Текст книги "A Little Too Hot"

Автор книги: Lisa Desrochers

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Chapter Seven

JONATHAN UNCLAMPS A hand from my legs. “Sorry, man. Didn’t know anyone was in here.”

I break free from his loosened grip and slide off his shoulder, suddenly acutely aware that Harrison has a very unflattering view of my ass. “You moron,” I mutter, shoving Jonathan, once my boots are back on the floor.

Nora comes up behind us and grabs Jonathan by the scruff of the neck, dragging him out of the room.

“Inquiring minds want to know!” he calls, just as the door snaps shut.

“Your boyfriend?” Harrison asks with a flick of his eyes at the door.

“Hell, no!” I can’t read his expression. Does it bother him that I might have one?

He gestures at the sofa with a tip of his head. “So you were donating your body to science, so to speak.”

“He’s just a friend.” Goddamn Jonathan. I’m going to strangle him in his sleep. “A really stupid friend.”

He nods slowly, and whatever he was trying so hard to hide in his expression slips into something altogether different. Something he doesn’t hide at all as his glacial eyes rake over me. Something hot and hungry. Something possessive. The caress of his gaze raises goose bumps everywhere and tightens my nipples, and it’s everything I can do not to squirm under his scrutiny. He settles into the sofa and I just stand here for a long second while he continues his perusal of my body, then he tips his head at the sofa. “Have a seat.”

I sit and force my fingers to stop fidgeting with the clip of my garter belt.

“So, no boyfriend?” he asks, and there’s an intensity to the question that unnerves me a little.

“No boyfriend. I’ve really only ever had one.” Oh my God. Why did I just tell him that?

“Me too. That is . . . one girlfriend,” he clarifies.

“Your fiancée?”

He nods. “How long ago? Your boyfriend, I mean.”

“We broke up a year ago.”

“Were you together long?”

I shake my head. “We were dating for about eight months, but it was long distance.” I don’t tell him the whole time we were together, Trent was in love with someone else, because that just makes me sound pathetic.

“How did you meet?” he asks.

“He untangled his stepsister’s kite string from my braces,” I say, tapping my lips with my finger.

His gaze sticks for a second on my mouth before he lifts it to my eyes. “Braces . . .” he says with a tip of his head. “How old where you when you met?”

“Fourteen.”

“So, you knew him for a while before you dated.”

“You could say that.”

He looks at me curiously for a long beat. “There’s a story there.”

I blow out a sigh. “A long and extremely pathetic one.”

“I’m listening.” He settles deeper into the cushions and drapes an arm over the back of the sofa.

I just look at him for a second, trying to gauge if he’s messing with me or if he’s really interested. His liquid gaze is deep and his expression soft but intent. I tip my head back against the sofa and stare at the ceiling. “I was totally in love with him all through high school, and I held out for him for five years, even when he didn’t show any interest, because no one else measured up. So, yeah. I knew him for a while.”

“After all that time, you finally got your man. What happened?”

“He was in love with my best friend . . . who also happens to be his stepsister.”

There’s a long silence, and I lift my head, but I can’t bring myself to look at him as I tell him things I’ve never said out loud before. “He was practicing with his band in Lexie’s garage, and we were in the driveway flying her kite, but the wind gusted and it did this loop, and the string got caught in my braces. Lexie yanked, I screamed, and when the guys came out of the garage to see what was up, they all started laughing. But not Trent. He came over and got me untangled. And he told the guys to cut the shit when they started calling me Jaws and asking if I got good reception.”

I remember it so clearly.

Hold still, he’d said. He grasped my chin gently and leaned in to examine my mouth. He was a little sweaty from jamming with the guys, and I remember thinking I should think that was gross. But I didn’t. It was the opposite of gross. I’d crushed on a few guys in junior high, but I never remember my heart racing the way it did with Trent so close. He’d unhooked me from the kite, and when he let me go, he smiled this incredible sideways smile and said, Good to go, and that was it.

I sigh and sink deeper onto the cushions. “I fell in love with him right that second. But even though I was under his nose all the time, he never thought of me as anything but his stepsister’s best friend, so, for five years, I pined.”

Harrison shifts closer. “You never dated anyone else?”

I shake my head. “Not during high school. I finally gave up sophomore year in college and dated a little, but then right before my junior year, Lexie went off to Rome for a year abroad. She and Trent were really close, and I could tell he missed her. We started hanging out together, mostly talking about Lexie at first, and things sort of escalated from there.”

