Hold You Against Me (Stripped 4)

I crumple the paper into a tight ball and toss it into the trash can. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Like your big debut?”

“Like that.” My gaze sweeps over the big empty place in the corner where I spent the last three months sculpting. It was my first commission and my largest piece. It turned out more beautifully than I’d envisioned, and it’s now installed on the fountain where it will stand, awaiting its official unveiling tomorrow night. I should feel proud. I should feel accomplished.

Instead a sense of dread has taken root in my chest, soaking up all the happiness, spreading through my limbs. I should be focused on my dreams or, at the very least, enjoying life as a college student. We aren’t on the run anymore, but in my darkest hours I can’t shake the feeling that we should be.

A hand covers mine, and I look up to see Amy’s eyes full of concern. “It’s beautiful, sweetie. Everyone will be blown away tomorrow night.”

I force a smile. “I hope so, but I’ll settle for not totally hating it.”

“It’s going to blow their minds, and I’m still bummed you won’t let me be there to see it.”

Her family is extremely uptight, and the fact that the Grand used to be a strip club means that it’s off-limits. Technically almost anyplace off campus is off-limits, but she sneaks out often enough. She’s determined to rebel, but I have to admit, it isn’t a safe part of town. The only way my own sister lets me go is with her and Kip as my escort.

“You’ve already seen it.” The statue is an angel reaching up, both sensual and pure, a representation of how I see the girls who stripped at the club. It may be a burlesque club now, may be respectable, but there was something beautiful and raw about what it had been. Survival and sex.

“Not installed.”

“Use your imagination,” I say, teasing. Her medium is paint, and her work is incredibly imaginative. She has a soft dreamy style, kind of like Alice in Wonderland with an Instagram filter.

She sticks out her tongue. “Well, you better call me after and tell me all about it. I bet you get a million new commissions.”

I look down at the blank sheet of paper. She’s not totally wrong about the commissions. The guest list to the opening gala is highbrow because the club owner, Ivan, has more money than God. And I learned a long time ago that money erases every sin. The hint of impropriety will just make the art that much more desirable.

But I’m not sure that I can fulfill those commissions. I’m not sure I want to. It’s every artist’s dream, but the lingering imprint on the blank paper, leftover pressure from charcoal, a mindless drawing, proves that I’m really dreaming about something else entirely.

* * *

“Here comes your trophy boyfriend,” Amy mutters.

I glance back to see a bunch of frat guys approaching, Shane at the head of the pack. The way they’re weaving down the street, it’s clear they’re wasted. I feel myself tensing, because Shane can get a little intense when he hangs out with the boys after football practice. Which is most of the time, these days.

“Don’t call him that,” I say absently, hoping she can’t see my worry.

“Why not? That’s the only reason you’re with him. Don’t tell me it’s his charming personality.”

Shane knows how to be charming. He pursued me with the full weight of that charm. There are boys at the art school, but they’re usually more interested in having me pose for them than actually dating. Shane made me feel desirable, coveted—at least until he started to change.

I don’t answer her and instead paste on a smile for the guys. We’re on the edge of campus, and the streets are still busy with students walking home after late-night study sessions or heading to a club. Light rain mists the air, leaving a sheen on everyone’s skin.

Shane grins at me as he gets close, all swagger and sweaty male. A certain appreciation sweeps through me, but it feels detached, the way I’d view a beautiful piece of art.

“Hey, babe,” he says with a sloppy kiss.

I hide my wince. Definitely drunk. “How was practice?”

“Killer. Coach made us lap the stadium ten fucking times.” He grabs me around the waist, and I stumble against the pull of him. “But I’m feeling no pain now.”

A grin tugs at my lips. “I bet you’re not.”

“We’re heading over to Club X. Come with us.”

Two blocks down is the clubbing district. Party Row, it’s called. The clubs open up in warehouses with cheap couches and heavy beats, only to get shut down a few months later, usually related to drugs or sex work. Club X is the latest hot spot, which means Shane wants to go all the time.

I look down at my clothes, a tank top and jeans. Sandals. No makeup. “I’m not really dressed for it.”

He pulls me close, his hands wrapping around my ass. I squirm because his friends are totally watching. “Shane,” I whisper.