Sinful Desires Vol. 4(3)

I took a deep breath, wondering if I should share Reed’s offer or not. I shook my head. “Not exactly. It's a chance to get into Madam Emilana's Dance School.”

Julien brought the plates over to the table while I carried two glasses of water. Other than what was left of last night's wine, water was all we had to drink. He didn't complain though and we ate in companionable silence for several minutes. The food settled well and Julien was a much better cook than I would've thought a rich kid would be, especially after I remembered how Brock had joked on our first date about barely knowing how to shop for himself.

“Can I ask you something?” Julien broke the silence. “And please feel free to tell me to go to hell if I'm out of line.”

After everything he'd heard last night, I wasn't entirely sure what was left for him to ask. I nodded. “I'll do that.”

“Did you and Reed date when you were at St. George's?”

I nearly choked on my bacon. “You think Reed Stirling would've dated me? A scholarship kid from the wrong side of the tracks?” I laughed.

Julien's expression remained serious. “I think I saw something between the two of you last night that said you have a history.” He leaned back in his chair and raised his hands. “Like I said, tell me to go to hell if I'm out of line.”

I was quiet for a moment, debating whether or not I wanted to talk about what had happened. Anastascia was the only other person who knew about Reed, but after last night, she was back to not knowing the whole story. Julien knew the end. The question I had to ask myself was if I wanted to tell him the beginning.

I decided on a compromise. “Reed and I never dated, but we hooked up twice.” I looked down at what was left of my scrambled eggs. “I'm the one who ended it.”

“And he never got over that.”

I shrugged. I wasn't going to out-and-out lie, but if Julien wanted to infer that this hook-up had taken place years ago, I wasn't going to correct him either.

“Did Brock know about it?”

“Not exactly,” I said. “He knew there was something there, kind of like you did.”

Julien hesitated; like there was a question he wasn't sure he should ask.

“Go ahead,” I prompted him. “I won't answer if it bugs me.”

“Did he really offer you ten thousand dollars to go to Reed's wedding with him?”

I pressed my lips together as heat rose in my cheeks. I briefly considered not telling him or lying. In the end, I settled for another half-truth. “He paid for my plane ticket, hotel room and dress. The note said he'd give me ten thousand dollars, but I assumed he was joking. Since he never gave it to me, I figured that was the case.”

I wondered if Julien could tell I wasn't being entirely honest. If he could, he didn't say anything. He ate the last of the bacon off of his plate and then stood. “So what are you going to do?”

I blinked. “About what?”

He picked up my plate and flashed a grin at me. “About the dance grant. I'm guessing since you aren't walking around all smiles, you're still deciding if you should accept it or not.”

My eyebrows went up. “You're way more observant than I gave you credit for.”

His smile widened as he carried our plates to the sink. “That's the advantage to having a reputation like mine. Most people assume I'm a screw-up, and therefore stupid.”

“I never thought that,” I countered as I joined him at the sink.

“I'll wash, you dry,” he offered. When I gave him a surprised look, he laughed. “Worked my way across Europe, remember?”

I nodded and pulled the dish soap from under the sink.

“Anyway,” he continued. “The dance studio, that's back in Philadelphia, isn't it?”

I sighed. “It is.”

“And the way you were talking before, it sounded like you hadn't really wanted to go back.”

I shook my head. He really was observant.

“Is the grant something you want?”

I considered the question before answering right away. I was younger than Julien, but I wasn't a kid anymore. If I had dreams, they couldn't be the fantasies of a child. I knew I loved to dance, but did I really want to go to school for it? I was twenty-three, and for a dancer, that was almost too old for where I was. If I didn't take this now, I wouldn't have another chance. There was no probably or maybe about it. This was it.

“I want it,” I admitted and my heart squeezed at the possibility. “All I've ever wanted to be is a dancer.” I looked around the apartment. “And this isn't what I had in mind.”

