by Hannah Ford
OBSESSED WITH HIM
(OBSESSED WITH HIM, BOOK ONE)
By Hannah Ford
Copyright 2015, Hannah Ford, all rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The thought of taking my clothes off in front of strangers seemed like a horrible idea. I imagined the men waiting for me in there, their hands roaming my body, running over my breasts, my hips, my ass.
I hesitated, not sure I should go into Loose Cannons after all.
It didn’t look like a strip club.
But that was probably how they lured you in. They made it look like any other bar or restaurant, innocent and unassuming, so that when you walked in, you wouldn’t feel like you were doing anything wrong.
I swallowed hard and looked down at the paper in my hand, the one I’d printed out that morning. I was clutching it so hard it was wrinkled around the edges, and I smoothed it out against my thigh. My palms were sweaty, and I wiped them off on the denim skirt I was wearing.
“DANCERS WANTED,” the ad said. “EARN UP TO 1,000 DOLLARS A NIGHT, GUARANTEED. NO EXPERIENCE NECESSARY. APPLY IN PERSON, LOOSE CANNONS, 1800 NORTH MAIN STREET.”
There were no hours given, which I’d thought was strange. What was I supposed to do? Just show up whenever? I’d called the club that morning to ask, and the girl who’d answered the phone hadn’t been all that friendly. She instructed me to come down whenever I wanted and then she’d hung up on me.
I could have – probably should have -- taken it as a sign not to pursue this crazy idea any further. But I was desperate. And desperation could make a person do crazy things.
I took a deep breath and caught sight of my reflection in the mirrored front door. It was bizarre, the way the front door was a mirror -- it was almost like they wanted you to have to look at yourself, to confront exactly what it was you were about to do.
Are you sure you want to do this? a voice in my whispered. Do you know what they might make you do in there? Take off your clothes. For strange men. You’ve never even kissed a boy, how are you going to do that?
I adjusted the denim skirt I was wearing. It was fringed on the bottom and hit just above the knee. It wasn’t exactly sexy – you could find the same exact skirt in every Old Navy or Gap in the world, and it was completely appropriate for everyday wear.
But it was the only thing I had that showed a little skin. It was one of the only things I had, period. After aging out of foster care and then being kicked out of my group home last week (which, trust me, I wasn’t sad to leave), all my possessions fit into one garbage bag.
The sheer white top I was wearing was a button-up, and I wore a black push-up bra under it, so that the outline of the bra was visible under the shirt. Was that sexy? I wasn’t really sure. But I figured anything that allowed your underwear to show was a step in the right direction.
I flipped my head over and shook out my long blonde hair. It was the one thing I wasn’t self-conscious about. Everything else – my body, my smile, my skin – I could find flaws with. But I liked my hair. As I flipped back over, my eyes locked on my reflection again.
What the hell are you doing, Olivia?
I pushed my hair off my face and took a deep breath.
Just relax, I told myself. You’re twenty years old, stop acting like a baby. This is just a way to make a little money. A temporary way.
But I could hear the voice of Karl, my foster father, whispering in my head. This is where white trash girls like you end up.
I squared my shoulders, and as I did, the sleeve of my shirt slid up and I caught sight of the scars on my wrist. Twisted and red, tangled with a fresh red cut from last night. Last night, when I was missing Declan so bad I couldn’t take it anymore. I’d ended up in the bathroom of the shelter, quietly unwrapping one of the disposable razors they gave you as part of the welcome kit.
I quickly pulled my sleeve down. I needed to hide the scars. At least for now– I knew I couldn’t hide them forever. I couldn’t hide anything forever if I was going to be naked.
Anxiety welled up in my chest and the urge to cut, to take the edge off, welled up with it. My feet took a step away from the door, almost like they wanted to run away. But I forced myself to turn back.
And then I opened the door and walked into the club.
***
There was no one inside.
Actually, that wasn’t true.
There was a girl behind the bar, drying beer glasses with a cloth.
The girl glanced at me as I walked in, and then immediately ignored me.
I looked around, taking the place in. Long red velvet couches lined the huge, oval shaped room. There was a stage in the center, with an aisle that led out from behind a black and white leopard print curtain. A spotlight moved in a lazy pattern over the shiny black stage.
Even in here, it didn’t look like a strip club. It looked like a really fancy bar, or one of those big tents where they did fashion shows on America’s Next Top Model.
Part of me had actually been hoping it was going to be completely skeezy. If Loose Cannons had been gross and dirty and disgusting, I would have had an excuse to run out of there as fast as my legs would carry me. It was almost worse that it wasn’t as bad as I’d imagined.
“We don’t open until seven,” the girl behind the bar yelled across the room. “The girls will be going on then. We don’t do a day service.” From her clipped tone and snotty pout, I could only assume she’d been the one I’d talked to on the phone.
“Oh.” I cleared my throat. “I was told that I could come in anytime to try out. That it didn’t have to be during normal hours.” I didn’t want to try out during normal hours. Who knows what they’d make me do during normal hours? Maybe put me on stage in front of a bunch of people.