“Don’t tell me he dumped you when his stepsister came home?”

I shake my head. “He didn’t wait that long. He broke up with me in April.”

His eyes narrow. “So, you were just his bootie call when his stepsister was away.”

The other thing I’m not going to tell him is, we never slept together. Looking back, I can see he was never really all that into it. I mean, there was a lot of kissing and fooling around, but whenever we got close to doing it, he would find a reason not to follow through. I should have seen it coming, I guess, but when he sat in my car last April and told me there was someone else, I didn’t take it very well. When they both sat me down two months later and told me “someone else” was Lexie, it pretty much gutted me. It cut deeper than I could have imagined that my best friend and my boyfriend both chose each other over me.

“You know the worst part of it?”

“What’s the worst part of it?” He leans closer, his whole face so open I feel myself wanting to tell him everything. So I do.

“The worst part is, as much as everything with Trent sucked, losing Lexie was like losing a piece of my soul. She, Katie, and I had been the three musketeers since junior high—inseparable.”

“Have you talked to her? Maybe if she knew—”

“I can’t,” I interrupt. “I said some pretty terrible things . . . called her names that I’m not even going to repeat here.” I blow out a breath and give my head an embarrassed shake. “It was bad. There’s no way she wants to hear from me.”

He brings a hand up and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

“Yeah . . . well.” I pull my eyes away from his mouth. “Anyway, they’re engaged now, so I hear.”

“That’s just . . . a little scary,” he says, his face scrunching, making me smile despite myself. He shakes his head, returning my smile. “Love blows.”

I drop my head onto the back of the sofa. “You got that right.”

“You know I’m serious, right? That guy’s a fucking moron to give you up like that.”

I lift my head and look at him. “I was thinking the same thing about your fiancée.”

His blue eyes darken in the dim light, his gaze smoldering with barely contained desire. “You were amazing out there tonight,” he says, his voice low and rough around the edges. “The way you move is just so . . .” He trails off with a slow shake of his head.

Desire twists tight in my core at the knowledge that this man, who is by far the hottest man I’ve ever known, wants me. Looking at the need on his face and coiled in his body, I know for sure he wouldn’t go eight months without taking me to bed. That look makes me feel sexy, and beautiful. It makes me pulse with need and ache in my most private places. It tells me that he wouldn’t leave me waiting and wanting for even eight minutes.

I look at him a moment longer, then stand and move to the stereo, cranking up the music; a slow, haunting piece that I feel in my soul. I let it flow into me, through me, and when it’s filled me, I turn to face him and start to dance. I lift my arms over my head and move to the pulsing rhythm. I circle my hips in a slow belly dance, and his eyes are glued to me, his lips parted slightly, and animal need dances in his hooded eyes. He rubs a hand down his face and sucks his upper lip between his teeth when I drop low, and his eyes follow the path of my hands as I roll back up, my fingertips skimming my calves and inner thighs, finally settling over the outside of my shorts, with my thumbs hooked under the waistband.

The unabashed need in his expression starts an intense throbbing in my groin that I can’t ignore. So I don’t. As I move to the rhythm, I let one hand continue up my body, over my bare midriff and my breast, finally twisting into my hair. My hips work the beat as I straighten my other arm, tugging the waistband of my tiny satin shorts dangerously low and bringing my fingertips to rest over the sweet spot at the apex of my thighs. I’m all adrenaline, every sensation heightened, and want pulsing through my veins like fire as I roll my hips in a slow circle.

Harrison tips his head back, blowing out a long breath between pursed lips, then stands and adjusts his jeans around the bulge inside them.

I crook my finger, beckoning him to me. “Dance with me.” It comes out a throaty demand—all sex and desire.

His eyes flare as he stalks closer, stopping a foot away. “I thought there was a three feet rule,” he says, his voice rough.

“I’m modifying it to one foot.” He reaches for my waist, but I back away and shake my head. “Still no touching. Sorry.”

I lift my arms overhead, weaving my fingers loosely into my hair, and start to move again, letting the music have me but never breaking eye contact with him. He watches me for a full minute, then starts to move with the rhythm. He’s good—loose and comfortable in his body. He rolls his hips and I moan a little, knowing just by that movement that he would be amazing in bed.

God, I want him in my bed.

I’m not usually like this. I mean, I held out for five years for one guy. Since I gave up my V card my sophomore year at a drunken frat party, there’s only been two others, including my one night with Jonathan. I can’t remember ever lusting this hard for anyone.

