All he’s done since I got here was order me around, make me do a hundred flight of stairs on the StairMaster, lift weights, and run a mile on the treadmill, barking at me and telling me to stop being a baby the whole time.
This is definitely not how I thought flirting was supposed to go. At all.
“Running is stupid and people who run are stupid. I won’t need to run while I’m taking my clothes off,” I grumble in annoyance as I sit up on the bench, deciding not to bring up the fact that I did indeed run from his home the first time I was expected to take my clothes off.
“Of course you won’t. But you need stamina. You need to build up your endurance and work those muscles that haven’t been used in a while, which you’re going to need for dancing. I told you I was putting you through boot camp, and this is phase two: Getting in shape.”
He hands me a towel and sits down next to me on the bench as I wipe the sweat from my face, wondering why in the hell I even did my hair or put on makeup before I left the house.
PJ hasn’t broken a sweat all morning, doing everything next to me the entire time, in his white T-shirt with the word Charming’s in black cursive script across his muscular chest, black basketball shorts, and a black baseball cap turned backward on his head.
What the hell is it about a guy who wears a baseball hat backward that makes them look so much hotter?
“Tell me how this whole business is going to work.”
PJ hands me a bottle of water. I take a minute to drink half the bottle and force myself to stop staring at him. He clearly has no trouble not staring at me the same way.
“Well, each of us will have a profile page on the website with our photo, wearing a costume that represents the princess we’re emulating and—”
“Please, for the love of God, tell me you’re not wearing the same costume you had on the night you came to my house,” PJ interrupts, his eyes pleading with me.
“That was an authentic Cinderella costume and it was adorable!” I remind him in annoyance. “But no. For your information, Ariel found us sexy replicas, thank you very much.”
I slowly run the cap from the water bottle back and forth over my bottom lip, trying to do something sensual as I lean my body closer to his on the bench.
He stares at what I’m doing, and for a minute, I see a spark of something in his eyes. But it quickly disappears when the stupid cap falls from my fingers and drops right down into my cleavage.
“Good. That’s good. Never, ever wear that horrible costume again,” PJ mutters.
His eyes blink rapidly and he glances nervously around at the people still working out around us as I reach down in between my boobs to retrieve the damn cap. I probably should have tried to do it all sexy-like, leaning forward and pushing my boobs together or something, but what’s the point? There is nothing sexy about me shoving my hand down my shirt and digging around in between my sweaty tits to pull out a fucking tiny piece of plastic that is literally ruining my life right now and will not stay put so I can grab it.
“Anyway,” I continue, letting out a sigh of relief when I finally manage to get two of my fingers around the cap and pull it out. “Like I said, we’ll have princess profiles on the website. People can choose which princess they’d like to strip at their party, and then they fill out an online form, basically ordering us.”
PJ nods, his eyes glued to my hands as I screw the cap covered in boob sweat back onto my water bottle.
“You should probably set up a list of rules they have to follow before you accept the booking,” he says distractedly. “Like, no touching the dancers, no jerking off in front of the dancers, no removing of their own clothes in front of the dancers, etcetera, etcetera.”
His eyes finally meet mine as I set the water bottle down on the other side of the bench, and I start to wonder if that whole digging around in my boobs did something for him. I mean, I was kind of, sort of touching myself while I did it. Guys think that’s hot, right? Maybe all hope is not lost. I can still do this.
I scoot closer to him on the bench until our thighs our touching and rub my shoulder against his.
“Those are great suggestions. I never would have thought of that.”
My words come out all soft and breathy, and I almost don’t recognize myself. Who is this woman being all bold and flirty while sober and not behind the safety of a cell phone? Maybe he knew I was drunk when I sent that photo of my lingerie and that’s why he never replied with one of his usual flirtatious texts. Maybe I just need to show him that I’m on board with whatever this is, even during the bright light of day and without a drop of alcohol in my system.