This got the bartender’s attention. She looked up sharply from the glass she was drying, and her eyes slid up and down my body. I could practically feel her judgment permeating the room, and I wondered for a moment if she had some kind of pull over who got a job here.
Maybe Loose Cannons was one of those strip clubs that was run by a woman. I pushed my shoulders back and marched over to the bar.
“Hi,” I said, giving her a smile. “My name’s Olivia.”
The bartender had bright blue eyes, and she looked me up and down again. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she mumbled under her breath. She was wearing a tight black leather vest with nothing under it. It ended just under her breasts and her stomach was tight and toned. She had a tattoo of angel wings around her belly button. She reached over and picked up a cordless phone that was sitting on the bar.
“Colt,” she said. “Someone’s here. An audition.” She paused and scrunched up her nose. “Definitely not.” She hung up the phone. “Colt will be out in a minute.”
Colt must have been the owner. I pictured him as an older man who wore shiny button-up shirts and lots of gold chains. Hopefully he would be nice.
I heard him before I saw him.
He came up behind me, his voice as smooth as silk. “You here to see me?” My pulse sped up and my heart started to race. I turned around and came face to face with the most gorgeous man I had ever seen in my life.
He was younger than I’d imagined – probably only twenty-six or twenty-seven. Everything about him was dark – dark eyes, dark hair, beautiful tan skin. His eyes looked right into mine and one side of his mouth slid up into a grin. His jaw was chiseled, with just the tiniest bit of a stubble. There was a small scar on the top of his lip, but it didn’t take away from his looks – if anything, it added to them. The rest of him was so gorgeous, that the scar kept him from being too model-pretty. He was wearing jeans and a black t-shirt -- it
was the kind of t-shirt that was supposed to look casual, but you could tell it was expensive from how beautifully it was cut, how it hugged his ripped biceps and broad chest in all the right places.
He smelled like a mix of beer and cigarette smoke and cologne and danger. I felt dizzy just being around him.
“Um I’m not…” I faltered. “I mean, yes, I am here to see you. I mean, I’m here to try out. You know, to audition.” I could tell I was blowing it, acting like a simpering idiot.
Get it together, Olivia, I told myself. Who cared if this guy was hot? He was probably a grade-A douchebag. Especially if he was running a strip club.
“Okay,” he said. He stood there for a beat longer than necessary. He was still looking right into my eyes and I forced myself to keep his gaze. If he thought I was going to look away, he was wrong. “Come with me.”
He turned around and started heading back behind the stage, moving toward a set of double doors. I hesitated for a moment. It was one thing to be out here, in the middle of an empty strip club. But now I was about to follow some guy I’d never met before into the back room. Who knew what was waiting for me back there?
Maybe I wasn’t ready for this. Maybe there was something else I could do, some other job I could find. But I knew there wasn’t. I was at rock bottom. And if I didn’t do something about it soon, I was going to end up even more lost and desperate than I already was.
So after a moment, I followed Colt.
***
He led me down a long hallway and into a small back room. I wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be an office or not. There was a huge mahogany desk in one corner, but there was also a stripper pole in the middle of the room. The floor was covered with a crushed purple and black carpet, except for an octagon in the middle of the room that was hardwood. That’s where the pole was. Around the pole were a bunch of big leather chairs, the kind of chairs you’d see executives sitting in while they watched a screening of a movie.
I licked my lips and wiped my palms against my skirt.
“Why don’t you take a seat?” Colt said. He sat down in one of the big executive chairs and motioned for me to sit in one of the others.
I did as I was told, crossing my legs in what I hoped was a sexy manner. Be confident, I told myself. You got this.
“So,” he said. “You want to dance here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I tried to think of an appropriate response. “Because I think it would be fun. I love meeting new people.” It was all lies. The real reason I wanted to dance there was because she had no other choice. I needed money. A lot of money. Money you couldn’t get just from working at Burger King or CVS.
“Right.” Colt chuckled and then leaned back in his chair. His dark eyes bore into me, so intense I expected to hear a crackle of electricity echo through the room. Couldn’t he have been fat? Or old? Or just… not so devastatingly gorgeous. “Can you stand up for me?” he asked.
I stood up.
“Turn around.”
I spun around in a slow circle, letting him get a good long look at my body. My face reddened as I turned back around to face him. It was weird, the way he was making no bones about the fact that he was looking at me. The weirder thing was that I kind of liked it.
He was just so beautiful. Stop, I told myself. So what if he’s good-looking? He’s obviously a complete pervert.
“Do you have a job right now?” Colt asked.
“A stripping job?”
“Any kind of job. Somewhere I can get a reference.”
I shook my head. “No.” It was pretty much impossible to get a job when you were homeless. I still hadn’t figured out what I was going to do when they asked for my address, but I was thinking I could just give the shelter’s, then change it once I found a place to live. I was hoping strip clubs weren’t too picky about things like that.
Colt’s eyes slid down my body again, and this time, they landed on my wrist. “What are the scars from?”
