourth song I’m starting to feel a little better. He’s still creeping me out, but if he was going to try something, I think he would have done it already. So when, at the end of the fifth song, he stands and moves to the stereo, turning off the music, I sort of freak. I back toward the door, in easy reach of the knob.

“Take off your top,” he says in a choppy accent.

That’s all I have to hear before I’m out the door. Nora’s just coming out of the dressing room when I get to it.

I shove her back inside and close the door behind us. “That guy wanted me to take off my clothes.”

She blows out a slow breath. “I’ll take care of it. Just wait here.”

I sink against the dressing room door after she slips out, but when I hear Ben’s voice I crack it open and peek out in time to see him usher Creepy Asian Guy into his office.

“Let’s get this done before you sail,” he says just as the door clicks shut.

I pull the door closed and drop onto the sofa. I still have one more private, and if it’s not Harrison, I’m going to do some serious bodily damage to the poor bastard.

Nora pokes her head into the dressing room. “All clear. I’ll go get your next.”

I take a second to fix my makeup, then cross the hall to the VIP room and head to the stereo, turning up the music again.

“Hi, Sam.”

I spin and find Harrison just closing the door. His eyes give my body a long, slow caress before they rise to my face.

I’m shaking as I tip my head at the sofa. “Sit. I’m dancing for you tonight.”

He takes his beer to the sofa and sits as I turn up the music. I close my eyes for a second, trying to get the adrenaline pumping through my veins to settle, then start to sway my hips to the rhythm. I weave my fingers through my hair and let my body pulse to the beat, but I don’t turn to face him until I have the tidal wave of desire under control.

The air becomes static with a palpable electric charge, and when I turn to him, he’s got his arms spread over the back of the sofa, grasping the fabric as if he needs to hold on to keep himself seated. I dance closer and stop just in front of him, smoothing a hand down my body. I see him draw a breath and hold it as I let my fingertips slip beneath the low waistband of my shorts.

I close my eyes and roll my hips in a circle, imagining myself straddling his lap, rocking against him. He rewards me with a low groan that I just hear over the music.

I move my hands over my skimpy costume, brushing every part of me I’ve dreamed of Harrison’s hands touching. I’m so lost in my fantasy that I don’t even know time’s up until the music snaps off.

I spin and find the door open and Nora standing at the stereo, scowling at me. “I said, time’s up!” She grabs me by the arm and yanks me out the door. Just before it closes, I glance back at Harrison and see him blow out a breath and drop his head onto the back of the sofa.

I’M GRASPING AT  any distraction, so when Izzy calls and invites me to the movies the next afternoon, I suggest a double header. We’re in the middle of our second—the new Star Trek—when Izzy nudges my knee with hers.

“Is he hotter than that?” she asks with a jut of her chin at the screen, where Chris Pine and his yummy blue eyes gaze out at us.

“Yes.”

Her eyes widen, glowing white in the silver light. “Oh, girlfriend! You got to go for it.”

I slouch deeper into my seat and stare up at the screen. “What if he says no?”

“Have you seen yourself? He’s not going to say no.”

“He’s on the rebound.”

“So?”

I look at her. “So . . . I don’t want to be his rebound girl.”

“Why not? It’s not like you’re looking to marry the guy. It’s just a hook-up.”

I turn that over in my head and realize she’s right. “So, you think I should just ask him on a date or something?”

“Don’t overthink this, Sam. If he comes into the club tonight, just tell him you want him to take you home after shift. It’s that easy.”

“You sound like you’ve done this before.”

She smiles and turns back to the screen, and I know I’m right.