Suddenly, I don’t see the same man who throws me against doors and drives into me with little care beyond his own desires. I see a man who needs to be cared for. A man who just might be as lost as I have been since the day I lost my mother. Without a second thought, I open my arms to that man and accept him inside of me, and together we lose ourselves in the temporary pleasure of each other’s body.
EIGHTEEN
Annie’s driving me crazy. I can’t escape the guilt of walking away from her. I’m sitting in the back of the room of Art Comp, trying to concentrate on taking notes, but it’s impossible when she keeps finding any excuse she can to look back at me.
After she had texted me a dozen times last week, I broke down and told Ransom what happened. He thinks I need to get over it and apologize. I know he’s right. I know I’m being petty, but this feels like a betrayal. Annie’s my only real friend and while I always knew our lives would lead us down different paths after college, I always thought we’d remain close.
I never thought our lives would end up thousands of miles apart.
I’m not stupid. I know once she’s gone, we’ll never see each other again. All the promises in the world won’t make a difference once she’s out in California starting the next chapter of her life. She’s going to be a mother—I still can’t wrap my head around that one—which leaves no room for me. At best, we might exchange an occasional email or phone call, but it won’t be the same. We won’t be the same.
I’m wasting time being angry with her, but I don’t know how else to deal with everything I’m feeling inside of me. So, for now, I’m keeping my distance.
When class lets out, I gather my books and hope that I’ll get lost in the wave of students leaving the room, but Annie is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs when I get there. I’m not ready to talk to her yet.
As I reach the last step, an uncertain smile grows on her face, and a low hum starts up inside my head. “Can we talk for a minute?”
Annie wears her emotions on her sleeve, so it’s not hard to tell that she is hurt by my behavior. Still, as much as I want to reach out and pull her in for a hug and assure her it’s going to be fine, I don’t. The excuse falls from my lips before I know it’s coming.
“I can’t. I have to talk with Professor Scott about the final project.”
Her eyes are locked with mine, searching, and I know she can tell I’m lying, but she lets it slide. “Okay, well, maybe we can catch up later then.”
I smile tightly, because we both know it’s unlikely. But it’s nice to pretend. “Sure.”
Annie doesn’t leave right away, making it impossible to keep up my ruse. If I linger, the lie will be exposed. Maybe that’s what’s she’s going for. Maybe she’s trying to beat me at my own game. I catch her giving me a sidelong look as she stacks her papers neatly into her backpack, and that’s all the confirmation I need. The little devil is cleverer than I thought.
Realizing I have to follow through with my bogus excuse, I slowly walk toward Ransom’s desk, where he is seated, his head down, as he quietly flips through an overlarge art book.
I clear my throat to get him to notice me, and when he lifts his head, his smile is bright. Too bright. I dart my eyes over my shoulder and he follows the movement, seeing Annie. His smile instantly turns professional.
“What can I do for you, Miss Hart?”
I hadn’t intended to tell him. My plan was to wait until the last possible moment and then slap my name at the bottom of the project list, but Annie has put me in a tight position and I can’t think of anything else right now.
Drawing in a deep breath, I say in a rush, “I signed up to pose for Mrs. Jackson’s modeling class for the final project.”
Ransom’s expression flattens out, so I can’t tell what he’s thinking. From the corner of my eye, I see Annie paused just outside the door, and when I glance up at her, she grins and shoots me a thumb up. I can’t help smiling back. She’s the one who pushed me to do this. Even though I’m mad at her, it feels good to share my secret with her and to know that she supports me.
When she’s gone, I refocus my attention on Ransom, who is studiously avoiding my gaze. “I thought your friend was going to do that.”
“She was, but she changed her mind. Since her spot was open, and I hadn’t settled on anything, I decided to fill it.”
Leaning back in his chair, Ransom stares me down as his thumb repeatedly clicks the pen in his hand. The longer he does it, the more I feel the tension between us grow. He’s upset. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to deduce that.
“Why would you choose to take off your clothes for a roomful of people?”
I freeze because he’s got to be kidding. Out of everyone on campus, why wouldn’t I do it? It’s right up my alley. Some might even say that it’s a natural progression. From partially nude to fully naked.
“I’m not ashamed of my body,” I tell him. “Plus, it’s a paying gig.”
“So you’re doing it for the money?”
“Every college student needs extra money wherever they can get it, right?” The fire snapping in his eyes tells me he doesn’t agree.
“If you needed money, you should have asked me. You don’t have to subject yourself to a bunch of horny frat boys to get it.”
I laugh. “Do you really think frat boys would take an art class just to see a naked chick? All they have to do is snap a finger and girls everywhere will drop their clothes at their feet.”
“I think you’re missing the point here.”
“What, that you don’t agree with my choice? I disagree,” I reply smartly. “I think the message was pretty clear.”
His dark eyes narrow at my tone and I glare right back. As his next class begins to file in, I toss back my hair and adopt a carefree attitude. “Can I borrow your pen for a minute? I’d like to add my name before I forget.”
After writing my name down, I return the pen to his desk. Ransom doesn’t say another word as I leave the room.
I’m not the least bit surprised to see him lurking in the shadows when I walk onto the stage later that night.
My stomach flutters in nervous anticipation as my song ends and I step off the stage. I half expect him to barge into the dressing room like he did last time, but he doesn’t do that either. By the time I’m through freshening up and head back out onto the floor to begin serving drinks, I’m confident that I’ve figured out his game.
He’s going to make me sweat.
Ransom’s a master at playing head games. He likes to watch and wait. Make a girl shake before he goes in for the kill. I love and hate this game. It’s a constant adrenalin rush that’s hard to come down from. My hands tremble as I carry an order of drinks to a table positioned only a few feet from his.
Once again, he’s cloaked in shadows. I used to wonder why he did that. Now I assume it must be because he worries he’ll be recognized. A professor in a strip club probably isn’t the best image to put out there.
I feel his eyes on me as I slide the drinks in front of my customers. Two men, middle-aged, with touches of gray in their hair. They’re dressed in paint-splattered navy overalls, suggesting they came directly after work. A lot of men do that. They come for a few drinks and a good show to help them unwind.
“How are you fellas enjoying your evening?” Gripping the back of one of the chairs, I lean into one hip. The position pushes my butt out, creating a nice S-curve in my back. Ransom loves that. What he doesn’t love, though, is another man’s hands on his property.
I learn this lesson pretty quick when the man whose chair I am holding winds his arm around my waist and plants a firm hand on my right butt cheek.