know me. Sure, we'd had sex and he'd bought me nice things, but I didn't sleep with him because of that and he never treated me like I had to. Despite what Anastascia said, Brock was the real deal. A sweet, handsome, charming man who liked me for me.
I glanced at my phone.
“Your boy toy ain't called yet?” One of the other strippers, a tall brunette named Charlene, smirked at me.
“He called earlier,” I snapped. Charlene had overheard Rosa and me talking when I'd gotten back from Philadelphia a couple weeks ago and now all the girls knew about the rich boy in Philly who was trying to be my sugar daddy. It hadn't done any good to tell them that things weren't like that between Brock and me. They had their ideas firmly in their minds, and nothing could make them think any different. It didn't help that Rosa believed Brock was not doing anything but stringing me along.
“Did he say when he's coming out?” Rosa asked.
I shook my head. Ever since I told him I'd consider moving back to Philadelphia, the decision had been hanging over my head. It was bad enough being a poor stripper in Vegas. At least here, the only people I was around were others like me. In Philadelphia, with Brock, I'd be among the richest of the rich and I'd probably be scraping by waitressing and having to stay with Anastascia until I could afford a place of my own.
I wouldn’t let myself think about the ten thousand dollars he’d promised me before the wedding. I still wasn’t sure what I thought about that, especially since our relationship had evolved so much.
Brock told me last week that he planned to come out and try to convince me to go back with him. He'd said that since I'd spent time in his world, he was going to spend time in mine.
Rosa wasn’t buying that line either, saying it was what guys like him said to girls like us when they wanted to make sure we know our place. We were good enough to visit for a fuck, but it was always on the man's timetable and we were just expected to sit around and wait, grateful for their interest and attention. I'd told her a million times that Brock wasn't like that, but she kept insisting she knew his type.
Fortunately, I was saved from having to argue with her again when we heard the manager call for us to get into position for the opening number, and it was all business after that. The only thing I liked about my job was that it was at least similar to real dancing. I could either think about other things and let muscle memory carry me through the routine or, like today, lose myself in the music and forget where I was and what I was doing. Inside my head, I would be nowhere and everywhere.
I kept myself lost during my individual routine as well, barely registering the men groping my ass as they stuffed bills into my g-string. Even when the cowboy squeezed my breast, I didn't do anything other than move further back on the stage, so I was out of reach. Part of me wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face, but the rest of me just kept moving to the music and reminding myself to enjoy the cool air and think of the tips I was making.
I couldn't allow myself the luxury of thinking about other things, other paths my life should have taken. No matter what Brock said, I knew he'd eventually get tired of me and I'd be back here. I had to be realistic. This was my life.
Chapter 2
M y maudlin mood stuck with me as I made my way home later that night. Rosa wasn't with me as she'd accepted the cowboy's offer of a private dance back in his hotel room. She'd told me not to wait up, which usually meant she'd be back around dawn, fall into bed and get up only before her next shift started. I wanted to confront her and ask how she could act all self-righteous about Brock when she was going to fuck the cowboy, but I didn't because I knew what she'd say. She wasn't deluding herself into thinking that Bobby Ray was a white knight, sweeping in to save her. She thought that's how I viewed Brock.
I frowned as
I glanced at my phone.
“Your boy toy ain't called yet?” One of the other strippers, a tall brunette named Charlene, smirked at me.
“He called earlier,” I snapped. Charlene had overheard Rosa and me talking when I'd gotten back from Philadelphia a couple weeks ago and now all the girls knew about the rich boy in Philly who was trying to be my sugar daddy. It hadn't done any good to tell them that things weren't like that between Brock and me. They had their ideas firmly in their minds, and nothing could make them think any different. It didn't help that Rosa believed Brock was not doing anything but stringing me along.
“Did he say when he's coming out?” Rosa asked.
I shook my head. Ever since I told him I'd consider moving back to Philadelphia, the decision had been hanging over my head. It was bad enough being a poor stripper in Vegas. At least here, the only people I was around were others like me. In Philadelphia, with Brock, I'd be among the richest of the rich and I'd probably be scraping by waitressing and having to stay with Anastascia until I could afford a place of my own.
I wouldn’t let myself think about the ten thousand dollars he’d promised me before the wedding. I still wasn’t sure what I thought about that, especially since our relationship had evolved so much.
Brock told me last week that he planned to come out and try to convince me to go back with him. He'd said that since I'd spent time in his world, he was going to spend time in mine.
Rosa wasn’t buying that line either, saying it was what guys like him said to girls like us when they wanted to make sure we know our place. We were good enough to visit for a fuck, but it was always on the man's timetable and we were just expected to sit around and wait, grateful for their interest and attention. I'd told her a million times that Brock wasn't like that, but she kept insisting she knew his type.
Fortunately, I was saved from having to argue with her again when we heard the manager call for us to get into position for the opening number, and it was all business after that. The only thing I liked about my job was that it was at least similar to real dancing. I could either think about other things and let muscle memory carry me through the routine or, like today, lose myself in the music and forget where I was and what I was doing. Inside my head, I would be nowhere and everywhere.
I kept myself lost during my individual routine as well, barely registering the men groping my ass as they stuffed bills into my g-string. Even when the cowboy squeezed my breast, I didn't do anything other than move further back on the stage, so I was out of reach. Part of me wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face, but the rest of me just kept moving to the music and reminding myself to enjoy the cool air and think of the tips I was making.
I couldn't allow myself the luxury of thinking about other things, other paths my life should have taken. No matter what Brock said, I knew he'd eventually get tired of me and I'd be back here. I had to be realistic. This was my life.
Chapter 2
M y maudlin mood stuck with me as I made my way home later that night. Rosa wasn't with me as she'd accepted the cowboy's offer of a private dance back in his hotel room. She'd told me not to wait up, which usually meant she'd be back around dawn, fall into bed and get up only before her next shift started. I wanted to confront her and ask how she could act all self-righteous about Brock when she was going to fuck the cowboy, but I didn't because I knew what she'd say. She wasn't deluding herself into thinking that Bobby Ray was a white knight, sweeping in to save her. She thought that's how I viewed Brock.
I frowned as
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