“Go ’head and take a seat,” Anthony said. “Crystal will be in after her performance.”
“Right,” I said, moving deeper into the room.
I heard the click of the door closing behind me and let out a breath. I sat down on the edge of the couch, fighting anxiety. Shadowy. Locked door. Soundless. This room felt like a cave, or a dank basement. My eyes landed on the door, and I reminded myself that I could leave anytime I wanted to. This wasn’t the same. Not at all.
I wondered, though, if this was Crystal’s version of a dank, locked basement.
I wasn’t exactly sure why I questioned it, but the thought sat there like a rock, the weight of it pushing on my conscience.
A few minutes later, I was startled from my thoughts when the door swung open and Crystal stepped inside. I started to stand, but she gestured for me to remain sitting and so I did. She had put on a long sweatshirt that came to the middle of her thighs and fell off her shoulders, but was still wearing the silver boots. I smiled at the outfit. She sat down on the couch, turning toward me. My insides twisted. God, she was beautiful. Too beautiful for this room. Too beautiful for this place.
She’d put her hair up in a huge, messy pile on top of her head. It looked darker in this light, more brown than gold. Her almond-shaped eyes were heavily made up in black eyeliner and ridiculously long, obviously false eyelashes. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.” She smiled, the one that didn’t meet her eyes.
I massaged the back of my neck, feeling strange, shy, out of my element, and … guilt ridden. “I’m not sure I should have.”
Her face fell slightly, and I rushed on. “I’m just … I guess I’m having a pang of conscience.”
Her gaze moved over my face for a moment in that measuring way of hers before she raised an eyebrow, standing and walking seductively toward the sound system before turning back to me. “Well, my goodness, that sounds painful. It’s not contagious, is it?” She put a hand on her hip and smiled sweetly at me.
I laughed, a burst of warm humor mixed with a bit of surprise filling my chest. It felt good. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Well, good.” She put on some music, turning the volume down low, and walked back toward me, sitting on the couch again. “How about we try out one session, and if it doesn’t work for you, if it makes you feel …not good, we’ll call it quits, no harm done.” She gave me a small, teasing smile, and it felt like bird wings had begun flapping between my ribs.
One session. She really was thinking of this as therapy. I supposed that was accurate enough. I sucked my bottom lip into my mouth, still not sure, but not wanting to leave, not really.
I liked her. I liked the way she looked at me, the way she teased, the flash of keen intelligence behind her eyes, her quick wit, the way she seemed so hard, and yet was somehow soft at the same time. I did, I liked her. Oh, Gabriel, you idiot.
“We should agree on a fee first.”
“You just name the price,” I said. “I’m fine with whatever you think is fair.”
“Fair,” she murmured. “Well, the club takes the cost of a lap dance while we’re in here, so in order to make any money for myself, I would have to double that. So fifty.” Uncertainty passed briefly over her expression, as if she was nervous she might have asked for too much.
“Fifty dollars?” I repeated, trying not to wince at the knowledge of how little she got paid to do what she did. The club takes the cost of a lap dance. Jesus.
“If that’s too much, I could do forty-five,” she said in a rush of words, a tinge of desperation in her tone. Ah. That explained it. She needed the money, small amount though it was. That’s why she had decided to do this.
That pang was back again—even sharper this time—causing a stabbing sensation in my gut. I shifted in my seat. “When I was a teenager, I used to go to this psychologist in Middlebury who charged a hundred and fifty a session. I wouldn’t pay you any less.”
Her eyes widened very slightly before that unaffected look came over her face again. “Oh, okay. Well, great. Should we start with kissing?”
I blinked and then chuckled softly. It turned into a grimace, and I rubbed at the back of my neck again, embarrassed. “I might not have been totally clear about the extent of my discomfort with having people in my personal space. If I was ready for kissing, I wouldn’t be here.”
She frowned slightly, tilting her head as she measured me again. She nodded, that bare hint of softness coming into her eyes, but no judgment. I released a breath, grateful for that small mercy.
“I can teach you what I do when someone gets close to me. I remove myself completely, and it makes it bearable.” She bit her lip, her brow furrowing as if considering something. “I think I can teach you how to do that.”
My body stilled as I stared at her. Her words caused my heart to ache. Oh God. “That’s not what I want, though. I know how to remove myself. I know how to do that. I want to stay present. That’s what I need you to help me with. Staying.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she stared at me for a moment before looking away. “Oh.” She picked at a fingernail, her brow creasing before her eyes met mine again. There was something in her expression I was having trouble reading. Was it fear?
She shifted, wrapping her arms around her waist and unwrapping them just as quickly, clasping her hands in her lap. She smiled, that big one that was all mouth and cheek muscles, but no eyes. “Well. Let’s just get started, then. Can I …?” She used her finger to indicate moving closer to me on the couch. Her gaze met mine and held for a moment as I nodded, anxiety coursing through my blood.
She scooted closer to me as my heart rate accelerated. I felt my body flush uncomfortably, my skin prickling as she again slid closer, our thighs almost touching. There was a red mark on her cheekbone that her makeup didn’t cover from this close. I wanted to ask her about it, but I couldn’t form the words. The adrenaline pumping through my body at her nearness made me feel dizzy, made me want to bolt, to flee. I was desperate for space, and though I knew it was irrational, I couldn’t help wanting to back away, to put myself at arm’s distance so I felt safe. I sucked in oxygen, her eyes still holding mine.
“I’m going to touch your hand,” she whispered. “Is that okay?” Her eyes were wide, and her lips were parted as her chest rose and fell with each quickened breath. I saw it—her nervousness, her uncertainty, but the care she was taking in spite of it—and for one sweet moment, a breeze of calm moved through me.
I let out a strange sound that was half word … half exhale. She hesitated, but kept eye contact. “Gabriel,” she murmured. I felt the warmth of her breath as she spoke my name. I smelled her perfume, something fresh and delicate that reminded me of spring rain and newly cut grass, something that seemed to conflict with the heaviness of her makeup, the boldness of her skimpy clothing. Who are you, Crystal? Really?
A pulse beat steadily at the base of her throat, and for a wild moment I wondered what it would feel like to place my lips there, to run my tongue over it. Would she let me? More importantly, would she want it?
Her hand touched mine, smooth, tentative, and I tensed at the skin-on-skin contact. Run! My thigh muscles contracted in preparation of flight, but I held myself still by sheer will, clenching my eyes shut. Words and phrases and sounds were whipping through my mind, assaulting me, taking me out of the present, back there.