I turn my back to him and swing my hips, my ass “accidentally” brushing against the bulge in his jeans.

“Jesus, Sam,” he groans, his voice thick and a little strangled. The raw need in it is such a total turn-on. “Are you sure I can’t touch you?”

He’s just inches from me, and the feel of his breath in my hair sends goose bumps skittering over my scalp. The urge to spin and press my body against his is unbearable. I turn my head so I can see him out of the corner of my eye. And, God, he smells good—earthy with a musky undertone of sex.

“Yes,” I whisper.

He leans in, his lips nearly touching my ear. The heat of his mouth, so close to me, ripples every muscle south of my waist. “Yes, I can touch you?” he purrs. “Or yes, you’re sure I can’t.”

“I’m sure you can’t.” My voice comes out rough, and he groans at the sex in it.

His lips brush my ear as he leans closer. “I’m not sure I’m going to be able to stop myself.”

I can’t breathe. The air is suddenly too thick. Too charged.

“Sam?” he growls, shifting so he’s against me. “Please say I can.”

I lean my back into his front, and I can’t stop the satisfied moan. My moan turns into a low “Ahh,” more of a gasp than a word, when his strong hands close over my hips and pull me tighter against the evidence of exactly what his body wants from mine. I tip my head back into his shoulder, and his nose skims down the side of my neck. We roll our hips together to the music, and the heat of his body and his breath on my neck sets my blood on fire. And the epicenter of everything I’m feeling is at the sweet spot between my legs, where I ache so hard for him.

He knows what I want without me having to say it. He grinds himself against me from behind as his hand glides around my bare midriff, setting off fireworks under my skin. Every nerve ending buzzes, alive with the electricity between us. And when his hand glides lower, his fingertips slipping under my waistband, I moan deep in my chest, sure I’m about to explode.

His other hand brushes up the front of my top and his fingertips play over the tuxedo collar for a second before plunging beneath the fabric and cupping my breast in his sure, firm palm. I gasp and try to pull away. This is so against the rules. But when he holds me tight against him, every inch of his hot, hard body pressed against my back, I melt into him and moan.

I can’t resist him. Anything he wants is his.

I rock my hips, encouraging his fingertips lower, and feel the blazing trail they leave behind on my skin as they slip under the waistband of my thong. But just as I’m about to totally lose myself in him, a loud noise in the hall wrenches me back to reality.

Shit. I can’t do this.

My body wants so badly to override my mind that it continues to grind without my consent, working his fingers lower under my shorts.

This is the moment of truth. I have to decide right here, right now, what kind of person I am. If I don’t get out of this room in the next ten seconds, there’s no way I’ll be able to stop. Nora will find me right here on the floor, Harrison inside me to the root, when she sticks her head in the door to tell me time is up.

Is that who I am, or am I more than that? Harrison might make me feel like pure sex, but despite how much I want him, can I do this and maintain any shred of self-respect? Not to mention my job?

My will wins the battle over my desire and I rip myself out of his grasp and bolt for the door without looking back. It’s not until I’m in the hall and the door slams behind me that I can even think.

I’ve never wanted anything in my life as intensely as I want Harrison, and it scares me how I let that base need cloud my judgment. It’s only as I stand here with my back against the door, breathing hard and throbbing where I shouldn’t be, that my head starts to clear. I need this job. I can’t risk it for a guy from L.A. who I’m never going to see again.

Ben’s voice rings up the hall as his office door cracks open. “. . . and get Devin in here!”

I jump and look up, sure I’m caught.

Marcus steps through the door into the hall, wiping grease off his hands with a towel. When he sees me, he tosses it in the corner. “You okay?” he asks, heading toward me.

“Yeah, thanks.”

He grasps me by the shoulders and looks me over like an overprotective parent, his brow creasing with concern. “You don’t look okay.”

I back out of his grasp, toward the dressing room, and fake a smile. “I’m fine. Really. It’s all good.” But as I push through the dressing room door, I start to shake all over with adrenaline.

Izzy is there, just pulling a white sweater over her flawless black skin. “Hey. You okay?”

“If too-stupid-to-live is your definition of okay, then, yeah.” I breathe a shaky breath. He’s going home to L.A., to an ex-fiancée who he obviously still loves. It’s not like anything could have ever come of this, even without the rules. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want it to. I’m such an idiot.

“What happened?” Izzy asks.

I shake my head. “Just a guy in the VIP room sort of shook me up.”

She rolls her eyes. “Pete and Nora lay down the rules when they book privates, but the guys still think they’re going to get some. It happens all the time.”