“Oh. Um…” My sleeve had slid up, and I yanked it down. Shit. I’d worked so hard to make sure they’d been covered. But that was the problem with scars – they never really went away, never really stayed hiding. They forced you to live your life constantly on the edge, constantly scared of being exposed.
“We don’t allow drugs here,” Colt said. There was no judgment in his tone. In fact, he sounded completely matter-of-fact.
“I don’t do drugs.”
“Then what are the scars from?” He reached out and took my wrist, turning it over so he could get a better look. His touch sent fire roaring through my body and I snatched my wrist back.
Colt’s mouth snaked up into a cocky grin, almost like he was enjoying the fact that he had me squirming. I pushed my chin into the air and met his gaze, refusing to back down. “I don’t do drugs.”
He raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. The air crackled with tension and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. His eyes flashed so dark it seemed like I was falling into them. He was looking at me from under lowered lids, his gaze so penetrating I shivered.
Only one other man had ever had that effect on me. Declan. The thought of him flooded my body with guilt. Declan. I’d made him a promise. And even though I was nowhere near close to breaking it, I made myself look away from Colt.
Colt leaned back in his chair.
“Dance,” he commanded.
“What?”
“This is an audition. I have to see if you can dance.”
Of course it was an audition. Of course I knew that at some point I was going to have to take off my clothes. But when I’d imagined this moment, it had been much different. I’d thought I’d be standing here in front of a middle-aged man, not a guy only a few years older than me who was so sexy I could hardly look at him.
I’d imagined it would be easy, taking my clothes off. All I’d have to do was disassociate, let my mind wander while I took my clothes off for whatever disgusting old pervert was sitting in front of me. I was no stranger to pretending I was somewhere else. I’d been doing it my whole life. It was called survival. Anytime I’d had to do something unpleasant, or been hurt by someone, I’d disassociated. Later, when the feelings would inevitably resurface, I’d cut my wrists to let the pain out.
I rolled my shoulders and tried to relax.
“You don’t have to be nervous,” Colt said. He reached over and picked up his phone. He pushed a few buttons, and after a second, a slow beat began to pulse through the room. It got louder and louder until I could feel the rhythm in my chest.
I closed my eyes and let the music fill my body, letting it take over. I moved my hips and imagined myself floating up toward the ceiling, looking down at myself while I danced.
After a few moments, I felt my hips start to loosen just a tiny bit, felt myself start to get into the dance.
“Look at me,” Colt demanded.
I opened my eyes and my gaze locked onto his. His stare was mesmerizing, and even though I was doing everything I could not to connect with him, I couldn’t look away.
“Come here,” he whispered huskily.
I took a step toward him, and his eyes blazed as he reached out and put his hands on my hips, guiding me. “That’s it.”
The bottom of my shirt rose up just a tiny bit and his thumb grazed against my bare skin.
A searing heat pulsed through my body, almost in time to the music. I went to pull away, but Colt’s hands held me firmly in place.
“Take off your shirt,” he commanded, his voice still low and sexy.
I reached up, mesmerized, and did as I was told. I would have expected my hands to be shaking, that I would be nervous about taking my clothes of in front of this gorgeous stranger. But it was the opposite. His gaze was like an anchor, keeping me grounded, holding me in place, right there in the moment.
One button.
Two.
Three.
I felt the cool air on my bare skin as the top of my bra bec
ame exposed.
When my shirt was completely open, Colt’s hands moved from my hips up the sides of my body, stopping just below the band of my bra, right under my breasts. His touch was setting me on fire and an ache I’d never felt before rolled up inside of me.
His hands moved slowly up my back, then hooked around my shoulders. He pulled me to him, his grip strong. I leaned forward, meeting him, not even caring that my shirt was completely open, that I was exposed to him, more exposed than I’d ever been to any person in my life. And even though I’d only just met him, my instinct was to let him in, to give myself to him and do whatever he asked. My nipples tightened and my pulse quickened as his mouth moved toward mine. Colt’s eyes were still locked on mine, and I felt like I was falling into them.
His intent was clear. He was going to kiss me, and maybe more, right here, in this room, on this chair.
His lips parted slightly, and his eyes began to close.
My breath was coming in short, ragged bursts as I lowered myself onto his lap.
And then I remembered.
Declan.
The promise.
I’ll wait for you.
I pulled back from Colt like I was a rubber band released after being pulled taut. The sour taste of bile filled my mouth and I was afraid I was going to throw up.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”
I grabbed my bag and ran out of the club before I could change my mind.
***
Out on the street, I hungrily gulped in the fresh air. My pulse started to slow and my stomach stopped rolling.
You almost kissed him.
Disappointment and guilt filled my body, pushing out any other emotions I had including any attraction or pull I felt to Colt. I reached into my purse and pulled out the picture of Declan. It was taken three years ago, in our group home in McLean. His arm is slung around me, our cheeks pushed together.
The picture is printed out on a piece of old copy paper, and it’s faded. The ribbon wasn’t that great to begin with, and I’ve looked at it millions of times since then. Seeing his face calms me.