If I took the offer, I could leave this place, quit my job. I wouldn't have to strip anymore. Granted, it meant I was going back to a place with a lot of painful memories and I'd have to find a new job there, but I'd be pursuing my passion and not taking off my clothes for creepy old guys and leering twenty-somethings.

“Look, I know this whole thing isn't any of my business,” Julien said as he handed me a plate to dry. “But based on everything you've told me, and knowing there's a lot you haven't, you've been through a hell of a lot.”

I couldn't really disagree with that. True, there were a lot of people who'd had a rougher life than me, but it didn't mean mine wasn't hard, just that theirs was worse.

“The way I see it,” he reasoned. “You deserve to have something go right for once.”

I exhaled, and then breathed that thought back in. Maybe he was right, I thought as I put the dishes away. It wasn't like I'd asked Reed to do this for me, and he'd said it was an apology. That didn't sound like it came with any strings attached except possible forgiveness. And this wasn't like Brock's offer of money, which would've helped me of course; but it wouldn't have changed anything, not really. And it definitely wasn't like Reed's offer to keep me in Vegas as his mistress. This was an opportunity to change things, to move forward with my life.

Julien leaned back against the sink and glanced at his watch. “Well, my plane leaves soon, so I need to go get my stuff.” He straightened, his expression sobering. “Are you going to be okay?”

I nodded. “I will. And thank you for being here. I don't know if I would've been okay yesterday without you.”

“You have a pen?”

I looked at him, puzzled, but pointed toward the refrigerator where Rosa and I had a pen with a magnet so we could write things we needed on a notepad. Julien scrawled something on a piece of paper, tore it off and handed it to me.

“My number,” he explained. “Call me when you make a decision or if you just need to talk.”

I waited for the inevitable addition, wondering if it would be a “look me up if you're back in Philly” or “I'll hit you up the next time I'm in Vegas,” but it never came. He put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed, but the touch was as platonic as it got. “Hopefully I'll see you back home.” He smiled at me. “You deserve it.”

“Thanks,” I said. “And I will... call you, I mean.”

I kept looking at the door even after it closed. I hadn't just been polite, I realized. I really was thinking about calling Julien if I went back to the city. I'd enjoyed the time we'd spent together over the week. Well, the moments Brock hadn't been ruining by being an ass. And then there was the way he'd behaved through this whole shitstorm. He'd defended me more than once to Brock, ending with a punch, and then he'd held me while I'd cried without trying to take advantage of the situation.

I hadn't truly realized how rare something like that was in a man until yesterday.

As much as I'd been grateful for his help, comfort and advice, I wasn't about to trust a huge decision to a ten-minute conversation with someone who was practically a stranger. I needed a second opinion – well, third if mine counted as the first – and there was only one person who I could trust to be completely honest.

Besides, she deserved to know that she'd been right about Brock, no matter how much I hated to have to go through it all again.

It was close to nine, which meant Anastascia would be at the gym, so I finished cleaning up and even took out the trash. I didn't want to have a single thing in my apartment that reminded me about this disastrous week. By the time I finished cleaning and took a shower, it was close to noon and I knew Anastascia would be home again.

She answered almost immediately. “What'd he do?”

“What?” I was so startled I didn't even think to just answer her question.

“You already told me some of the shit that boy was up to. Now, if he was as good as you said he was, you'd still be snuggling with him in bed instead of calling me.”

“Damn.” I flopped back on my bed. “You're good.”

“I know,” she said. “Now, spill.”

Spill I did. I picked up from the last time she and I had talked and told her everything that had happened, the good and the bad. When I got to the part where Brock confessed what he'd done and tried to do at the bachelor party, she started cursing so loudly that I had to hold my phone away from my ear. The language turned into the many painful ways she wished to torture and kill him, not the least of which involved stripping him naked and tying him outside during the coldest night in winter and letting bits of him freeze off.

When she finally ran out of horrible things to say about Brock, she said something that nearly rendered me speechless.