I’m not going to tell her it was me who thought I might get some. “Yeah. Thanks.” I move to the sofa and sit, unlacing my boots.

“You going to be okay?” she asks. “I could stay.”

I look up at her. “No. I’m fine. Really. Just embarrassed.”

She tips her head at me and gives me a sympathetic squint. “Don’t take anything that happens here too personally.”

Including clients. It’s my fault for thinking it could get personal. “That’s good advice.”

She pulls open the door. “Make sure Marcus walks you to your car.”

“I teach self-defense at the women’s shelter in Fremont. I’ll be fine.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously?”

I nod. “I have a brown belt in karate.”

“I’ll have to get in on some of that action,” she says, eyes bright in her dark face.

I pull off my boots and stand. “The classes are open to anyone, so you could definitely come if you wanted.”

“Yeah, definitely.” She steps into the doorway. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

My shaking has slowed and I can breathe again. “Yeah. I’m good. Thanks.”

“ ’Kay. See you tomorrow.” She slips out and I just stand here for a really long time, staring after her.

Harrison is a mistake I’m going to learn from. After tonight, I can forget about him, but I’m not going to let myself forget this happened. If I ever feel myself lusting after a client, I’m going to remember the humiliation of this moment. I’m not going to feel like this ever again.

Chapter Eight

“YOU HAVE TO remember that most guys are going to be stronger, and they’re going to outweigh you,” I tell the small group of women in the multipurpose room at the women’s shelter. The room is cold and smells like wet cardboard and something sour, but most of the women here have a reason to want to learn to defend themselves, so they don’t seem to mind. “You need to use every advantage you can find. When you’re defending yourself against an attack, anything is fair. There’s no such thing as ‘fighting dirty.’ My job is to teach you an attacker’s weaknesses and how to use them to your fullest advantage.”

Izzy smiles at me from the middle of the group. She’s actually gorgeous, I see now that she’s out from behind her stage makeup. Very Tyra Banks—all big black eyes and high cheekbones. Her eye-catching curves are covered, at the moment, not in her kinky witch costume from the club, but in a sports bra and yoga pants.

“The best approach is going to depend on the proximity of your attacker and where he is in relation to you. You should all consider carrying pepper spray, but if you’re caught without any other means of defending yourself, your hands, knees, elbows, feet, and head are your best weapons.” I wave Izzy over and she steps onto the mat next to me. “So, if Izzy is the attacker, and she’s in front of me, I have a few choices.” I step back from her. “If she’s more than an arm’s length away, I’ve got my feet. I can run. Running is always your best option. Never initiate contact unless you’re absolutely cornered. If you are, scream. Make as much noise as possible even if they warn you not to.” I grab a pad from against the wall behind me and hand it to Izzy. “But if you’re cornered, and you have no choice, you can kick your attacker. You always want to put your whole weight behind it and aim for their most vulnerable spot,” I say, grabbing my crotch.

There are a few snickers from some of the younger girls in the group as I position Izzy so she’s holding the pad in front of her privates.

“I’ll go easy,” I tell her as I step back. “Just hold the pad tight.”

She nods, her eyes bright with excitement.

“You might only get one shot, so you want to make it count. Step into your kick and come up hard from underneath.” I step forward and bring my foot up into the pad at about half speed.

Izzy holds tight.

“I’m coming harder this time,” I tell her. “You got it?”

“Give it your best shot, girlfriend,” she smirks.

I step back, and this time I kick full force, knocking her back a step. “Step into it. Hard, from underneath,” I repeat to the group. “That’s where you’ll do the most damage. All you’re trying to do is buy a split second to run for it.”

Cloistered in the corner at the back of the group, I spy Sabrina. Her long dark hair hangs in her face and she’s doing her best to hide from herself. She’s so petite, she almost could. But her haunted eyes tell me she can’t hide from the memories, no matter how hard she tries.

She came to the shelter a few months ago with bruises everywhere and two black eyes. Every time I look into her terrified eyes, I see her shattered soul, and it makes me want to hurt the person who did this to her.

I break the group into pairs by size and hand out pads to each pair, then go for Sabrina in the corner.

“You ready to try this?” I ask gently.

She peeks at me through her hair for a long moment, and I’m expecting the same shake of her head I always get, so when she nods, I feel my eyes widen.

“Great. That’s great, Sabrina.” What I really want to teach her is how to scream, but she’s yet to open her mouth since she’s been here, as far as I know. I hold my pad up. “Don’t worry about kicking hard for now. Placement is the key.”

