Belle trails off as Beast points his finger at Ariel and me.
“Keep a better eye on her next time. I’m not a fucking babysitter.”
Ariel and I both shiver in fright at the anger in his words and the look on his face, but Belle’s head pops right up from PJ’s shoulder and she smacks the finger that he’s still aiming right at us.
“Don’t be mean,” Belle tells him in a stern voice.
The two of them silently stare at each other, neither one of them backing down until Beast finally lets out another irritated growl, and turns and stomps away. Eric gives us all a wink and wave before following him.
Ariel slides out of the bench and rounds the table, grabbing Belle’s arm and pulling her up from her spot next to PJ. Belle starts swaying as soon as she’s on her feet, and Ariel wraps both arms around her.
“I’m gonna take her outside for some fresh air. It’s almost curfew for our drunk little librarian. I’ll call an Uber and meet you out there,” Ariel tells me, making a point to widen her eyes and nod her head in PJ’s direction, indicating that she’s giving me a few minutes alone with him. Then she turns and helps Belle walk through the club and to the door.
I don’t want to talk about what I did, and I certainly don’t want to talk about it with the man I did it with. Scooting away from PJ, I stand up from the bench and avoid eye contact with him as I try to smooth out the wrinkles in my silk tank top.
“Thank you for a lovely evening,” I reply lamely as I turn away from him, almost wanting to roll my eyes at how ridiculous I sound.
“Cin, wait!” PJ shouts as I continue moving away from him.
“Don’t call me Cin!” I shout like a petulant child over my shoulder, wishing Ariel were still here to help me come up with better comebacks.
“Sorry, no can do!” he shouts over the music and hum of conversation as he continues following behind me. “I’m gonna keep on calling you Cin because what you just did to me was sinful!”
My steps falter at his words, but I lift my chin and keep on walking.
“I don’t really like it when someone proves me wrong, Cin!” he yells, emphasizing my new nickname as I walk faster, the smile on my face growing as I add a little extra sway to my hips as I go.
Chapter 15: Hairy Troll Vagina
What about party planner, Cin?
Stop calling me Cin. And stop giving me other business ideas. We’re doing this.
You shouldn’t have given me the best lap dance of my life if you didn’t want me calling you Cin. What about interior decorating? Cin.
I’m blocking your number.
“Sweet mother of God where did all your stuff go?” Ariel asks, standing in the doorway of my sitting room, which is now devoid of furniture. I quickly shove my phone into the back pocket of my jeans.
“I sold it,” I tell her with a shrug, surprised that I don’t break down into tears as I look around the now-empty room.
The time for crying over my life and my struggles is long gone. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I have to do whatever it takes to pay the bills, and right now, selling things we don’t need pays the bills until we get our business up and running. Looking at this empty room with fresh eyes, I realize how pointless this space was. Who even uses a sitting room? No one, that’s who. The only time anyone ever set foot in this room since the day I bought the furniture and decorated it was the day I passed out on the front lawn and I woke up to find Ariel and Belle staring down at me. It was a spotless, impeccably decorated room with white walls, white furniture, and white window treatments. No one ever set foot in this room because Brian never wanted it to get dirty. Anastasia was never allowed to play in here, we never entertained guests in here . . . it was a waste of a room and a waste of very, very expensive furniture that I sold in a local Facebook garage sale group in less than an hour, making enough money to pay the month’s bills.
My phone dings with another incoming text and I sigh in annoyance as I pull it back out of my pocket and shoot off another text to PJ, telling him to stop bothering me.
“Ooooh, sexy man liked your dry hump sesh! Nice!” Ariel says, looking over my shoulder and reading the string of texts from this morning.
“I don’t even know how he got my number,” I complain as I join her in the doorway and we lean against opposite sides. “He’s gotten lap dances from professionals. I’m sure getting one from a housewife was less than thrilling. He’s just saying that to be annoying.”