“I'm stripping,” she whispers and it takes me a second to register that. “Is that what you wanted to hear? Tonight, I'm taking my clothes off for fucking strangers, and I hate it. I hate it. I feel sick to my stomach.” She leans even farther forward, putting her forehead against the white linoleum surface. “This is my body. Mine. I don't want to do this. I don't want to take money for this.”
“Then don't,” I snap, getting pissy and defensive. This is so fucked. So, so, so fucked. A cute little naïve girl like this? She … this isn't right. I feel protective and righteously pissed on her behalf. “Take some more time. Find another job. Hey, listen, it's not like I need the money, okay? You can just not pay me.”
Brooke lifts her head and looks at me in the mirror, curls tumbling around her face. Some loose strands of hair brush my hand from where they rest on her back.
“That's nice of you, Zay, really. But I need food. And I need rent. And my sister hasn't bought Bella shoes in like three years. All of hers have holes in the toes. I need gas to get to the university, and I need money for electricity. I don't have another choice. Eureka isn't exactly a bustling metropolis. There aren't a lot of options for me here. Look, I know we don't know each other and this is kind of the last thing you want to be dealing with.”
“Not a big deal,” I say even though it kind of is, but hell, it's not really her that I'm pissed at. I'm not exactly sure who I'm supposed to be mad at, so I curl my hands into fists and lean into the door frame again as Brooke starts to fix her makeup. “I can understand why you don't want to do this.”
“It's worse than you think,” she says and I raise an eyebrow as she accidentally smears liner across her cheek and curses, grabbing a wad of toilet paper and trying to dab it off. “Have you ever heard of a virgin stripper before? Only in stupid romance novels. And this isn't a stupid romance novel.”
No, it's a damn good romance novel, I think and then wonder where that weird ass thought came from. Anyway …
“What do you mean virgin?” I ask as Brooke smears red across her mouth. “Like virgin as in never stripped before or …”
“Virgin as in never been poked.” She said it, not me. Both of my brows go up now as I hook my fingers behind my head and suck in a deep breath. Holy hell. A twenty-two year old virgin. I mean, those aren't unheard of, right? My buddy at the shop has a brother who's twenty-five and still a virgin, some hopeless romantic kid that wants the one. Is that who this girl is? Holy fucknuts. “So now a bunch of weird, gross guys are going to see me naked when I haven't even gotten to decide who I want to show myself naked to.”
She starts to shake again and I see why this is such a seriously big deal for her.
Ouch. I can't even imagine. Yikes.
“There … I don't want men with money to be the first people to see me naked.”
There's a long, awkward pause there where I realize that I'm the only man in the room currently. But no, no. After what I've just learned, this girl is an absolute no. Never gonna happen. A virgin stripper with two inherited kids? Fuck that shit.
“Listen, Brooke,” I start as she turns to me and looks at me with those big fucking Bambi eyes. Jesus, they're like marbles or something. She sweeps her long, dark hair over her shoulder and then reaches down to the top button on her shirt.
“Please,” she whispers, and I have no idea how I'm supposed to tell her no. Especially because my body is one hundred percent on board with this plan. Brooke's shaking fingers start to pull buttons apart as I take a step back and she follows me into the room. I'm not sure what the hell I'm supposed to be doing with her at this point, but I settle for scooting Sadie over and sitting on the bed. The baby's still asleep, but I tilt her seat away from the action anyway. “Just look at me,” she says and my entire body flushes hot and warm, my cock rising to the occasion with gusto. My fingers curl into the blankets as I force myself to hold still and watch.
Brooke pulls her purple plaid top off and tosses it aside, leaving her breasts trapped in mint green fabric with little pink roses. I kind of want to bite them all off, but I make myself stay sitting because, hell, I'm not a fucking predator. I'm not gonna pray on some chick who's about to have a panic attack. When she starts undoing her pants though, a groan builds in my throat and I wish with a wild fervor that we were both in Vegas, strangers undressing in my apartment—alone—without six kids in the house.
Kids.
Those kids could come up here at any minute and yet … I don't hear anyone on the stairs, so I make myself sit stone still, watching, my eyes eating up the sight as Brooke pushes her jeans to the floor and steps out of them, her undies a baggy pair of black cotton granny panties that'd be hilarious under any other circumstances.