She bites her lower lip and just looks at me, unsure.

“Go ahead,” I say with an encouraging nod.

I watch without moving as she takes a deep breath, then tucks her hair behind her ears. She’s pretty, with big brown eyes in a delicate, heart-shaped face, and even the fact that her nose isn’t quite straight anymore doesn’t detract from it.

“Right here,” I say, giving the pad a shake.

She lifts her foot and kicks. In actuality, she moves so slowly all she’d do is give her attacker a chance to grab her leg, but it’s a start.

“Good, Sabrina. Try it again.”

She steps back, and this time when her foot comes up, it makes a solid thud into the pad.

“Great. That’s better. Keep going.”

With each kick, she puts a little more of herself into it. Her face starts to change, becoming more determined as the fear melts way. She wipes away beads of sweat with the sleeve of her ratty sweatshirt, all her focus on the pad I’m holding, then lets loose again. This time, as she kicks, a growl rips out of her. She kicks again, and again, harder each time, her growls becoming louder and more agonized, until she’s wailing and pounding her fists against me, tears streaking down her pale face.

I wrap my arms around her and pull her to my shoulder. “Sabrina, it’s okay,” I say low in her ear as she struggles against me. Her shrieks turn to sobs and she buries her face in my neck. “It’s okay,” I say again, stroking her hair.

Her knees buckle and I lower us both to the floor, where I hold her as she cries. Everyone is watching, and Izzy moves toward us with wide eyes.

“Get Janice,” I tell her with a tip of my head at the door to the shelter. “She should be at the desk. White hair and glasses.”

She nods and jogs off in that direction.

“Keep practicing,” I tell the rest of the group.

They look at me warily, but then move back to their places.

A minute later Izzy is back with Janice, the women’s counselor. She helps me scoop Sabrina off the floor, whispering to her the whole time that she’s safe. She gives me a sad smile and a nod as she guides Sabrina back to the shelter.

I watch after them and wish there was more that I could do to help her.

Once the group has kicks down, I move on to the knee-to-the-balls maneuver, the ripping-off-of-the-pinky maneuver, and the thumb-in-the-eye maneuver.

After class, when I go to check on Sabrina, Janice tells me she’s with Dr. Harris and she’s finally talking.

“Thank God,” I say, blowing out a relieved breath. “What happened to her, anyway?”

“It’s a little sketchy,” she says. “She doesn’t have any known family, and so far she’s not really been talking, but the police found her and another girl chained up in the basement of a condemned building in Oakland, beaten and starving to death. They brought her here when she was released from the hospital. The other girl didn’t make it. The police are hoping she’ll be able to tell them what happened eventually.”

“Jesus,” I say, acid rising in my throat. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”

Janice pushes her glasses up her nose and leans her elbows on the desk. “It’ll be a long road to recovery, but at least she’s on it now. With support, I hope she’ll be fine.”

My eyes flick to the closed door of the counseling room and I’m reminded how I got here in the first place. I took up karate when I was a kid because, even though they called the place Mom took me a “mix martial arts” studio, that’s all they taught. Kicking the crap out of all the big cocky football players in my class was how I kept all my teen angst in check.

When I first met Katie in seventh grade, she’d just moved to town. She was very overweight and painfully shy, and she relentlessly got picked on by class bitch Stacey McCarran and her group. I wish I could say I was brave enough to jump in and tell Stacey to leave her the hell alone. I wasn’t. But one day I waited until the bus pulled away from our stop, then grabbed Katie and brought her home with me. I spent the next month teaching her some basic karate moves. Thankfully, she never ended up needing to use any of them, but during that time we got to know each other, and I realized she was one of the coolest people I knew. When she finally got up the nerve to tell Stacey McCarran to go to hell, I decided I needed to be brave enough to be her friend.

That’s when I realized that helping people is a two-way street. You gain as much as you give. I took self-defense at the Y and started teaching my friends at school some of the stuff I’d learned. By high school it sort of grew into a club. So when this opportunity to help at the shelter came up, even though it was Mom’s suggestion, I jumped all over it. That was four years ago. I’ve met a lot of really scared women during that time, but I’ve never seen anything like this.

I want to walk into the counseling room and give Sabrina a hug. I want to tell her to keep fighting and she’ll be okay, even though I can’t imagine how that could ever happen. But more than that, I want to kill whoever did this to her. “When she’s done, tell her to call me if she needs anything—or if she just wants to, I don’t know, hang out or talk or whatever.”

