Right Where I Want to Be Chapter 6

I find Rose backstage and make a beeline. She glances up at me, then does a double take. “Oh, Loki help you, you're turned on,” she observes.

“I agreed to meet him in the parking lot tonight,” I hiss quietly.

“Why? Have I taught you nothing? You never go home with a client, they all have issues.” She looks genuinely worried for me.

“And his issue seems to be a Prince Charming complex, the rich guy saving the lowly peasant.”

“You have to set him straight, hon.” Rose goes back to touching up her makeup, and I plop down in the chair next to hers.

“I told him I'm here because I want to be.” I look at myself in the mirror, and I see what Rose sees. My cheeks are carrying twin flags of color, my chest is flushed, and my eyes are bright. I shift my legs as I admit that I'm soaking wet, too.

“What are you gonna do?” she asks quietly.

“I'm going to take a shower, and then I'm going to meet him like I said I would. I'll see where it goes from there.”

“Casual sex has never worked out for you,” she points out.

“I don't even know if I'm going to fuck him, Rose,” I lie.

She just snorts, and I make my way to the shower. All I can think about is Edward as I scrub off the stench of the club. I want him, that's true, but I won't change for him, and I won't accept money for anything we do together outside of this club. It's a fine and dangerous line I've decided to walk, and I wonder if I'll cross it willingly, or if I'll put up a fight. As I dry my hair, I decide against makeup, opting for chapstick and my personal uniform of a tank top with yoga pants and Chucks. I might as well be me and not make any pretenses, and he can take it or leave it.

I'm anxious as I walk outside, making note of the cooling air and scanning the lot for which cars are left. The only one other than mine belongs to the owner, and I find myself glancing over my shoulder at his office window on the second floor. Asshole is voyeuristic. I head around the corner of the building and then stop short. Edward is leaning against a Mercedes S-Class, looking like walking sex in his blue button up and jeans. My heart starts beating double time, like a traitorous bitch, as I realize what's about to happen.

“Care for a ride?”

“I'd love to have a ride, handsome,” I reply, letting the entendre hang as I sling my bag in the passenger seat and slide in.