Caleb:A Black Widow MC Romance(31)

The mysterious biker's dark gaze focused in on me. I became flushed and lost my way for a moment. I climbed high up the pole, wrapping my legs around and locking myself in. I leaned back and swung around, slowly dropping all the way to the stage floor. I flipped my blonde hair back and locked eyes with the biker.



This is way too hot.



Rihanna's words slowly faded away and the crowd cheered. I gathered my bikini top and all the tips off the stage.



“One more round of applause for Sapphire,” the announcer yelled.



I gave the audience a curtsy before disappearing into the back—but not without getting one last glance at the biker. He sat in his seat, blanketed in shadows, with one finger slowly tracing his lips.



“How much did you make?” Cherry asked.



My head was all cloudy and my cheeks were bright red. Who was that man?



“I said, how much did you make, Brooke?” Cherry repeated.



“Oh sorry. Thanks again for covering for me.” I didn't even bother counting the tips. I handed her the majority of the crumpled up cash in my hands and her jaw dropped.



Cherry fanned out all the bills. “You made all this from one dance?”



I shrugged.“I guess they liked me.”



I sat down at my station to calm myself down. I didn't have another dance for a couple hours and desperately needed a drink.



Joe came in. “Great job, Brooke. You got a guy out there requesting a lap dance.”



I nodded and touched up my makeup. Could it be him?





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Chapter One





Charlotte





I slowly creaked open the door to Cultural Anthropology 301. Mr. Capshaw's back was to me, writing with marker on the white board. It was becoming a habit of mine to be fifteen minutes late—it was impossible to find a parking spot at my college.



I hunched down and went down the row of desks, scanning for any empty spots. Students watched me as I sneaked by, some giggling and others scoffing.



Why did the whole world only pay attention to me when I was late?



A vacant seat sat all the way at the end of an aisle. Everyone shifted their feet to make way for me as I shuffled through. I passed by Kyle and my heart almost jumped out of my chest.



I was sitting so close to him! He threw a smile at me and I almost melted. Why couldn't I get a guy like him?



I wanted so badly to tell Kyle how I felt, but I'd never even spoken a word to him before. I only watched him from afar, studying his figure closely.



I gently laid my backpack down and took my seat. Mr. Capshaw's back was still turned away— the teacher didn't notice me.



“Nice of you to join us, Ms. Turner,” he announced, turning around to face me.



Busted.



I flushed scarlet and sunk into my chair. The students around me laughed. Kyle smirked at me. This had to be the most embarrassing moment of my life.



“Like I was saying before Ms. Turner interrupted us, it's time for your final paper.” Mr. Capshaw wrote Final Paper on the white board with a sad face next to it.



A collective groan echoed throughout the room.



Mr. Capshaw put up his hands in defense. “I know, I know. Most of you have been dreading this since the beginning of the year, but I assure you, it's not as bad as people have told you.”



My palms were sweating and I shifted in my seat. I'd heard that Capshaw graded these papers with an iron fist. Since it accounted for fifty percent of your grade, some students failed the class because of it.



“Let me explain what it's all about and then you guys can judge it. I think a lot of you will actually enjoy it.” A kid on the other end of the room raised his hand. “No questions yet. Let me talk first.”



The kid put his hand back down. I pulled out my notebook and flipped to an empty page.



“Each and every one of you will go out in the field and study a culture that I assign you,” Mr. Capshaw said in his booming voice. The students looked at one another in confusion. “You're going to use everything that you've learned over the course of the semester. I want you to interview people, observe them in their natural habitats, and record any profound discoveries. Don't just write what you think I'd be interested in, write what you're interested in.



This is what anthropology is all about. We could read endless books about what others have done before, but until you do it for yourself, you can never really appreciate it. Now I'll take questions.”



A girl in the back raised her hand. “Yes, Ms. Harper?”