“Will do,” Janice says, then smiles up at me. “Good work today.”

“Thanks,” I say. “See you next week.”

But as I go back to the multipurpose room to collect Izzy, I can’t help wishing there was something I could do to unbreak girls like Sabrina.

Izzy and I walk out of the shelter a few minutes later, sweaty and hungry. We stop at a diner near the BART station.

“That was pretty intense,” she says once we’re seated.

I nod. “A lot of those women have been through hell.”

“That girl . . . will she be okay?”

“I hope so.”

The waitress comes and takes our orders. I don’t let her escape until I have a steaming mug of coffee in my hand.

When she’s gone, Izzy looks at me. “So, what’s been going on with you?” she asks. “I know we don’t know each other that great, but the last week you’ve been . . .”

“Off,” I finish for her.

It’s true. Since that night with Harrison eleven days ago, I haven’t been feeling it like I was. I try to tell myself it’s not because of him, but I know in my gut it is. My tips this week have taken a hit, and Nora moved me off center stage. I’m sure she’d cut back my shifts, and maybe even fire me, if she had anyone else to cover. But it’s all made me realize maybe this job isn’t a long-term solution. Problem is, I don’t have another one, and even with my crappy tips, I don’t know where I’d find one that pays this well.

“So, feel free to tell me to shut up, but if there’s something you want to talk about . . .” She trails off with a lift of her perfect black eyebrows.

I sip my coffee. “There was this guy at the club. He was there my first two nights.”

“The guy that shook you up in the VIP room?” she asks.

Felt me up, is more like it. I look up at her and nod as I feel my cheeks warm at the memory.

“How bad did you break Ben’s rules?”

“I let him touch me.” I wince a little as I say it, but she doesn’t even react.

“That’s all?” she says.

I take a long swallow, feeling my face pull into a cringe. “I wanted more.”

“You wanted more? Or he did?”

“I did. But I’m pretty sure the feeling was mutual,” I add, remembering the feel of him grinding himself against me.

She props her chin in her hand. “Are you seeing him again? Because you know, what happens outside of the club on your own time isn’t any of Ben or Nora’s business.”

Something jumps in my chest. I hadn’t thought of that. But it doesn’t matter. “He’s gone. He went back to L.A.”

She tips her head at me. “So, if he’s gone, what’s the problem?”

I plant my elbow on the table and rub my forehead. “I can’t stop thinking about him. I’ve spent a grand total of ninety minutes with him, but I can’t get him out of my head. And I’ll never see him again, so it’s just . . . so fucking stupid,” I finish, tugging on my hair.

She sighs. “Well, if it makes it any easier, most of the guys that come into Benny’s aren’t all that hot, so you’re probably safe from here on out.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I blow out a sigh and let go of my hair, twisting it into a knot at the back of my neck. “You’re off tonight?”

She nods.

“Jonathan’s got a gig at Astray. I was planning on hanging out there with his girlfriend. You in?”

Her eyes widen, white saucers in the middle of her black-coffee face. “J has a girlfriend?”

“Yeah . . . though he seems to have trouble remembering it sometimes.”

“Damn, that boy is tasty.” A slow smile breaks over her face. “You two seem pretty tight. You ever done the deed?”

I smirk at her. “That’s pretty personal, don’t you think? Especially considering you just said you barely know me.”

“I’ve seen you naked, girlfriend. That makes us . . . something.”

I blow out a laugh and lean back in my seat. “How long have you danced at Benny’s?”

She lifts a shoulder in an almost shrug. “About two months. I just moved up here from L.A.”

“Where do you live?”

“I moved in with Stephanie and Jen from the club last month. It’s just a crappy three-bedroom in San Bruno, but it’s on the BART.”

I take a long swig of coffee and flag down the waitress for a refill. “What do you pay for rent?” I ask as she tops me off.

“Five hundred.”

“Five hundred?” I say, slapping my hand on the table and sloshing my coffee. The three old men sitting at the table across from us stop eating and scowl at me. I lower my voice. “Kevin’s charging me nine hundred a month to sleep on his sofa.”

She bursts out laughing. “And you paid it?”

I shrug. “I didn’t really have a choice unless I wanted to sleep in the park.”

She gets herself together as the waitress shows up with our food. The waitress plunks Izzy’s vegetarian scramble down in front of me and gives Izzy my blueberry pancakes. “Anything else you want?” she asks without looking at either of us.