“Enough, Rita,” I said, and my voice sounded overly hostile. Or perhaps it conveyed exactly what I was feeling.
Rita looked at me sharply. “What?” she whined. “You gave him to me.”
“I didn’t give him to you,” I snapped, picking up the lash strip again. “He’s not mine to give.”
“Hmm,” she said, looking at me thoughtfully as I again attempted to apply the lash strip, having more success this time. “You seem upset, Crystal. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing’s the matter. That man just annoys me. I’m glad he won’t be back.”
She gave me a fake sounding laugh. “Okay. Whatever you say. If you don’t want him, someone else will scoop him up quickly enough.”
Yes. Yes, that was true. And it was what I wanted. And it was what he needed, whether he was too stupid to realize it or not. I felt slightly better as I finished attaching the second lash strip, standing to get dressed.
Rita sat down on the couch and started buckling her heels. “He looks familiar, too,” she said. “I think he might have gone to school with my older sister. I think she dated him in middle school.”
No, he was locked in a basement when he should have been in middle school. The thought made my throat feel tight, but I nodded to Rita, murmuring a noncommittal response. “Do you see my white heel?” I asked after a moment, looking around. I wanted to get off this topic. I didn’t want to talk about Gabriel Dalton anymore. I didn’t want to think about Gabriel Dalton anymore.
“Yeah, it’s over there by the door.”
“Thanks.” I picked up my shoe and we started talking about the music we were using that night, and five minutes after that, she headed out the door for her first dance. I used the fifteen minutes I had before I performed to try to get my head on straight. I tried to move my thoughts somewhere other than Gabriel, other than the shame I still felt, other than shy smiles and then the final look of shocked betrayal. But it didn’t work. It didn’t even come close.
* * *
I only had about an hour left before my shift was over when I approached a table of three young, college-aged-looking guys of the variety I supposed most women would find attractive. They obviously worked out and made sure the world noticed with their tight T-shirts, short sleeves rolled up to showcase as much bicep as possible. I threw a round of cocktail napkins on the table. “What can I get you, boys?”
“You,” the brown-haired guy with the extremely square jaw said, ogling me. Go to hell.
“Same here,” the blond with the short beard agreed, staring at my breasts. “I’ll have a large serving.” His eyes were glassy, and he’d obviously already been overserved.
I smirked. “Well now, there’s plenty of me to go around, boys. Come back three nights from now and I’ll carve out some time for a personal dance just for the both of you.” I winked.
The third guy—the one with spiky black hair who was leaning back negligently in his chair—laughed, tipping himself forward. “I’ll get in on that action.” He shot me what I’m sure he imagined was a charming smile.
“What if we don’t want to wait? What if we want you tonight?” the brunet interrupted, reaching out and giving my ass a hard squeeze. I gritted my teeth. God, this is tiresome.
“I’m sorry, the club is closing in an hour, sugar, but there’s time for another round of drinks. What’ll you have?” I glanced around at them, trying to keep the irritation from my voice.
“Guess we’ll just have to take what we want,” the blond said, pulling me onto his lap and palming my breast. “You like that, baby?” he whispered, planting his face against my neck, his beard scratchy, and his moist breath hot against my skin. “I can tell you do.”
I let out a surprised squeak and struggled to get up. Where the hell is Anthony? The man held me down. I felt his erection under my ass as he thrust upward, grinding it into me. Grinding. Pulling. Reaching. Taking. Like every other man before him. And like all the men to come … except Gabriel Dalton. Why the simple honesty of his smile came to my mind—his hesitant touch, the respectful tone in his voice—I had no idea. This was the regular game. I knew the game. Yet, the contrast between Gabriel and this man inspired some sort of immediate, almost irrational rage within me.
I glanced around at the laughing, leering men, the guy whose lap I was sitting on taking every liberty he wanted. Hatred overcame me suddenly and swiftly—loathing that felt limitless and unending—and I raised my hand and slapped his face so hard, his head jerked backward. He let go of me and I leapt to my feet, stumbling away, shocked by my own behavior. I’d never hit anyone in my life. His friends started laughing like fiends, pointing at the man I’d slapped.
“You fucking bitch,” he grated between clenched teeth, his hand moving to his cheek.
“What’s going on here, gentlemen?”Anthony. I spun toward him.
“Where were you?” I asked, an edge of panic obvious in my voice.
“Taking a piss. Sorry, girl.” He turned back to the men. “Out,” he said. “Don’t make me drag you.”
The blond-haired guy pointed at me, his eyes glittering with humiliation. “That two-bit whore slapped me!”
“That’s it,” Anthony said, picking the guy up by the collar of his T-shirt.
“Okay, okay,” the brunet said, standing and weaving slightly. “We were leaving anyway. Calm the fuck down.”
I spun away from the whole scene, making my way to the back, where I threw my tray down and stood against a counter for a few minutes, catching my breath and attempting to rein in my shaky rage.
“You all right, Crys?” Janet asked, coming up behind me and patting me on the shoulder. “Those guys are real assholes.”
I laughed shortly. “Yeah, I am, and yeah, they are.”
“Let it slide off your back, babe. Just another night. Same ol’, same ol’.”
“Yeah. Thanks, Janet.” I drew in a deep breath, feeling so exhausted I contemplated sliding down to the floor right there. That pinched feeling around my heart was back, and I just wanted to go home.
“Oh, hey,” Janet said, turning back to me. “I almost forgot since I was off yesterday, but this was left for you on one of the tables night before last. I was going to throw it away to save you the trouble, but I remember him and he was real cute.” She smiled, winked, and handed me a folded-up napkin.
Smiling weakly at Janet, I took it, and as she walked away, I opened it up to see Gabriel’s name and what I assumed was his cell number. An ache shot to my heart, a strange longing filled with an equal amount of remorse, and I balled it up and stuck it in the small pocket in my server’s apron where I kept money to provide change.
By the time I went back out onto the floor, the guys who had been harassing me were gone, back home to their girlfriends, no doubt. Janet was right. Same ol’, same ol’.
I finished up the last half hour serving a few more drinks to men who were thankfully well behaved. When I was done, I cashed out, hesitating when I pulled the folded-up napkin from my pocket. I balled it up and held it in my fist, intending to throw it away, and went to find Kayla, who had just finished onstage. “You ready?” I grabbed my sweatshirt and pulled it on over my serving outfit. I didn’t even want to bother to change clothes tonight. I’d take a long hot shower and attempt to wash away the despair currently sticking to my skin along with the greasy fingerprints of the jerks who had manhandled me.